Page 45 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch

Rosie hadn’t meant to scream.

Nor to topple backwards off the already rickety stage, taking the microphone tumbling with her like she was wrestling with a snake on a stick.

‘Is it... dead ?’ She was rambling about the thing in the final auction lot box, which had been furry but stiff and cold, with frozen eyeballs that had caught the moonlight and glared at her. ‘Who would send that?’

Zain was pulling Rosie to her feet, even though she was trying to bat him away. Disembodied voices asked if she was OK and shouted orders to put the stage back together, and to steady the mic and lights.

‘It’s... erm... robotic .’

Rosie allowed Zain’s words to land as she straightened herself and reclaimed her place in front of the crowd. She wasn’t sure if the microphone was back on, but suddenly she didn’t care.

‘It’s what?!’ She extracted the lifeless grey thing from the box, jumping again when it made a tinny mewing noise and tried to swipe her with its fake fur paw. Rosie did her best not to drop it, even though its sentience was more unlikely than Zain’s.

She pulled the tag that stuck out from its ear.

‘Cyber Purrz.’ It was one of their robot cats.

And from the strange noises it was making, which were not unlike Cassius’s sexy robot now she came to think of it, she wouldn’t mind betting it was a defective one.

Any moment, it would probably start clawing her eyes out or plotting to take over the world.

Rosie’s heart sank. As if her final hope to raise enough money to hit their target and save the farm balanced on this . ‘I am not auctioning this dreadful thing . It’s broken, it’s terrifying and they can bloody well take it back.’

Her eyes scanned the crowd for the three men in question – but they were already hurtling towards her in arrow formation. The tallest one reached her first.

‘You’re not meant to have this. It’s state-of-the-art and it’s not for sale at your absurd auction. It’s worth a fortune. We’re not here to bail you out of your pit.’

‘Why did you bring it?’ the medium-sized man hissed to the small one.

‘Thought it would be funny. She’s going to lose anyway,’ the small one scoffed back.

Rosie took a deep breath and stood taller, keen not to let this descend into a slanging match, with the eyes of the Cotswolds and so many media cameras ready to click. Stay classy.

‘We’re not in a pit, thank you.’

Though right then, Rosie could see no possible way of winning. Even if she had tried to auction the not-a-cat, it could never reach the sum they still needed.

Her soul was deflating, but she had to bring this catastrophe to a close. Perhaps, like most things she’d encountered here, it wasn’t meant to be. She cleared her throat and leaned into the microphone. ‘That will conclude tonight’s auction. We seem to have run out of lots.’

‘Did you reach the target?’ a voice yelled from the crowd.

‘Will you have enough to do the roof, so my cats and dogs don’t drown?’ shouted Agnes.

Rosie winced.

‘Have you saved it from the threat of that robotic cat factory, because it would break our hearts to see this farm dug up and ruined.’

‘Hear, hear.’

‘Erm. I’m sure everything will be fine.’ Rosie tried a bright smile, even though her face and fighting spirit were cracking.

And then Rosie heard the whispers begin. They haven’t raised enough. Has it been an enormous waste of time? What will become of the place?

Rosie dared to look at Zain, whose brain seemed to be ticking under his creased forehead.

He grabbed the microphone. ‘We have one more lot.’

Did they?

But before Rosie could work out what was going on, Zain was offering places on an Autumn Meadows Farm writing retreat, which would be run by none other than her, as their expert writer in residence.

Which she was not . She let out a yelp and tried to yank the microphone from him.

After tonight, she wouldn’t even be living here.

And she may have devoured many writing books and been on a few courses in her time, but she wasn’t ready to run actual writing retreats. Here. In just two weeks’ time. Was she?

Yet every time Rosie darted towards him, he dodged her. She was acutely aware that it looked like she was chasing him, which she absolutely wasn’t. Though it was too late, because he was on a roll. People were already bidding wild prices, and he was gleefully accepting offers.

‘What are you playing at?’ she hissed.

‘Helping you to raise money. And it was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To run writing retreats?’

Rosie thought her head might explode. ‘I don’t need you to save me. And you have no idea what I want.’ She kept her voice low, but it wasn’t any less loaded. He was infuriating. Dangling the carrot of the thing she’d once dreamed of, before things had gone so horribly wrong.

Though like a steam train, she couldn’t stop him. And the farm did need the money, so she’d have to put up with his nonsense and work out a plan later on.

And if she couldn’t beat him, she was damned well going to join him. When he’d finished selling her services without permission, she reciprocated the favour .

‘And for our next fantastic offer, who would like day tickets to come and pick your own pumpkins with our resident pumpkin farmer, Zain, on his Prizewinner pumpkin patch – complete with hayrides and a chance to help with the October harvest? He’ll even show you his speciality pumpkins.

Happening here, from next week. Shall we start the bidding? ’

As he gave her an incredulous, wide-mouthed ‘ what ?!’ she winked at him.

‘Well, you did say you needed help with the harvest, and that you knew your farming efforts were pointless if your pumpkins went to rot. Don’t worry, if you get stuck for words, your chatbot can script something.’

As the audience seemed to sense the all hands on deck situation, something even more unexpected happened. People from the audience began filling their previously emptied auction table with extra things to sell.

By the time tickets for Zain’s pumpkin patch experiences had been snapped up, Rosie’s mum had placed down her latest designer watch.

Mags brought up her hurdy-gurdy, insisting she had a collection at home.

Then Bonnie offered herself out on a wine and dine date, the lucky bidder thankfully being the sweetly behaved man she’d been chatting to.

When Rosie’s beige peacoat finally sold for twice as much as she’d paid for the thing, she looked at the total in her notebook and let out an embarrassing squeak.

‘We’ve done it!’

With the additional auction lots, they’d reached their target, and more.

She heard Zain yell in joy at her side, and without thinking, she threw her arms around him. By some magnetic, uninvited force, their lips pulled together in a kiss.

Beyond the rush of blood to her head and the pounding in her heart, Rosie was vaguely aware of the crowd cheering, the bright stage light still on them. She could sense cameras snapping and phone screens flashing, and she quickly pulled away.

They both mumbled their apologies and darted off in different directions, Rosie’s lips definitely not still burning with the imprint of his kiss.

‘That’s exciting,’ said Agnes, appearing from who knew where.

‘What?’ said Rosie, her hands flying to her now colouring cheeks.

‘That thing about your writing retreats, of course. I had no idea you could write as well as paint. And if you don’t want to do any more sex life with Zain, you can always stay with me in the big house.

The ground floor is safe now, so I’ll sleep there tonight.

And we’ll soon have a brand-new roof. You could have your own space, now you’re our writer in residence .

We’ll talk about it tomorrow, over a nice cup of tea. ’

Rosie smiled and gave a non-committal hmm , then busied herself with packing away.