Chapter 5

Cooper

Out on the farm, Tulip is in her element, but here, even though this place belongs to her, her family, she’s uncomfortable. She’s perched on the edge of the charcoal sofa, a cushion clasped in front of her. Whether for comfort or to put a barrier between us, I’m unsure.

We got on well today, spent hours together, had a laugh, it was easy, natural. And every moment taught me something new about her.

She’s an introvert at heart, timid, shy, blushes easily, but there’s the part of her that enjoys the back and forth of conversation, the push and pull of debate. It took her a minute to get used to me, find her groove, but I reckon she’s comfortable now.

There are these little things she does too, that soften the hard outer layer she tries to show the world. She re-ties her ponytail when she’s frustrated, gives her something to do with her hands, I suppose. Then there’s the nostril flare when something’s hard and you offer help. She’ll absolutely refuse to ask for it, insist on doing it herself and is then offended when you try to help. I had to physically take things out of her hands today as I feared they were too heavy. She also stares at butterflies, taps her foot to music only she can hear, and sticks her tongue out when she’s concentrating. That last one – adorable to watch.

Right now though, she’s a version of herself I’ve not yet seen – upset. She’s not crying, not frowning, there are no red-rimmed eyes hinting at a tearful moment on the way here, but there’s something. Something more than her being uncomfortable or nervous in this small space, anyway. It takes me a second to figure it out, but I do, and I can see now there’s a sadness in her that hasn’t been there all day. And I’m presuming that’s what’s brought her here tonight.

“Come on then,” I say as I pull the low coffee table nearer to the sofa and take a seat on it, directly in front of her. “What’s up?”

She hesitates, a tremble on her delicate chin as she rubs at her chest.

“How about we have a biscuit first?” I suggest, my hope being it will give her time to get her thoughts in order.

She nibbles around the edge of her biscuit like a little mouse, tiny bites, delaying, thinking. Or maybe that’s just how she eats biscuits. I reach over and dunk mine into her tea and offer it to her, waiting until she takes a bite. Luckily, just before it falls.

“That’s how you eat a biscuit, what’s with all the nibbling?” I laugh as she wipes a drip of tea from her chin.

A glimmer of a smile turns her lips upwards. “I was eating cute, ladylike.”

“You’re already cute, you don’t need to eat weird to help that along. Now get dunking.”

I didn’t mean to call her cute. I mean, she is, more than cute if I’m honest, but it honestly just slipped out. And now we’ve got that crazy blushing thing she does going on again. It’s almost like she doesn’t realise how beautiful she is. But at least it elicited a smile, even if just briefly.

“We’re going to have to sell the farm,” she says eventually.

Fuck. You only have to have known this woman for five minutes to know this place is everything to her, to all three of them.

“What’s happened?”

She takes a shuddery breath in, frowns, her eyes turn glassy, and I can’t help it, I lean forward, take her tea, place it on the table behind me, and hold her hands. “I’m here, tell me what’s going on.”

“Blossom’s been keeping how bad things are from me, thought she’d be able to get us back on track with the movie deal,” she almost whispers.

“It wasn’t enough?”

“Too little, too late. It’s keeping the lights on for now, just not for much longer.”

“There’s got to be something, this place is your family home.”

She sits back, hands slipping from mine. “Sometimes it doesn’t matter how much you love something, you have to let it go. I’m just going to have to get used to that.”

She says it so matter-of-factly, like she’s been telling herself over and over that there’s no other option, that everything is already lost, and so the best thing she can do is put her defences up and try to put a brave face on it. Except she’s so transparent. She’s hurting, and it shows.

“Is there nothing you can do? One last-ditch attempt, something, anything?”

“From what Blossom said, you were it. Having this place used for filming scenes from your next movie was the biggest source of income she could find. And that was pure luck. All the time I was so opposed to it, she was just trying to save us. We’ve let mum and dad down so badly.”

I know nothing about her parents, but I know that no-one could feel let down by Tulip. She’s a wonder-woman in tight jeans and flannel shirt.

“You haven’t. I’m sure they’d be proud of you, would understand.”

She chews on her lip, picks at a fraying cuff on her shirt. “They had so many plans, I just wanted to make this place everything they dreamed. But now it’s like those dreams died along with them, like the farm died the day they did.”

I move to sit beside her. I may not know her that well, but I know enough to realise she needs more than words right now. She needs physical touch, to be held. She doesn’t even flinch when I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me, instead, she allows herself to be comforted, and sobs into my chest.

I’ve a feeling she’s been bottling a lot up for a long time, probably for the sake of everyone else. I stroke her back, soothe her until she’s a little calmer, until she pulls away a little and looks up.

“Sorry, I …”

She trails off, still the picture of sadness.

“You’ve nothing to apologise for,” I reassure her, wiping her cheek with my thumb. “You want to talk about them?”

There’s a moment she just looks at me, tears welling up once more, and I wonder if I’ve read her wrong. She nods slowly though, as if unsure, and so I prompt her, give her a starting place.

“How long ago did you lose them?”

This close, I see it all, every tiny movement, twitch and flicker on her face as the memories come and the pain hits.

“Just over two years. A drunk driver on a winding country road. They didn’t stand a chance, couldn’t avoid him. Head on collision. They were gone instantly.”

I can feel her trembling as she tries to keep it together and so I hold her tighter as she continues.

“They had these plans, big ideas for making our family farm something others could enjoy too. Sharing the love, you know?”

She talks passionately, shares their visions and dreams with me, every detail. And somewhere along the line we relax into the sofa, her leaning against me, my hand stroking her hair, and as her words run out, as the pause between each sentence starts to stretch on, she falls asleep.

I don’t stop stroking her hair, I want her to rest, to have some time to recover from the hard labour she’s been doing all day, and maybe even find some peace in just being here with another person.

When I wake on the sofa a couple of hours later and she’s nowhere to be seen, I realise I must have fallen asleep right there with her. The problem is, I can’t help but smile, because I know she’d have woken up confused, possibly even a little horrified at having fallen asleep in my arms, but even in all of that, she’s covered me with a blanket. And she’s going to be all kinds of embarrassed when I see her next.

Although, if I have my way, she won’t have time to be self-conscious or unsettled. Last night as she slept, my mind started racing, and it may be three in the morning, but it’s time for me to put my plan into action.