The Allotment Gardens – Part 2: The Harvest Supper
Mature & Silver·EN·2 min read·Published 2026-11-07, updated 2026-11-07·Part 2 of 2
The harvest supper was held every October in the allotment society's hut, a long tin building with a stove, a trestle table and a smell of wet wellingtons. Pauline arrived with a cake tin in both hands and a sinking feeling that she had made a mistake.
"It has sunk in the middle," she said, lifting the lid.
"It has character," said Desmond, at her elbow, in a clean shirt and a tie that had last seen daylight at a funeral.
"It is a crater."
"It is an excellent crater. Come on. Put it next to mine."
His cake was perfect, golden and risen, with a neat dusting of icing sugar. Pauline's sat beside it like a small, sad hill.
By the end of the evening, hers had gone first.
"It is the crater," said Desmond. "They like a challenge."
The hut was full of noise: old men telling lies about marrows, children racing around the table, a woman in a bobble hat playing the accordion. Pauline found herself laughing at something Desmond had said, and then at something else, and then she realised she had not looked at the clock in two hours.
When the supper ended, the stars were out over the embankment. Desmond walked her back along the cinder path to plot twelve, carrying her empty cake tin like a trophy.
"Can I ask you something?" said Pauline, at the shed door.
"Yes."
"Why were you never married? Everyone says you are a catch."
"Everyone is lying," said Desmond. "I was married. She died in 2011. I stopped asking anyone to tea after that."
Pauline's heart turned over. She reached out and took his hand, rough and warm from forty years of soil.
"I am sorry."
"Do not be. It is a good story, now it has you in it."
She laughed, a little wet. "Can I ask you something else?"
"Yes."
"Would you let me kiss you? Behind the shed, where the whole society cannot see?"
"Yes," said Desmond, and his moustache twitched. "And if you say stop, I will tell them you are very bad at cake."
"That is a terrible threat," said Pauline, and kissed him.
It was gentle and slightly clumsy, the taste of tea and icing sugar between them, his hand rising to rest against her cheek. A train rumbled past on the embankment, its windows glowing, and the stars wheeled slowly overhead.
When they parted, both of them were smiling.
"Green?" he asked.
"Green," said Pauline. "Very green. Come to tea on Saturday, Desmond, and I will make another crater."
"I will bring the good flour," said Desmond.
More mature romance stories: Autumn in Quebec · The Quilting Circle · The Silver Ballroom
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