True Art

Chapter Twenty-three

REMINGTON'S POV

I parked at the back of the Manor and walked across the neat lawns that stretched out in manicured perfection. There was a kitchen over to the right, a walled garden filled with roses beyond that, and then the expanse of fields. Green, velvety, rolling fields.

I had loved coming here as a kid, Sean and I rambling through the fields for hours until it was time to head back home before our parents sent out a search party for us. I smiled, spying him about two fields away hugging a horse. They’d never kept horses here when we were young, but once Sean took over running the farm, he had bought three beautiful bay horses. He had always dreamed of having gleaming gold horses running in the morning sun. The fact that he’d never learnt to ride was only a small hitch. He loved horses, and these were kept purely for his pleasure.

I stomped across the field, clambering over the first iron gate that led into the second field. Running the farm was a huge job. Sean had a small staff: a couple of farm hands, a vet on call for the lambing season, and a contractor that arrived each harvest with a convoy of tractors and combines. When we were young, it used to seem idyllic, but now, as adults, it was clear it was a job that took every moment of your day and gave you little in return.

The farm was barely managing to stay financially afloat, which was one of the reasons Sean had decided to renovate the old stables and rent them out to artisan businesses.

The yurts had been his son’s idea, and so far, it was the one that was really bringing in the money. When I first saw the large tent-like structures I had laughed out loud. Why would people want to stay in them? But Sean had made us all camp out one night and it had been so much fun.

He had bought four yurts and since they had arrived, they’d been booked out almost every weekend. Though mostly from stag and hen parties and team building weekends. But the money was good, and Sean didn’t have to rent out the Manor. That was the real fear, and he’d spoken to me about it a few times.

He loved that house, the stillness, the way the walls carried the memories of his family for generations. That house seemed to breathe, and he didn’t want to have to rent it out. But if the farm couldn’t be sustained with the additional incomes, then he wouldn’t be left with much choice.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” Sean called to me, letting go of his horse and giving it a few solid pats on the neck.

“I thought I’d see if you wanted a cup of tea. And a chat.”

“Hmm. About your new houseguest?” He grinned and walked closer, lifting the black empty bucket from the ground and locking the gate tight. He stood gazing at the horses for a moment, and I wondered whether he was okay. He lived all alone, working hard everyday, but just as alone as he had been since his divorce twenty years earlier.

“Yeah, I’m not sure what to do now. Things feel awkward, and we haven’t picked up where we left off. I think I might be crazy for bringing him to stay with me. We don’t know each other. It’s nuts.”

Sean turned and smiled. “And yet, you fell for Matthew the first time you met him. Remember how you described him to me? Familiar. Like you knew him. And you do. Your intuition and probably the part of you in your pants know he’s right for you. It’s that stupid overthinking brain of yours that’s causing the problem.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t hold back. Tell me what you really think, Sean.” I smirked, and he winked at me. He’d been my best friend for so long I sometimes thought he knew me better than I did myself.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be really honest if you want. Come on, I’ll cook us a fry up.”

The kitchen smelt of bacon and coffee, and I set two places at the kitchen island while Sean cooked up a full Irish breakfast.