Page 190 of Hunger

I walk towards her, leaning down and putting my arm beneath the underside of her knees before lifting her up and carrying her down the hallway towards the kitchen to turn off that fucking kettle.

"How very unwise to go wandering around my house alone… naked,” I breathe into her ear as she catches her breath. “Very dangerous, Indigo. You never know who could catch you.”

She shudders, managing to whisper, “Hah, hah, hah. That whistle. You were freaking me out.”

“I had to speak to someone,” I offer as an explanation.

“And how big is this freaking house? It’s like half my steps for the day just to find the kitchen. I mean, you have a butler in his own little house out there, for fuck’s sake.”

“He’s not a butler. He’s a housekeeper.”

She peers up at me, highly unimpressed, as I carry her into the kitchen. “Okay, you’re gonna have to explain the difference between those two things to me, because from what I've gathered, you own some gothic-style chateau in the woods, with a butler on call. Do you have a freaking Batmobile down in the basement or something?”

I smile before setting her down on her feet and taking the navy-blue kettle off the stove.

“Which tea would my little secretary like?” I ask, but she doesn’t seem to hear my taunt, for by the time I look up, she’s over on the other side of the room, peering out of the large kitchen window at the back onto the garden and the fields beyond.

I walk across the room, studying her profile, her lips parted as she stares out, the day sunny, the land sheathed in a silvery mist.

I come to stand behind her, dipping my head, my lips grazing her temple.

“Like the view?” I ask.

“Like it?” she utters, her voice little more than a wisp of air. She turns up to look at me. “Is this your land? All of it?”

“I inherited it,” I respond.

“You don’t have to say that. It doesn’t make it any less yours.” I nod as she turns back. “Oh my God, you do have a barn,” she utters, no doubt thinking back to our conversation when we danced at Tom’s wedding—a dance worth every penny—during which she told me that her wedding aspirations involve a barn, some rescue animals and a culinary free-for-all.

Wouldn’t my mother just love that…

“I told you I did. Would you like to see it?”

“Yeah. I would. What do you do with it all? The land?”

“Not much,” I respond. “Stanley hires a couple of men to come and keep it tidy, take care of the trees. We have an herb patch.”

“You should grow your own fruits and vegetables!” she exclaims, turning to look up at me. “Tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers, peppers, eggplants. They’d grow so well in this climate. I could help you. You can get worm bins for the compost,” she continues, practically tripping over her words in an effort to get them out. “I know the best organic fertilizers. And I know all the principles of permaculture so you could cut down on all the pruning and all that and let bits of it grow wild. And you could set up some owl boxes at the back for the local owls and kestrels, and some hummingbird feeders at the front, and maybe get a few rescue chickens in so you don’t contribute to the egg industry. And—”

She must observe my look of amused curiosity for she stops cold, letting out a long sigh with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m a lunatic with no boundaries.”

“That happens to be one of the things I like about you,” I deadpan and she chuckles, swatting me on the arm.

“Yeah, you think I’m nuts. Idoknow it’syourgarden,” she insists as I smile down at her, reveling in the natural beauty of her bare face. When I remain quiet, her inquisitive eyes search my face. “Sorry, it’s just… I only have that little planter I made at the back of my basement suite, and even then, I had to beg the asshole landlord to let me put it there. You’re so lucky to have your own garden.”

I drop my lips to her cheek, brushing it gently. “I want you to help me do something with it.”

“You do?”

I nod, inhaling that light floral scent of hers. “I've not known how to best use the land.”

She grins “Okay.”

“And, um,rescue chickens?” I smile, repeating her suggestion.

“Yep. Some of them escape the hell they’re in.”

“Escape?”

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