He kept working over the same terrace of roses, removing the wilting and dead blooms and then going over the plants again, and then again, as if they would suddenly oblige him by withering just so he’d have an excuse to stay close to the man who’d settled on the bench near him.
Mace couldn’t say what it was that held him there, exactly. Yes, he’d always been drawn to beautiful things, but he wasn’t used to applying that term to another man. Still, there was no getting around it. There was simply no other word that fit him. If the little blond were a flower, he’d be a ranunculus, bright and many-petaled. In the Victorian era, the bloom had carried a specific meaning in floriography, the language of flowers: “I am dazzled by your charms.”
Mace darted an embarrassed glance toward the artist, as if his meandering thoughts might somehow be overheard, then quickly looked back at the plant in front of him when he inadvertently caught the man’s eye. He really needed to move on to another terrace, but before he could talk himself into it, Jerry ambled over and started haphazardly clipping at the roses Mace had already finished with.
Mace carefully schooled his features, irritated at both his coworker’s intrusion and the indiscriminate harm he was carelessly unleashing on the rosebush.
“You almost done here?” Jerry asked. “‘Cause the azaleas are blooming.”
Mace grunted noncommittally at the azalea non sequitur. They weren’t scheduled to prune any of the flowering shrubs until later in the week, and even so, Jerry wasn’t normally one to look for more work. The woman with children had left the rose garden, though, which probably explained Jerry’s inclination to find something else to do. The guy was just bored and wanted to move on. It was beyond clear that he didn’t actually care about the plants they were paid to tend.
“Those walkways that lead to the road?” Jerry continued. “When the azaleas are in bloom, they get so thick that people like to go there for a little ‘privacy.’ This time of day we’re almost guaranteed to scare up a few teenagers having sex. Definitely more entertaining than being stuck here, staring at these fucking flowers.” He smirked, sending a pointed glance toward the man on the bench that Mace had been drawn to, and added, “Or the fairies they attract.”
Mace scowled, the expression startled out of him by Jerry’s insulting comment. He tamped the unexpected surge of anger down quickly, but then had to resist turning and hitting Jerry when their brief interaction spurred the artist to gather up his things and leave. Mace had no idea if the beautiful man had overhead or if he’d just picked up on Jerry’s general nastiness, but either way, he definitely blamed his coworker for the loss.
He clenched his jaw, then made himself relax. After all, he was no stranger to either disappointment or loss.
Jerry opened his mouth, no doubt ready to spew out some other unwelcome suggestion or comment, but before he could, Mace mumbled, “Still got two terraces to do here in the rose garden.”
He walked away before Jerry could reply. No point engaging the guy in additional conversation, and he definitely wasn’t about to go play voyeur with him in the azaleas.
Mace noticed a spot of color on the stone bench, and he scooped up the small, tangled mass as he walked past. It was a set of pink earbuds. He surreptitiously held them to his nose before tucking them in a pocket, half expecting them to carry some kind of floral scent from the bright flower of a man.
Which was ridiculous.
Of course they didn’t.
Still, he thought, lips twitching in an almost-smile, he’d keep an eye out from now on, just in case the guy ever came back looking for them.
“I’ve already checked it out to your account, but can you wait a few minutes, Mason?” Helen nodded toward a couple of teens waiting at the library checkout counter behind her as she handed Mace the book on indoor container gardening. She’d special ordered it through an inter-library loan for him after he’d mentioned taking some cuttings from the park, an unexpectedly thoughtful act that still blew him away. “I’ve got something in the back for you that I think you’ll like,” she added, her eyes twinkling.
Mace nodded, almost tempted to smile back at her. He didn’t know why the feisty little librarian had taken a liking to him, but in the months since he’d first applied for a library card, she’d been consistently friendly without asking anything in return. So far, she hadn’t been put off by his reserve and despite his better judgement, he’d started to anticipate seeing her each time he came in.
Helen was old enough to be his mother, and he doubted they had anything in common other than their mutual love of books and flowers. Now that Trevor and Kelsie were out of his life, though, she was probably the closest thing he had to a friend.
Not that he’d make the mistake of counting on anything as inherently unreliable as friendship again, of course.
He flipped through the pages of the book she’d handed him while he waited for her, pausing when he came to a section on propagating indoor azaleas. Jerry had been right about Woodward Park’s azalea-lined walkways. When Mace had left the park for the day, he’d noticed how heavily the blooming shrubs secluded the pretty trails. He hadn’t noticed anyone taking advantage of their privacy the way his coworker had implied, but he’d passed a couple of groups of people who’d glared at him for intruding on their probably-drug-related activities.
They’d been smart enough not to bother him, but they’d definitely looked sketchy, and Mace wondered if the park’s patrons ever got harassed when using those trails while the azaleas were in bloom. Hopefully, regular visitors knew better than to avoid the otherwise popular paths this time of year. Not really his problem, of course... but the idea of that area being unsafe for people still bothered him. He’d pushed his concerns aside, though, when he’d gotten Helen’s text letting him know that the book was in.
Mace couldn’t remember ever seeing a garden or a houseplant while growing up. Most of the homes he’d been assigned to had barely had what passed for lawn, and nurturing and caring for growing things—whether plants or the foster children who seemed to multiply like weeds each time he was shuffled to a new home—had definitely not been anyone’s priority. Now that his job had given him a taste of it, though, he was hooked. The idea that something lush and beautiful could come from such humble beginnings, could often grow and flourish even in harsh conditions, seemed nothing short of miraculous.
The one time Trevor had tried to get in touch after Mace was released from prison, his former foster-brother had scoffed at the idea of Mace “wasting” himself on such a dead-end job, but Mace loved working in the city parks. Besides, as far as he was concerned, Trevor had lost the right to have an opinion about Mace’s choices when he’d let Mace take the fall for his bungled robbery attempt—an ill-advised stab at getting the better life that the two of them had always promised each other they’d find someday.
“Now, Mason, I’m hoping you can give this little thing a better life,” Helen said, startling him out of his thoughts with words that felt like they’d been plucked right out of his head. She was holding out a sprig of purple flowers, their cut stems wrapped in a damp towel encased in a plastic bag.
Heliotrope.
Mason’s lips started to curve up before he could catch himself.
“Just like cherry pie,” Helen said, pushing the cutting into his hand with an answering smile. “Smell.”
They had a unique scent reminiscent of vanilla and cherries, and he and Helen had talked about the fragrant blossoms briefly just a few weeks ago, when she’d found him an out-of-print book about the meanings of flowers.
“Devotion,” Mace said out loud, pretty sure that had been the meaning of heliotrope.
“That’s right.” She smiled at him, patting his hand. “And this particular one came from a plant that mysteriously showed up in my flower bed on my last wedding anniversary. Twenty years together! Now that’s devotion.” Her eyes softened as she thought of it, then she refocused on Mace. “Do you have someone special, Mason?”
There hadn’t been anyone since Kelsie, and her dual betrayals—both her failure to stand by him and, of course, what she’d done with Trevor—had shown him what a mistake it was to trust or rely on other people. Kelsie’s actions had just reinforced what Mace should have already known, that being alone was always the safer bet, but even before that, his relationship with her had never been anything like whatever—whoever—put that soft look on Helen’s face.
With Kelsie, being together had always been more a matter of the two of them being used to each other than being right for each other. Growing up in a system that it was so easy to get lost in, they’d stuck with each other for some sense of security, but other than where they’d come from, the truth was that he and Kelsie hadn’t really had all that much in common. And once Mace had gotten over the sting of her betrayal—as harsh as it may sound—he’d found that he didn’t really miss her.
Not even the sex.
Well, okay, maybe he missed the sex a little.
Still, sex was easy enough to get if he needed it, and he’d much rather find a willing one-night stand when needed than get into anything deeper or let himself get involved with someone he might be tempted to count on again. Besides, he had no illusions about the likelihood of finding “someone special” to be with twenty years down the road, like Helen had. Even if he’d believed such a thing was possible for him—which he definitely didn’t—it just wouldn’t be smart to take that kind of risk.
Kelsie and Trevor had taught him that for sure.
“Well, I didn’t meet my Chris until I was in my forties,” Helen said, not seeming at all put out by the shortness of his one-word reply. “You’ve got plenty of time, Mason.”
The overhead lights glinted off her wedding ring as she patted his hand again, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiled up at him. Helen was always doing that—patting him—and even if he shied away from too much unnecessary touching most of the time, for some reason, with Helen, it didn’t really bother him.
She looked back down at the flowers she’d given him. “You’re going to want to set up a humidity tent when you pot these, and keep them out of direct sunlight until they take root. Probably about two weeks.”
Mace nodded, tucking the book under his arm and slipping his hand into his pocket to fiddle with the pink earbuds while he half-listened to the rest of her instructions. He didn’t really need to hear them, he knew what needed to be done for the pretty little flowers, and he let his mind wander a bit as Helen walked him through how to nurture the heliotrope cutting.
The man from the park had been carrying a bag with a bakery logo on it—Delicious, the new one across the street from Mace’s apartment—and he wondered if the artist was a regular customer there. If so, Mace could always leave the earbuds there for him. But… he didn’t really like that idea. He’d rather return them face-to-face if he got a chance.
Just for the chance to see him agai—
Well, just to make sure the other man got them back.
3
Danny
The changeable spring weather had been more hit than miss all week, and the gorgeous days had inspired Danny to make lunch in the park part of his new routine. He rolled his eyes at himself as he passed the empty rose garden with a little sigh of disappointment. Mm-hmm. Sunshine… that’s what his inspiration had been. Still, Gavin had loved the new floral designs Danny had come up with, and he was going to stick to his story about wanting to expand the line when it came to the hour he spent roaming the sprawling park each day.
The hour that was now up.
Danny tucked his sketchbook under his arm and headed back through the park in the direction of the bakery. The truth was, he'd barely added anything to his designs all week. He couldn’t seem to settle into actually drawing when every sight of a park employee in that signature khaki-shirt-and-green-pants ensemble made his heart speed up a little in anticipation. So far, though, he’d failed to run into the hot gardener again, and it was probably time to stop thinking about the man.
No matter how delicious Danny’s fantasies might be, the reality was that even if he did come across Hot Gardener again, nothing was going to come of it. Nothing good, anyway. After all, he could still remember the flash of anger on the guy’s face when he’d caught Danny looking, and even if he managed to stumble across the guy and got to look a little more, some things just weren't meant to be.
No matter how much Danny would like to wish it were different, hooking up with a man like that most definitely fell into that category, so like Elsa said, it was time to let it go.
Past time, really.
Danny squared his shoulders, tucking his sketchpad more firmly under his arm as he made his way toward the edge of the park. He was going to take Elsa’s advice, starting now. Besides, there were much better uses for his future lunch hours. He could use the time to search for his still-missing car keys, or for his newly missing earbuds. He could work on talking Sherri into adding a men's line to her boutique, or—God—try to convince Gavin to start using a different delivery service for the mail-order side of things.
Danny was seriously coming to dread the sight of the all-too-familiar brown UPS truck. Tad, the ugh-worthy delivery driver, didn’t seem capable of taking a hint, and Sherri had confirmed the man’s smarmy, sluttish tendencies just that morning. She’d stopped in for a breakfast pastry and a little bit of gossip, mentioning that she’d run into Tad when she’d been out to dinner with her husband the night before. According to Sherri, the UPS driver had been wining and dining Brenda, the owner of Just Because, the upscale gift shop two blocks down from Delicious, which meant he really was a total man-whore.
Danny normally wasn’t one to slut-shame, but that, combined with Tad’s overall pushiness, just made his skin crawl. Gavin was expecting another delivery at the bakery that afternoon, and just knowing that had Danny seriously tempted to dawdle at the park a little longer in the hopes that Tad would have already come and gone by the time he got back to work.
Not that avoidance was the only reason to dawdle, of course. Even without running into Hot Gardener, the park definitely had other charms. Especially here, right at the edge.
There was a path leading to the road that was lined with azaleas, and their beauty and sheer abundance made it feel like some sort of enchanted walkway this time of year. The lighting wasn't great, but even so, Danny couldn't resist pausing to get down a few quick ideas.
He leaned against a rock outcropping and flipped open his sketchbook, drawing fast to outline the general shape of the blossoms and the way they contrasted with the backdrop of other foliage. He only had a clutch pencil with him, so he scribbled notes in the white space, recording some of the shades of the blooming shrubs so he could add them in later—fuchsia, coral, blush, magenta, raspberry... so far, the cookies he’d had in mind had all been individual flowers, but the azaleas had him envisioning a set that fit together like puzzle pieces. He’d have to hand-cut them, but he knew he could shade them perfectly if he could just capture this moment, and nothing would be better than bringing to life the profusion of glorious color around him.
Danny lost track of time as he let his mind run with the idea, filling page after page with notes and rough sketches that could be refined later. The walkway was quiet, and other than those brief moments when they blocked his view, he barely registered the few other people using it. His attention was totally focused on the living art around him, and he didn’t even hear the two men who came up behind him until a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, startling an embarrassing squeak out of him.
Danny’s head jerked up just as the one who had grabbed him spun him around. The other man—small-eyed and bearded and mean-looking—immediately grabbed his sketchbook out of his hands, knocking his pencil to the ground.
“What the fuck are you doing on our trail, you little fag?” the one still holding his shoulder aske
d, leaning in with an ugly sneer.
Danny froze at the unexpected threat. The man was close enough that he could count his pores. Close enough that it was impossible not to smell the unfortunate remnants of something that had included too many onions on his breath. But as unpleasant as all that up-close-and-far-too-personal sensory input was, Danny fixated on it almost gratefully. Anything to try to avoid the panic that rose hot and fast, constricting his chest and making it hard to breathe as panic started to fill him.
“He musta thought this would be a good place to jerk it,” the bearded one sneered from behind him, thrusting Danny’s sketchbook toward Onion Breath. He’d flipped it open to one of the naked-gardener pages, and the low laugh that accompanied the man’s words did not bode well for Danny’s chances of having the encounter end painlessly.
Danny took a slow, shuddery breath, trying to think through the surge of fear that made his knees feel like they’d liquefied. It certainly wasn't the first time he’d been harassed by bigoted assholes—not even the first time he’d had to deal with the threat of violence—but it was the first time in a long time that he'd let himself get into a position where he felt so completely helpless to do anything about it.
Other than Danny and his two attackers, the path was deserted, and the heavy vegetation not only hid them from sight, but would also most likely muffle any sounds. Neither of the men was huge, but they were both significantly bigger than Danny.
And meaner. That fact was abundantly clear.
Onion Breath still had a grip on his shoulder—tight enough that there would no doubt be finger-shaped bruises later—and the two men had him sandwiched between them so that he couldn’t move at all without bumping into one or the other.
The hair on the back of Danny’s neck was standing on end as the hot breath of the bearded one washed over him from behind, and he swallowed hard, eyes darting around for some kind of inspiration on how to get out of the danger that had blindsided him.
The Delicious Series: The First Volume Page 3
