Page 2 of Rough Around the Hedges

“Susan, he’d probably tell you that you’ve spent too long in the oven.”

“How rude—and what utter nonsense. If I were a meal, I’d be a dessert. No oven required.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because desserts are the best part of a meal, and I am most certainly far too good to be a mere appetiser and too sweet to be the main.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “That’s how I know.”

“Sweet? More like sour.”

I sighed and rubbed my hand down the side of my face, probably leaving a trail of dirt smeared over my cheek, but who cared? I was surrounded by chaos, which was saying something considering I was usually the chaos.

Thirty-six.

There were thirty-six plots at this allotment site, and mine was smack bang in the middle of two seventy-somethings playing out some perverted enemies-to-lovers fantasy like they were tragic protagonists in a romance novel.

I didn’t care what either of them said. They absolutely had the hots for one another, and they most certainly got a thrill out of flirt-arguing over the top of my head.

Sexual harassment? Pfft.Iwas the one being bloody sexually harassed here, thank you very much.

I just wanted to plant my marigolds to keep the whitefly off my tomatoes, for the love of God.

“Can you two take your flirting elsewhere?” I said, getting to my feet. “My pure and innocent ears are being corrupted by your depravity.”

“How can you call yourself pure and innocent?” George snorted. “Didn’t you pioneer the naked allotment calendar last year?”

I paused. “Yes, and that raised a lot of money for the farmer’s youth club to go on their trip this summer. We’re doing it again this year, and I’m not letting you get out of it, either.”

Susan laughed. “You can show the whole village your schlong then, George.”

He’d be showing more than just the village. Those calendars had been a viral hit.

It was truly surprising how many people were interested in a calendar of naked people covering their wobbly bits with their homegrown vegetables.

The internet was a strange place.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” I said, turning to her. “You’re getting your melons out, Susan. You didn’t do it last year, either.”

She dropped her trowel. “I can’t get naked in public!”

“You did that plenty in your younger days,” George said. “You once danced through the high street wearing nothing but a grass skirt and coconut bra.”

I raised my eyebrows. “How saucy of you, Susan.”

“Thatwasher nickname back then: Saucy Susan.”

“It was not!” Susan’s cheeks flamed red. “Those were different times!”

“So, get out some maracas and channel your nineteen-year-old self.” He tilted his head to the side. “On second thought, I don’t think Susan is a good choice, Rose.”

I glanced between them. “Why not? We can’t use all the same people as last year. We have to make it fair. That’s why we drew lots for last year’s contributors.”

“Well.” He gestured to his chest in the universal sign for boob-grabbing. “Her melons aren’t as ripe as they were back in the seventies.”

“Sexual. Harassment!” Susan exclaimed, grabbing her gardening bag and turning around. “Rose, sign me up for this year’s calendar! I’ll show you ripe melons in September, George Hathaway!”

Susan stomped off into her shed and slammed the door.

Well, at least I had her on the list. And for September, apparently.

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