Page 6 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch

The log cabin, which was apparently accommodation for whoever took the mystery job at Autumn Meadows Farm, fitted in so perfectly next to the lake it looked as though it was part of nature.

The hut’s simple wooden construction had been stained a deep shade of russet, which blended with the oaky browns and burgundy reds of the bushes it nestled into.

There were slatted steps up to its front door, and solar lights strung outside.

Rosie could almost imagine them twinkling in the twilight, their reflections bouncing off the lake like fireflies.

Not that she’d be there to see that, of course.

As she looked up, she noticed the hut had one of those grassy roofs like she’d seen on pretty postcards.

Maybe flowers would grow there, with a little encouragement.

If it just had an awning, and maybe a little outdoor table and chairs for sunny breakfasts, and. ..

Agnes poked her head out from inside the hut. ‘You coming in, or what?’

Rosie blinked, glad of the disturbance from her incorrigible thoughts.

‘Erm, I suppose.’ What if Agnes had been in there unpacking her bag?

She would need to intervene and end the charade, in case she accidentally ended up with this job, whatever it was.

But she’d come this far on what was already an extremely odd goose chase.

It would be rude not to have a quick look.

Inside the hut, there was barely room to swing a butternut squash compared to what she was used to – especially with Agnes taking up a good chunk of the floor.

Though the space was surprisingly warm and inviting.

It was just... lovely . She felt a wave of emotion rushing upwards and filling her throat, though she quickly swallowed it back.

What was wrong with her today? She was not going to cry over a fancy log shed.

Yet the more Rosie moved, the more loveliness she saw.

The interior had been painted a rich creamy colour and smelt gloriously like fresh wood.

There were sheepskin rugs on the wooden floor, cosy blankets on the high cabin bed – which had been built into the wall like a grotto – and even a wicker basket of logs next to a wood burner.

She imagined herself lighting a fire there and burning the stupid orange letter that was still in her pocket. Not that she’d be staying.

And was it a mirage, or was there an old-fashioned typewriter in that small workspace beneath the bed?

A collection of partly melted pillar candles huddled close to it and Rosie tried to blink away the vision of herself writing there, in the peaceful semi-darkness.

She could almost hear her fingers tapping at the small round keys, her romantic novel unfolding itself like magic.

Something inspired by nature, with a lake and a wooden hideaway, and a strong, dark hero.

He’d be called something like Zain or Cain, and would have dark eyes and carry huge pumpkins on his muscular bare back, looking brooding and moody. ..

‘You all right?’

Agnes’s voice broke through her daydream, which was just as well. Her delinquent thoughts were about to steam up the windows.

‘Mmm hmm,’ she managed.

This whole place was like a hug on an autumn day, and goodness knew, Rosie could do with one – even if today she was particularly needy.

She blew out a tense breath. Because with every passing minute, it was becoming worryingly more difficult to shake off the misunderstanding she’d been oddly acquiescing to.

‘The last employee, Krista, decorated the place,’ Agnes explained, thrusting the Thermos back at Rosie and motioning that she should drink up, as though she didn’t have all day.

‘Liked her home comforts but didn’t have room to take it all in her backpack.

Buggered off travelling with no notice and left me in the lurch.

That’s why I’m in a rush for someone to take over the wild swimming and get the place ready for the retreats this autumn.

You know.’ She made a shushing noise and lowered her voice.

‘The pumpkin retreats.’ She mouthed the P word like it was something taboo.

Pumpkin retreats? Rosie scratched her head.

‘It’s been a heck of a job to find anyone to sort these retreats.

Did Wilbur tell you about my roof?’ Agnes didn’t wait for an answer.

‘The house needs a new one before winter or never mind raining cats and dogs. It will be raining on my cats and dogs. My poor animal sanctuary will become a swimming pool. And cats don’t like to swim.

’ She was wringing her hands now. ‘You’re our only hope of bringing in some money. ’

Rosie could feel her story senses twitching. Something to fight for. The chance to be the heroine of her own life, rather than a forgettable minor character, always dumped or replaced. But no – that was beyond silly. And what on earth were pumpkin retreats anyway?

Rosie gulped. ‘I’m sure there are other ways.’ She tried to ignore the thought of drowning animals that was tugging at her heartstrings.

‘This is the best we’ve come up with,’ said Agnes.

‘We’ve got to use what we have to make that money.

No question. Wilbur said you were an expert at planning wild retreats with a very limited budget.

Extremely creative , he called you. Then he came up with the idea of using the pumpkins as our.

.. what was it now... UFO? brB?’ She huffed.

‘USP! That was it. Our Unique Selling Point. He says people are going wild for these autumn vibes and pumpkin-spiced whatchamacallits. Photos in pumpkin fields and cooking marshmallows around campfires wearing pumpkin face packs and singing about the harvest moon.’ She waved a hand.

‘Or whatever. Your job to come up with something, you being the expert.’

‘I don’t really know about...’

But her unlikely host wasn’t letting her get too many words in. ‘It’s a miracle we found you. No time to waste.’

Agnes opened a cupboard and threw in Rosie’s holdall like it was a done deal. Rosie’s eyes widened. She tried not to think about the wooden lodge from that film Misery . This woman made a lovely cup of sweet tea and was surely not a hammer-wielding kidnapper.

‘If we don’t get moving with the plans, I’m going to have to sell off the land.

’ Agnes slumped backwards against the small copper sink.

There was a hint of desperation in her eyes, and Rosie couldn’t help but feel for her.

‘The only buyer who’s shown the slightest interest is some tech giant who wants to tear the place up to build factories.

They want to make robot cats. Robots replacing real pets? Whatever next?’

Rosie felt every hair on her body stand on end. ‘Whatever bloody next,’ she agreed, even though she’d just had a good eyeful of what could well be next . Robot girlfriends and chatbots that nicked your job.

‘There is one slight sticking point.’ Agnes cleared her throat.

‘Zain doesn’t yet know about the pumpkin UFO.

I mean USP.’ She shook her head. ‘And let’s just say, he might not be over the harvest moon about it.

’ She waved her arm towards the hut on the other side of the lake.

Rosie found her errant eyes following. ‘He’s not fond of crowds or fuss, and he’s like a grizzly bear protecting its offspring if you try to get your hands near his big ones. ’

Rosie blinked.

‘Or indeed his little lumpy ones,’ Agnes continued. ‘He’s very particular. Though I’m sure you youngsters could work it out. He’s got a good heart under those funny tattoos and that hair that needs a good chop.’

‘Tattoos,’ Rosie heard herself saying, as images etched themselves onto the rugged skin of the bookish hero she’d just been imagining. They suited him.

Agnes shot her a strange look and then lowered her voice, even though the Zain guy definitely couldn’t hear.

‘Though he’d be even moodier if I had to sell the land to a bunch of tech folk.

He doesn’t even use a smartphone, and I can’t see Cyber Purrz caring about his kooky crops or his bats.

Not that I’ve dared to mention the threat of selling yet.

’ She shuddered. ‘So it’s in his interests for the pair of you to work together and not fight – even if the stubborn oaf doesn’t yet know it. ’

Agnes straightened herself. ‘So, can I leave it with you? I trust Wilbur’s judgement, and you seem respectable.

A wild retreat expert, no less. And your lake swimming experience will come in handy.

In fact, you’d be wise to pretend to Zain that your retreats are all about wild dunks in the great outdoors, until you dare to mention his pumpkins.

’ She gave Rosie another visual sweep. ‘Though you may want to dress down a bit. Think Krista left some spare wellies and other crap in one of the cupboards, if you get stuck.’

‘No, I...’ Rosie gulped. It was high time she stopped trying on this fantasy life and made her confessions.

The longer she left it, the more ludicrous it would be.

She knew nothing about swimming or pumpkins or planning retreats, especially with a very limited budget .

She was an expert in precisely nothing, and she certainly wasn’t keen on bats, whatever that was all about.

None of this was her problem.

Yet she could feel a fizzing frustration at the thought of tech weirdness winning yet another battle.

Then there were Agnes’s poor cats and dogs, and she did love all things autumn.

And her traitorous eyes must have been staring longingly at the typewriter whilst thoughts danced, and fresh ideas about running writing retreats started to bloom, uninvited, even if she was sure she’d once imagined them in one of her daydreams. Stupid, of course.

But Agnes pounced on her apparent interest in the typewriter.