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“Anywho, it was… just a suggestion,” Grace says, and I look back to her, only to find her eyes onme.

After a few minutes, Liv mentions she has to jet, as she has an appointment in town at Imogen’s salon.

“Oh, yes, Imogen! I remember her,” I say, recalling our past encounters.

“How can one forget?” Liv laughs. “Blonde hair, legs for days, feisty gal,” she adds further.

“True! Tell her I said hi,” I say, genuinely.

Grabbing her keys from the kitchen counter, she calls out, “Will do! Hooroo!”

As Grace finishes wiping down the countertops, she turns to me with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling. “You know, Amelia, I’m sure you’ll find someone who appreciates you for who you are.”

I nod, feeling a surge of gratitude for her words. I’m sure I’ve heard my own mum say those words before. They feel like a real stretch,though.

“Thanks, Grace. That means a lot.”

She then asks if I’ll be staying for dinner, but I politely decline. As I make my way to leave, she calls out, “Oh, Amelia, dear. Would you mind grabbing Bradley for me? I heard him come home not long ago, and he hasn’t come in yet. He’d probably be out back.”

I falter for a moment, my body frozen.

Why me?

I sigh internally, realising I hadn’t even realised that he’d be home. How dumb of me.

“If that’s alright with you, dear? I would, but I should probably get started on cooking, especially when these Mitchell men can get quite ravenous,” she says with a laugh.

Righto.

“Oh, uh, of course. No worries at all,” I reply, but my voice sounds squeaky, so I clear my throat.

I find Bradley where Grace said he’d be. Out the back, reclining on one of the pool chairs. Nerves instantly start to kick in. I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself.

Approaching quietly, I remain silent, trying to muster up what to say. I scold myself internally, trying to shake off the jitters.

Come on, Amelia, you can do this.

Before I can gather my thoughts, Bradley’s deep voice slices through the quiet, making me jump a little.

“You planning to just stand there all day?” he asks, not turning from his view of the fields.

My heart skips a beat at his words, and I feel a rush of panic. I open my mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a jumble of words.

“Oh, um, no. I mean, I was just… your mother, she, uh, asked me to find you,” I blurt out, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I mentally kick myself for sounding so awkward. Why can’t I ever talk to him without sounding like a bumbling fool?

“Well, here I am,” he replies, his tone as gruff as ever. Seriously, does he ever not sound grumpy? What’s got his engine revving today? I wonder why he might be feeling this way? Maybe he stubbed his toe or had a bad breakfast.

Does he even eat breakfast?

“What does my mother need?”

Trying to regain my composure, I manage to squeak out, “She said dinner will be ready soon.”

He just nods, yet he makes no effort to get up, and I feel a wave of uncertainty wash over me. What do I do now? I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, my palms starting to sweat.

Oh, great, sweaty palms, just what I need right now.

Okay, Amelia, breathe. You can do this. Just act casual, like it’s no big deal. But how does one act casual around Captain Grumps over there?