Angie dropped her wallet in her lap and leaned her head farther out the window so she could hear a little better.
“Here you go, darlin’.” The redhead shifted her sunglasses to the top of her head and dramatically fanned herself with what looked like a twenty-dollar bill.
Plant-man rubbed his chin, and glanced down at the boy. “Hey, thanks—but you didn’t take Alberto’s plant.”
“’fraid I’m allergic—but I’d take a little kiss from you instead...” She flashed a smile at plant-man, then finally glanced at Alberto and waved the bill at the boy.
“Oh, that’s so low,” Angie muttered. “Sure, use the boy to get to the guy. Now what’s he supposed to do?” She watched Alberto look up at the plant-man with hopeful eyes. It was easy to see he wanted the super-sized donation as badly as the redhead wanted the extra attention.
The boy shifted from one foot to the other, then grinned and said, “Please? Please? Please?”
Plant-man reached his hand down to tousle the boy’s hair, then shrugged his consent as he leaned in toward the woman. The redhead’s smile got even bigger as the plant-man reached for the twenty, then she pulled it away so he had to lean in closer.
Angie stared as the woman put one hand at the back of the man’s neck to bring him closer. Alberto put a hand over his own mouth, giggled, and looked away.
Angie felt the heat in her cheeks as she watched. It seemed like the kiss lasted at least five minutes before Red finally pulled away. Then she held the twenty out to the boy, saying “Here you go, sugar.” She pulled her sunglasses back to her nose, then drove through the intersection as Alberto and the plant-man returned to their post.
As Angie pulled up to a stop, she noticed the lights had stopped flashing. Great. She closed her eyes for a moment and counted to ten. She was now sitting at the red light clocked to be the longest in the entire city. Her chances of making it to the staff meeting at all were quickly fading.
She opened her eyes to watch Alberto run toward her. She forced a friendly smile, then turned her attention to her wallet to retrieve a donation. By the time she looked up again, plant-man was crouched next to her car holding a six-inch pot that held a miniature rosebush with delicate yellow flowers.
“Hi, we’re raising money for the neighborhood,” Alberto said as he took the pot from the man and held it out to her.
“Here you go,” Angie said, “but I don’t really need a plant—I’m on my way to work and...I’m really, really late and...and...well, here.” She held out a ten-dollar bill.
Keeping her focus on the boy, she tried to ignore the heat still blazing in her cheeks, heat that seemed to have gotten much worse as the plant-man leaned closer.
“But this is our best one,” Alberto insisted, “and you’re our last customer.”
Angie forced herself to take a deep, calming breath before she turned her attention to the plant-man to explain she really, really had to get going.
His eyes were brown like Alberto’s, but seemed even darker under his light eyebrows. There were deep laugh crinkles at the corners of his eyes; his skin was tanned in a healthy, outdoorsy way, she decided, and not in the I’m-from-California-and-I’m-always-tan kind of way she was used to seeing. His hair was a dozen shades of blonde; rich gold, cream, and a full range of yellows from flaxen to the lightest of browns.
Plant-man maintained his crouched position next to her door while Alberto handed the plant back to him.
“I’ll go get the money can.” The boy scampered off to retrieve the now unattended watering can filled with the morning’s donations.
“Hey, I’m really sorry about the delay—I bet you thought you were going to have one of those perfect mornings today. And I’m especially sorry about...well, the woman in front of you.” He grimaced a little and rolled his eyes.
“No problem,” she lied, staring at his adorable crooked smile. He seemed genuinely apologetic. Maybe Red wasn’t his type after all.
Alberto returned to the man’s side, holding the watering can tightly to his chest. “She’s giving us a ten—you should kiss her like that other lady.”
Angie looked at the boy, then at the plant-man.
He held her stare, and the corners of his mouth curved up a little as he shrugged one shoulder.
“No, wait,” Alberto added, “half a kiss and the plant.”
“Half a kiss?” Plant-man smiled, then handed her the rose bush, taking the bill.
Angie held the pot and continued to stare at him, feeling a part of herself slipping away as she fell into the depths of his dark eyes, eyes that now seemed to be coming closer and closer...until finally she let out a little sigh and simply let her eyes close...and waited.
He must have turned at the last moment, though, because the next thing she felt was the warmth of his lips on her cheek; warm soft lips that lingered there while she forgot how to breathe.
It was a simple, friendly, chaste kiss.
Half a kiss, at that.
But if half a kiss sent a tsunami of heat through her that pooled in the very core of her, she wondered what in the world a whole kiss would have done.
Her musings were shattered by the blare of a car horn directly behind her and she blinked open her eyes as plant-man’s lips sadly broke contact with her cheek. The sunlight seemed dazzlingly bright all of a sudden, and a coolness replaced the warmth on her face as a soft breeze dried the wetness that lingered on her skin.
She breathed.
Angie watched him straighten up, then step back and bring one hand up in a wave. Then, with a puzzled look on his face, he tipped his head and moved his fingertips to his mouth, just as she realized her own fingers were touching the place where his lips had just been.
The driver behind her leaned on his horn in earnest and Angie moved her gaze to the intersection in front of her and accelerated.
Chapter Two
Jason Macdonald pulled to a stop in front of his garage, turned off the engine and sat with his hands still gripping the steering wheel, reviewing the many strange moments of his morning.
He hadn’t really intended to meet the demands of the woman in the red convertible, but the look on Alberto’s face had done him in. As nympho-redhead had shoved her tongue into his mouth during their twenty-dollar kiss, she’d slipped something into the pocket of his . He took out a card—her business card—and took a look.
Georgia Valentine, Attorney At Law.
San Diego’s most successful attorney for
Litigation & Mediation. Divorce and Paternity.
He shook his head. Another aggressive career woman. Been there, done that. He tore the card in half and stuck it back in his pocket to toss into the recycle bin inside.
It was the blonde after the redhead—their last customer of the morning—that he’d been thinking about all morning. He’d thought about her while he’d walked Alberto to school after they’d wrapped things up. He’d thought about her as he’d waited in line to deposit the cash in the bank the neighborhood had chosen for their garden fund. And he’d thought about her during the entire thirty-mile trek east of the city as he’d made his way home.
Her cheek had felt flower-petal soft and she had smelled of orange blossoms. More surprisingly, it was the first kiss that had made him feel something since Calida had died. He wasn’t used to feeling anything, and he liked it that way.
Feelings simply complicated things. He’d had his one love; he didn’t expect anything more. Besides, the blonde, too, was probably some up and coming executive. Nothing he would be interested in. Ever.
Her Mercedes S-Class, her Gucci watch, her cream-colored designer pantsuit—all of it pegged her for a lifestyle he had no use for. Her look was way too familiar, bringing back too many painful memories he’d worked hard over the last four years to suppress. At thirty-nine he’d accepted his new life and embraced his new goals, and his single lifestyle suited him just fine.
Except her hair. Her hair hadn’t fit the corporate image the woman obvi
ously worked hard to project.
To him her hair had looked like angel hair; gossamer fine, baby waves of a natural honey blonde. Nope. Didn’t fit.
Jason grabbed the watering can from the seat next to him and mentally shook away any lingering thoughts as he made his way up the flagstone walkway to his house.
He paused at the front door of the two-story custom log house to glance at the acre adjacent to it. What had begun as a whim had definitely taken on a life of its own.
The front and back yard had been easy. He’d painstakingly landscaped the front to feature drought-tolerant native plants, then put edible landscaping in the back along with several rows of wooden raised beds now overflowing with seasonal vegetables. He’d finished by planting fruit trees along the perimeter. The property was a showcase of plants locals could put on their property or in their gardens, and a perfect small-scale version to show neighborhoods what a community garden could look like.
But the empty space next to the house had kept nagging at him.
Finally he’d given in to the idea of a lavender field. No real maintenance. It would seed itself. He didn’t even have to trim the bushes unless he wanted to harvest the fragrant buds. He’d planted a dozen types of lavender in circular rows separated by wide, pebbled paths. He’d built it in a kind of labyrinth that ended with a private hideaway in the very center. The field symbolized his new way of life.
Relax. Smell the flowers. Keep it simple. Slow down.
And he’d worked diligently to keep this daily mantra going, glad he’d decided to sell the business after Calida had died. First he’d made sure her parents were taken care of for the remainder of their lives, invested what was left, took a sabbatical cruise for six months, and volunteered a while with Heifer International. He’d taken himself as far away from the hustle and bustle as he could, concentrating on returning his hands to the soil.
Then he’d sold the penthouse apartment and concentrated on finding the perfect property out in the country, east of San Diego. A piece of land he could putter around with, maybe grow a few things, and, most of all, enjoy the solitude.
He was done with the fast pace and the stress of owning a wildly successful landscape architecture firm. Creating his new company, called Green Zone, had given him a perfect way to keep himself just busy enough.
Turning the key in the lock, Jason stepped into the foyer, shoved his keys in his pocket, then hit the play button on the answering machine that sat on an antique gate leg table next to the huge oak staircase that climbed to the second floor.
“Hello, Mr. Macdonald...Derek at KSUN...we still don’t have that final decision for you. We’ve got a new reporter starting today and, unfortunately, she’ll have to give the final okay about the Up Close and Personal segments. She’s got some other ideas...and...well, I’ll keep in touch.”
The message ended with a beep and Jason hit replay to make sure he’d heard correctly.
So, yet again, another delay. Even though the slick news anchor had already promised Green Zone would be selected for the popular community segments.
Jason had drawn up plans months ago for the latest neighborhood garden he knew would be perfect for the segments, but had convinced the community to wait to break ground. The publicity would be critical in helping take the program to the next level, and countless other neighborhoods would directly benefit from the coverage by KSUN. They’d agreed, but were naturally getting impatient.
He was beyond impatient.
Now there was another person in the mix keeping an entire neighborhood waiting. And she had other ideas?
He frowned at his reflection in the hall tree mirror, and rubbed the blonde stubble on his chin. Before he changed his mind, he grabbed a butter-yellow suede shirt off a hook, threw it on over his T-shirt, then walked out the door and to the edge of the lavender field to cut some of the fragrant flowers. His experience with receptionists who guarded front desks like they were CIA agents had taught him well the importance of walking in with a peace offering.
With an armful of lavender, he jogged back to the bright green F-150 he’d left in the driveway.
He’d find this new reporter and demand she get the filming started once and for all.
Chapter Three
Angie pulled to a stop in a reserved parking space next to the building, grabbed her briefcase and the newly acquired rosebush, hurrying as quickly as her throbbing knees allowed through the lobby toward the conference room.
She pushed open the door and slipped into the empty seat next to Derek. His father was finishing a PowerPoint presentation of year-to-date ratings and viewer demographics.
Good. She could at least sneak a copy of the presentation from Mr. Ethan’s secretary later and get completely caught up.
Will waved at her from across the huge cherry wood table, blew her a kiss, then mouthed congratulations.
She smiled back. Her heart still thumped in her chest from her hurried walk through the building, and her knees were starting to really ache from the strain of her run from the parking lot.
“You’re really late, darling,” Derek whispered in her ear. “And what happened to your hair?”
“Tell you later...sorry I’m late.”
He leaned in a little closer to her. “You missed the big announcement.”
A few more co-workers gave Angie the thumbs-up as she straightened up and opened her briefcase to retrieve a pad of paper.
“What’s with the scrawny plant?” Derek asked
Angie looked at the tiny yellow blooms on the rosebush. Young, a little immature, but definitely not scrawny. She’d mentally already picked out a spot on a sunny window ledge in her office where she knew it would thrive after she repotted it and gave it a little fertilizer.
“You want me to toss it?” he asked.
She watched as he picked up the pot and dropped it into a nearby wastebasket. “Wait—”
“You have something to add to the presentation, Ms. Fletcher?”
All eyes turned toward her while Angie looked up at her boss. He stood with his finger poised in the air above his laptop, ready to change the slide on the screen at the front of the room.
Quickly she scanned the slide that was meant to be used in the evening newscast, then said, “No numbers have been completely verified yet on exactly how many people were affected by the wildfire...and...I think we should hold off one more day so we release an exact figure on the air.”
“Point taken. Let’s move on, then. Last on the agenda is the Up Close and Personal spring season. Ms. Fletcher, do you have a report?”
“Actually, I’m recommending we take another look at two other businesses besides Green Zone. I’m not convinced it’s our best choice.”
“Hmm...I see. Let’s say we table the discussion for now?”
“Sure thing.” She forced a confident smile as her boss clicked off the LCD projector and everyone rose to leave.
Well, that went over like a lead balloon.
Derek joined his father at the front of the room while she gathered her briefcase and then leaned toward the nearby wastebasket to retrieve the plant. She tamped down the soil that had loosened when Derek dropped it, still feeling a little irritated Derek had assumed she didn’t want the tiny rosebush.
Derek and his father both glanced her way as she got up from the table and walked gingerly toward the door.
Derek caught up with her halfway down the hall. “I’ve got to go return a phone call.”
Angie frowned at him. He hadn’t missed their Monday morning cup of cappuccino since they’d become an “item” last year.
“And lunch is off too. Hair appointment.”
“I think it looks fine,” she said, staring at his perfectly coifed hair.
“Zeke says it’s looking a little shaggy on-camera, so he adjusted some appointments to squeeze me in over the noon hour.” He shrugged his apology before he pivoted to head back toward his own plush office down the hall.
She couldn’t deci
de if Derek was acting strange or if her perception was tweaked as a result of her weird morning. A morning that had given her a pounding tension headache that rivaled the pain in her knees, a morning spoiled in every way.
And what was that little discussion between Derek and his father after the meeting broke up? And that look they’d given her? Had to be about Green Zone. It didn’t matter. She had no intention of tramping around in freshly fertilized soil to talk about the greening of inner city neighborhoods. Not when Cassondra could easily cover Green Zone in one of her noontime All About Town pieces. Sure, the business warranted some KSUN airtime, it just wasn’t what she wanted for her special spring segment.
She’d worked too hard to stay as far away as she could from anything remotely like down-on-the-farm stories. She’d be using her stint as community reporter to groom a nice path toward a regular field reporter assignment, where she really belonged, covering serious news and not doing fluff pieces. Then, if all went as planned, she’d end up an evening anchor in a couple of years.
She’d just have to convince Derek to back her up. And he would once she explained her reasoning that Green Zone belonged in Cassondra’s segment and not hers.
On her way to her office, Angie paused at the reception desk to pick up her messages. She waved at Claire, who was busy on the phone, then turned to walk away. Just as she did, she felt both bandages lift free from her knees and fall out the bottom of her pant legs. When she stooped down to retrieve them, fresh pain shot down both shins.
With difficulty, she rose to her feet and tossed the bloody evidence of her horrible morning into the trashcan in the lobby.
As she limped toward her office, she groaned out loud as she read the first one. Zeke had called to apologize that he needed to cancel her hair appointment so he could get Derek in for an emergency cut, but he could squeeze her in tomorrow night instead. Obviously, Derek’s hair came first.
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