Page 37 of One Week Wingman

By the timewe arrive at the farm to meet everyone, I’m feeling marginally more human again. It’s probably due to the excessive caffeine I’ve just mainlined, and the enormous sugary pastry, but it’s also due to my companion for the day.

“You’re actually… Excited about this?” I ask in confusion, as Sebastian circles the muddy field they have doubling as a parking lot.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, us Brits love this Americana stuff.” He looks around happily at the pick-up trucks and American flags draped on the main gate. “It’s all so exotic and foreign, diners and apple pies. I mean, you half expect Springsteen to start wailing a song about the forgotten heartland.”

“Connecticut is hardly the heartland,” I smirk. But his enthusiasm is infectious, and I wonder if today might not be a total disaster, after all.

“We used to come here every year, when we were kids,” I explain, once we’re parked, and picking our way around the ditches towards the main farm area. “It’s practically tradition.”

The orchard is huge, with the apple trees, a café where I know I will be buying at least one cider donut, and the obligatory hay-bale maze. The place is packed with families—children with wicker baskets over their arms are running all over the place—and the atmosphere is warm and fun, despite the October breeze.

“You made it!” My mom greets us, bundled up in the bright pink scarf I knitted her for Christmas last year. “Great job, dragging her out of bed,” she adds to Seb.

“Well, it makes a change from dragging her into it,” he cracks with a wink.

I stifle a groan. It’s still way too early for the Stefano routine… But apparently, not too early for Daisy to be staging an impromptu photoshoot.

“Isn’t this cute?” she calls over, waving. She’s balancing on top of a hay bale, while Jason obediently takes photos. She’s wearing a miniskirt with rain boots and an oversized sweater.

“Super cute!” I call back, giving a thumbs up. I have a vague memory of some passive-aggressive comments last night, but that was just because her frenemy, Lottie, was shit-stirring.

Boy, was she stirring.

Daisy hops down and runs over to hug me and then Sebastian. “I’m so happy we get to do this,” she coos. “Are you feeling alright?” she adds, fixing me with a wide-eyed look of concern. “I have some concealer, for those dark shadows under your eyes. And don’t worry what everyone is saying about last night,” she adds.

“What about last night?” I gulp, but she just gestures vaguely.

“I’m sure they understand, you were just a little tipsy. Nobody will judge you for that. Not much, anyway.”

OK, so maybe it wasn’t just Lottie with the passive-aggressiveness.

But before I can think of a reply, Sebastian returns, gleeful. “Look at these baskets!” he exclaims, brandishing one happily. “And did you see, there’s an honest-to-goodness maze made of hay?”

“Yes,” I reply, amused. “The hay-bale maze.”

“A hay-bale maze!” he repeats. “See, in England, our mazes are all complicated topiary, in the grounds of old country houses where you don’t want to ask exactly how they made all their hereditary wealth. Hint, the answer is usually something unsavory,” he adds. “Now, point me to the apples, I have grand plans of making a pie!”

“You, baking?” I ask, smiling despite myself as we set out towards the trees.

“I know, but your mum assures me, I’d look quite dashing in her floral apron. And I’m a man with ambition,” he says decisively. “I plan, I build—”

“You bake,” I finish for him, laughing.

“You’re laughing now, but just you wait,” he declares, draping an arm around my shoulder. “I don’t know the meaning of the word, ‘defeat.’”

We all stroll through the orchard, filling our baskets and chatting. With Seb here beside me, in seventh heaven over the kitschy vibe of the day, it’s hard not to get into the spirit of things, and I find I’m actually having fun, despite Daisy and Jason constantly stopping for photo ops-slash-PDA.

“Turn this way, babe,” Jason calls to her, as she poses reaching up to pick some fruit. He’s dressed in a flannel shirt and boots, plus his usual baseball cap. “The light makes your hair look amazing.”

“Thanks, babe!”

“Always!”

I watch them for a moment, trading ‘babes’ and kisses. Jason seems genuinely happy to act as her personal photographer, while Daisy showers him in praise.

“That man has the patience of a saint,” Seb murmurs to me, seeing them in action.

I give a wry smile. “I’d say. Back when we were together, he’d roll his eyes and make the biggest deal if he had to wait around even five minutes for me.”

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