Page 96 of Rough Around the Hedges

I followed his line of sight, then stared at him. “Have you ever been in a garden centre?”

“Of course I’ve been in a garden centre.” He paused. “I’m usually following my mother or aunt around and just paying for it, but I’ve been in one.”

“Good Lord,” I said with a shake of my head. “Well, at least I know you have experience being a walking wallet.”

“What are you—”

I grabbed the front of the trolley and shot him a cheeky grin over my shoulder, tugging it along and making him stumble behind it. “If you want my expert navigation skills, you’ve gotta pay up first. You owe me a watering can, and I think a goodwill gesture towards the nursery by financing this purchase would be beneficial for you and your absolute shitshow of a reputation in the village. Don’t you think so, Your Grace?”

He raised an amused eyebrow. “You know, it kind of turns me on when you call me that in such a sarcastic tone.”

“You pervert,” I shot back, directing the front of the trolley down the aisle with the watering cans. “How generously are you going to compensate me for destroying my beloved watering can?”

“Your beloved watering can?” He smirked, leaning over with his forearms resting on the trolley handle. “You weren’t very bothered about how beloved it was when I broke it after I was balls—”

“La la la la la,” I sang, drowning his words out. “Have you no decorum at all? Are you really a member of the upper class? What kind of duke goes around running such a filthy mouth in public?”

“This one.” He grinned.

I narrowed my eyes. “Will you stop?”

“Absolutely not. I enjoy seeing you blush, princess. Knowing I’m getting under your skin brings me far too much joy.”

Oh, the urge to seek out a trowel and stab him with it was almost overtaking me.

Almost.

“I’m not blushing,” I muttered, turning away so he couldn’t see my absolutely not-blushing cheeks.

Jesus.

I could not let myself get this flustered. Not when it was only yesterday that I met his mother and resolved to end whatever this weird flirtation was between us.

Because, really, I was right.

In the end, I would be the one to get hurt here, no matter what. I was going to hurt when the allotments closed, and I saw no need to add an extra helping of romantic heartbreak on top of that pain.

So, this had to end.

After this visit, when he’d replaced my damn watering can and I’d successfully extorted gardening supplies for toddlers out of him, I would tell him.

That this, whatever it was between us, had to stop.

And I really, really hated that there was a pang in my chest at the thought of it.

“Rose? Are you choosing a can, or should we move on?”

I shook myself out of my thoughts before I spiralled into a place that I feared I couldn’t come back from. “Shh, I’m weighing up my options.”

“Jesus Christ, I knew better than to bring you here.” He hung his head with a groan, and I laughed at his dramatics.

That was totally on him.

He really should have known better.

Yet, here we were.

After a careful process that involved an awful lot of fake watering and passing each one between my hands, I selected the best watering can and put it in the trolley. The next forty minutes mostly consisted of me flitting about the place, putting things in and out of the trolley, all the while glancing at Oliver to see when he would tell me to stop.

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