Someone Like You

Chapter Twenty-Three

Brea

Everyone heads to Zander's pub after the challenge to celebrate their win—or their loss. Nathan's bad mood doesn't seem to be lifting any time soon, so even though I tell people I'll meet them there, I head back to my house to shower, and flop onto my bed.

Nathan is pissed, and I feel like losing the challenge was partly my fault, even though I was the only one with no experience, whereas everyone else has had years to build on their skill.

It always feels like one step forward, and then two steps back with Zander. Nathan is furious with me, furious at Zander, and losing the challenge made everything even worse. I was so out of my depth today, and I know that everyone thought the same. And now they're going to know me for the girl banging the broody, pub owner/farmer who has been in a public battle with my brother for years. The sad part, I haven't even got to experience the benefits of actually banging him—since we certainly have not, as much as I would love to give in and just do it.

I'm so drained from today. Physically, as well as mentally. I just want to curl up into a ball and binge-eat snacks, watching my favourite comfort shows. But even the thought of getting up to organise that doesn't sound appealing. Rubbing my eyes, I let them flutter closed, enjoying how calm and quiet my surroundings are.

That is one thing I love about Glendale. It is so peaceful.

I must have drifted off to sleep because a knock on my door has me jolting awake. Signing heavily through my nose, I push to my feet and pad toward the door, my eyes stinging with exhaustion. Swinging it open, I stare out at a sheepish-looking Zander. My eyes roam is face for a moment before shifting toward the flower in his hand. A gorgeous, bright pink carnation. My mother used to have vases filled with these, forcing me to learn and memories so much about flowers. It became our thing. Mentally shaking myself, I force the memories and thoughts of her to the back of my mind, focusing on the man in front of me.

"Did you pluck that from my garden?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe, but it's the thought that counts. Right?" He smiles boyishly, peering down at me hopefully.

"I guess."

His face falls. Shifting his weight from his right foot to his left, he leans on the door frame, almost completely filling the space.

"I didn't think before I spoke today," he says, getting straight to the point. A frown line indents his forehead as he gazes at me earnestly. "I'm sorry."

"Okay," I reply, hugging my arms to my chest, shivering slightly, even though it's not cold at all.

Furrowing his brows, he waits a moment for me to say more, but I don't. Hesitantly, he thrusts his hand out, extending the flower toward me, but I stay where I am, blinking down at it. After a moment, his arm falls limply to his side, and a bit of the flower sheds, falling to the floor.

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad."

He offers me a disbelieving look. "I'm pretty sure you're mad."

"Disappointed? Sure. But not mad," I say calmly, not looking away from those gorgeous dark eyes, hoping that my unwavering gaze makes him a little uncomfortable, since that is exactly how he made me feel earlier today.