Page 94 of Love ad Lib
‘I love this smell.’ He offered the crushed needles to her.
She couldn’t resist taking his hand and smelling his skin.
‘I can’t wait to tell India she was right.’
Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘About what?’
‘She said all the best men smell like they’ve rolled around in pine needles.’
‘Huh?’
‘All those “woodsy” notes in aftershave?’
‘Ah.’ He stared at the ground. ‘No wonder I haven’t been able to find a girlfriend. I haven’t been rolling around under trees enough.’
Libby bit her lip. She was desperate to tell him how amazing she thought he was, how any woman would be beyond lucky if Henry Foxbrooke wanted to be with them. But she kept quiet. She’d already stepped out of her box by flirting with him and grabbing him at any opportunity. Around Henry, she felt like she had less control than one of his dad’s dogs.
So she kept her mouth shut and let him talk to her about the different trees as they strolled, her senses drawing everything in, like a plant desperate for water.
They left the arboretum and started down a track between hedges bursting with life. Was she just caught up in the romance of Jane Austen, or was this revelation about the countryside real? Would she feel the same if it was pissing down with rain in the depths of winter and Henry wasn’t by her side? This was a fantasy. Take the weather and him away, and all that was left was cold, wet mud.
But then Henry led her through a gate into a field and she nearly wept.
‘Do you like it?’ His forehead was furrowed as if uncertain.
‘Is this for real?’
He nodded. ‘Dad is really into biodynamic farming and regenerative agriculture. Wildflowers are part of that.’
The field was on a slope, leading up to a giant oak tree and was thigh-deep in colour.
‘I don’t want to walk through and ruin it,’ she whispered.
‘You should see what happens when the cows come through. It’s all part of the process.’
He held his hand out to her, then brought it back to his side.
Fuck it. She was going to live out her fantasy for a few more moments. She took his hand and led him forwards up the slope, the flowers stroking her legs.
At the top, the base of the tree spread out, creating natural seats. Libby sat, feeling the smoothness of the bark as if someone else had run their hand over it many times before.
‘Estelle, Connor, Finn, Jack, and I used to come here when we were kids,’ Henry said. ‘That was Estelle’s seat.’ He sat next to her, and they looked out over the field of flowers, the lines of hedges and fields and the glinting sunlight on the surface of the lake in the distance.
She sighed. ‘It must have been an idyllic childhood.’
He huffed. ‘Apart from being dragged away from our parents by the police and put in emergency care, then the savage bullying at school, yeah, it was dandy.’
18
Libby shifted to face him. ‘Oh my god!’
Henry’s face was taut. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s first-world problems. A poor little rich boy complaining about life when one day he’s going to get all of this.’ He gestured at the countryside in front of them.
‘Henry. Bullying is bullying. Having money doesn’t make it any easier. And being taken from your parents? How old were you?’
