Spring Blossoms at Mill Grange

so is he.
*
Tom stared at the path beneath his feet. This had felt like such a good idea earlier, but now, as each new step took them further from Mill Grange, and still neither of them had spoken, he was regretting his decision.
I could talk about Dylan. Ask Helen’s opinion about him living at Mill Grange sometimes. I ought to ask what it was she wanted to talk about over dinner… but if that’s us then…
‘Oh, this is ridiculous!’ Tom was surprised to hear himself say the words rather than think them as he stopped walking and dropped his rucksack to the ground.
Her heart beating fast, Helen stopped too. ‘It is. Utterly ridiculous.’
‘Yes, it is. We are.’ Tom burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. ‘Look at us! We’re supposed to be grown-ups and we can’t even have a conversation about why we aren’t having a conversation.’
Helen’s shoulders relaxed in relief. ‘We’re as bad as each other. I’ve been thinking about what to say, but it’s all so trite. So corny!’
‘Same here.’ Tom looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. Not a soul was in sight. ‘I want to tell you about last night, about Dylan, and I want to ask what you did, and about whatever you wanted to talk about and most of all, I want to kiss you. But I’m a nightmare with women, Helen. You deserve so much more, yet I can’t offer you more. I wish I could but this is it. This is me. An ex-squaddie with more baggage than an airport.’
Stopping abruptly, Tom was out of breath. His words had tumbled out at such a pace that they’d left Helen open mouthed and temporarily speechless. A voice was yelling at the back of her head; telling her that if this was the movies they’d be kissing by now.
But this isn’t the movies.
Instead, Helen reached down to the dropped bag and passed it back to Tom. ‘How about you start by telling me what Sue wanted last night, and we walk as we talk? That was the plan today, wasn’t it, for you and me to chat as we enjoyed the scenery?’
Tom simply nodded. He knew if Helen hadn’t spoken he’d have tried to kiss her. Perhaps it was as well he didn’t. As he’d said, she deserved better. Slinging his bag onto his back, he gestured forward. ‘Then let’s walk and talk.’
*
‘What did your mum say?’
Tina paused in the act of baking a batch of muffins to be frozen and used for future guest breakfasts.
‘That she and Father were delighted to be invited. They haven’t confirmed a date yet though.’
Adding some sugar to her mix, Tina asked, ‘Did either of you mention the wedding or where it would be held?’
‘No. As Mum didn’t, I didn’t.’
‘Ummm. Right.’
‘That was a loaded ummm.’
‘Perhaps they think we’re inviting them here to discuss the wedding, and have assumed you’ll cave and have it in Worcestershire.’
‘Possibly, but I did say we were inviting them because we wanted to show them our home.’
Tina plugged the electric whisk into the wall. ‘I’m glad they’re coming. If they fall for the house, then it’ll be much easier. I really don’t want them to be at our wedding feeling hurt because we turned down the offer of their home as a venue.’
 ‘Let’s face it, it wasn’t so much of an offer as a royal command – presumably from my father, even though Mum was the messenger. This has his stuffiness written all over it.’ Sam sighed. ‘But you’re right. I don’t want any sort of cloud hanging over the wedding.’ He pointed to the muffin mixture. ‘How long until you’re done here?’
‘About an hour, I’ve got a cake to do after these, then they have to bake.’
‘Fancy heading into the village to see Bert and Mabel afterwards?’
‘Via Sybil’s to ask if she’ll cater for the wedding tea?’
‘Deal.’
*
‘A book? That’s fantastic!’
Helen wasn’t so sure. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I’ve written countless papers and site reports and so on, but a book… I’m honestly not sure I have it in me. And I’m damn sure I have no idea where to start.’
‘Of course you do! You just said, you’ve written papers, presumably on aspects of Roman Britain and Romano-British life. Just tackle each chapter as if it were a paper.’
‘History books don’t read like academic papers though, do they?’
‘Well, no, okay, but if you had something down, then it would be easier to adapt into the style the publisher wanted.’ Tom hung back so Helen could climb over a stile before him. ‘It’s really exciting. Who asked you to do this?’
‘Batsford, they’re—’
‘The leading publishers of archaeological site-based history books. Wow. Go you!’
Helen shook her head. ‘I think I’ll have to say no, or at least see if Thea wants to be co-author with me; or maybe even do the whole thing instead of me. She knows as much about the subject as I do, and well… I’m not sure I’ll have time with work as well.’
‘But they asked you, not Thea.’
‘The article I did for Currently Archaeology about the fortlet got noticed. If Thea had written it, she’d be the one with the book offer.’
‘Or, perhaps, the paper wouldn’t have been so good, and there wouldn’t be an offer at all.’
‘You’re biased.’
‘True.’ Tom said nothing, before, without looking at her, he reached out and took Helen’s hand.
Neither of them mentioned how right it felt as their fingers linked.
‘When do you need to tell them if you’re going to write it or not?’
‘Next week.’ Helen kept her eyes forward, despite her desire to glance down at their hands. ‘If I agree, they want a chapter by chapter breakdown of the subject matter and a brief outline of how I’d tackle the book.’
‘That sounds really professional.’
‘It sounds really grown up and scary.’ Helen risked a peep at Tom. His face was staring straight ahead, making her wonder if he was also not allowing himself to look at their entwined fingers.