The nagging sense of familiarity came to a head. How could they possibly know each other? There was no way she’d forget a secret agent underwear model named Eduardo. And yet… “Have we met?”
He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “I didn’t have a beard then,” he said. “A lot changes in ten years.”
Ten years.
Her mind flew back to an exclusive, secluded estate in Napa Valley. The diverse team of professionals at a private facility that assisted in the mental health of privileged but troubled adolescents.
“You knew me as Eddie,” he added.
She snapped the seedling’s fragile stem between her fingers.
3
Eddie.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Eddie.
His little brother had been killed in a hit-and-run as he was crossing the street. Grief like that would flatten the strongest of emotional giants. He’d spent the summer at the Center, as she had, learning how to pull it together. But unlike her, he’d had an excuse. She knew now that depression could be genetic, a biological fluke, and she shouldn’t beat herself up, but back then she’d been too hard on herself for falling into a depression for no comprehensible reason. When he’d started following her around, joining her on walks, swimming laps with her in the pool, she’d tried to push him away. But he’d been too sensitive, too smart, too understanding—and she’d embraced their friendship.
Until the counselors, fearing her emotional instability, subtly separated them. Her therapist convinced her to let go of Eddie, focus on herself, and look to the future. And then Eddie went home, and she stayed another month, and then two, until finally she was ready to face the world again.
She didn’t want any reminders of that time in her life. The unbalanced girl who’d almost killed herself was a stranger, living on a different planet, and she didn’t want to return.
“Eddie,” she said, dropping the plant’s mangled corpse onto the ground at her feet. “Sure, I remember. Nice to see you.”
“I’ve changed a little bit,” he said, rubbing his beard, smiling.
Lord help her, he sure had. Taller, broader, hairier—but the eyes were the same. He’d always had such gentle, intelligent eyes.
“Me too.” She flushed. She’d gained at least forty pounds. Whether it was the meds or her fondness for apricot scones, her body was no longer petite. Of course, she was still short, since nobody had invented an SSRI that made you get taller along with the extra girth. “I’m surprised you recognized me.”
“You look great.” He held her gaze. “Really.”
She was afraid of telling him the same. Her tone would be way too convincing.
Eddie. Eduardo. Wow. He’d been cute back then, but this was grown-up cute.
“The guy inside said you could come by my house tomorrow around four,” he said. “Does that sound good to you?”
Tomorrow? Going from ten years directly to tomorrow seemed out of proportion. But if Ian wanted her to work with him, what else could she say? “All right. I’ll come by at four.”
“I can’t wait.” He flashed her a broad smile that sent shivers down her back.
Eduardo glanced at the clock on the wall of his house’s foyer. Just past four.
Melissa should arrive any second. He hoped she wore those jeans again, the ones with the ballpoint pen doodles on the thighs that showed off her curves.
Melissa.
She was even more beautiful now, over a decade since he’d first seen her sketching an ancient live oak tree in the outskirts of the Center estate.
Melissa.
Her voice had been familiar, but it wasn’t until she’d spoken her name that he’d realized it had to be her. She’d always loved plants. He’d hurried over from work and talked to the nursery’s owner, convincing the man that he’d already established a rapport with Melissa and insisted she be the one helping him. Mentioning the address of his property, and its size, had sealed the deal.
Eduardo opened the door to watch for her, his pulse accelerating as he saw she’d already arrived and was getting out of her car. It was a red hatchback with Nevada plates, and he wondered if she had just moved to the area. If she was staying.
Of all the people from those months at the Center, it was Melissa who haunted his memories: her humor, her intelligence, her depth. Much of the year of Alex’s death was a blur, but she stood out in sharp focus, the only bright light in a dark time.
She walked up his front steps, nodding a greeting. A frayed backpack hung over one shoulder, and a floppy hat as big as an 18-inch pizza box sat on her head. Her blue eyes under the brim were wary.
His heart tightened in his chest, a reaction that surprised him. It had been so long. He hadn’t realized how deeply those old feelings had rooted.
“It’s really nice to see you again, Melissa,” he said.
She averted her gaze. “You too. Is the space in back?”
“Space?”
The corner of her mouth curved up. “The dirt.”
“Ah. Yes. The dirt is in the back,” he said. “Come on in.”
She glanced at the driveway. “We can walk around through the side yard, can’t we?”
“This is faster.” He stepped aside, arm outstretched. This way she’d see more of the handsome old house and all the improvements he’d made. He hadn’t only bankrolled the renovation; he’d designed each project himself, and was proud of how it had turned out.
With a shrug, she ducked her head and walked past him, giving him so much extra space that her backpack struck the doorjamb. She shot him a look over her shoulder to see if he’d seen, and he kept a bland smile on his face, seeing he made her nervous.
Nervous could be good, or it could be bad.
He ducked his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, hoping it was the good kind.
She strode into the living room, saying nothing about the shining hardwood floors, the wainscoted walls, the colorful wool area rugs, stained-glass windows, and original paintings. She ignored all of his hard work and excellent taste and marched into the kitchen—with its charcoal granite countertops, high-end stainless-steel appliances, and bouquet of sunflowers on the table—straight to the sliding glass doors that led to the deck.
All right, so she wasn’t impressed. Maybe that was good. He didn’t want her to love him for his money.
Of course, if it got her to consider the idea…
Whoa. Part of him worried he was going too fast. But another, deeper part of him knew second chances didn’t come every day.
As he strode past her and opened the doors, he noted her cheeks under the floppy hat were sunburned. Out on the deck, she unzipped the backpack and pulled out a long stem heavy with glossy green leaves and small white flowers. The sweet scent hit him immediately.
“That’s it,” he said, smiling. “Exactly what I was talking about. I knew you could help me.”
“Star jasmine. It’s probably planted at least once within every cultivated acre of non-agricultural land in the entire state of California.” She held it up her nose and inhaled, smiling. “I like it. Even though it’s so common. It’s even better at night.”
He took it from her, lifted it to his own nose, and met her gaze over the blossoms. “I like the sound of that.”
Her sunburned cheeks under the floppy hat turned a darker shade of pink. He hadn’t intended his remark to be suggestive, but she’d taken it that way.
He bit back a smile. Good nervous.
The dirt that had inspired him to call the nursery encircled the little flagstone patio where he sat with his coffee every morning. The rest of the sloped, wooded lot was also bare soil—he’d removed the lawn right after he’d bought the house the previous autumn—but it was the small area near the patio where he wanted the garden.
“What do you think? Will this stuff work here?” He waved the jasmine.
She looked up at the network of tree branches overhead. “There’s a lot of shade, but I think so. You wo
n’t get quite as much flowering, but it won’t need as much water, either. That’s good.”
“Less water is good,” he said. He might as well try to sound informed.
“There’s actually quite a lot of space here.”
Although he knew quite well the double lot was unusually large for his neighborhood in North Oakland—he’d paid a fortune for it, outbidding a dozen other buyers—he plastered an innocent look on his face. “There is?”
“You’ll want more than just star jasmine. You’ll need a way to walk around, for one. Even if you’re using the jasmine as ground-cover, you’ll need to access the fence, clean up the leaves.”
“Leaves?”
“Yeah.” A broad smile lit up her face. “Those are deciduous trees up there. You’ll have two or three months of leaf drop to clean up every fall. Did you move in recently?”
She was beautiful when she smiled. She hadn’t done much of that back at the Center. He wished he were a comedian so he could see that smile nonstop. “Less than a year.”
“So you haven’t had to clean up from them yet. You might want to get yourself a leaf blower.”
“I hate those things, all that noise pollution,” he said. “I’ll use a rake.”
“You won’t want the jasmine ground-cover if you plan on using a rake.”
He would’ve enjoyed her smile more if it weren’t at his expense. “You seem pleased to bear bad news.”
She laughed. “Sorry. I did tell you it might not be easy.”
“So you did. OK, then, what do you suggest?” He realized that the more complicated the garden design, the longer she’d have to be at his house.
“Are you sure you want me and not one of my coworkers? They’ve got much more experience than I do. Jake has a master’s degree in lands—”
“Of course I’m sure,” he said. “When can you start?”
4
At eight a.m. the following Saturday, Melissa unrolled a coil of half-inch black plastic irrigation tubing across Eduardo’s backyard, shivering in the fog but knowing hard labor would warm her up soon. The wail of a fire truck siren split the early morning quiet, reminding her she was in the middle of Oakland. The backyard was so well enclosed by the redwood fencing and sycamore, it was easy to forget that dense concrete jungle surrounded the house for miles on all sides.
She shivered again, this time from the sixth sense that told her Eddie—Eduardo—was watching her through the glass doors to his living room. Even in jeans and an old Raider’s sweatshirt, he’d looked like a man who could haul her off to jail or liberate a small country. What the hell did he do for a living? Was it bad customer service to ask him if he packed heat?
He was packing something, that was for sure. Damn, just the thought of him warmed her up better than an hour of garden cardio and a gallon of hot coffee.
Speaking of which, he’d offered her a cup when she’d arrived, but she didn’t want to linger in his kitchen, scanning his body for clues to his profession. Or just for fun.
The more she thought of him as a sexy client with big muscles and bedroom eyes, and less like a kindred spirit from her past, the better. Too many fond memories were swimming to the surface—Eddie brushing the hair out of her face when she cried, Eddie laughing at her gallows humor, Eddie admitting he blamed himself for his brother’s death, for no other reason than that he’d survived.
Ancient history. Now she needed to build a professional reputation. Working for low wages at the nursery wasn’t sustainable forever; she had to build a client base and start her own business some day. Property that belonged to a wealthy man—most of the patients at the Center had been rich kids, so she wasn’t surprised Eddie was loaded—who knew nothing whatsoever about garden design was a great opportunity. She would take before-and-after pictures for her portfolio. The design would have to be original, photogenic, practical.
Just as she was putting the sketch back in her pocket, she heard her cell phone ringing from inside her backpack on the patio. She ran over to get it, seeing it was Jake at the nursery. “Yes?”
“Listen, Melissa,” Jake said. “Sorry, but Leo’s with me today. Rush job. Just came up.”
The plan had been for Leo to remove the weeds, amend the soil, and finish the drip irrigation system.
Her spirits fell. “All day?”
“Looks like,” he said. “He’ll be there first thing Monday. You were just doing prep today, Ian said. Not planting. It can wait.”
She clenched her teeth. Having no seniority sucked. “What should I tell the client?”
“He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. It’ll get done soon enough. But tell him you’re sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Right.” She hung up just as Eduardo stepped out onto the patio.
“Everything OK?” he asked.
She explained.
Propping his hands on his hips, he looked over at the ground. “What’s the matter with the dirt the way it is?”
“It needs a little work before we bury things in it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “It’ll help the plants thrive in the long term.”
“What plants?”
“Well, we need to talk about what you’d like other than the star jasmine.” She pulled out her sketch. “I’ve got a few ideas here for you to—”
“They’re great. Go ahead.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “You have too much faith in me.”
“I don’t think so.” He smiled, creases forming at the corners of his deep, warm eyes. “I trust you. Whatever you do is fine with me.”
A little disappointed, she refolded the sketch. Last night she’d imagined walking through the nursery, showing him the plants she had in mind, getting his enthusiastic, informed approval.
Who was she kidding? She just wanted an excuse to get close to him. Inhale some testosterone.
“You know,” he said suddenly, rubbing the dark whiskers along his jaw, “maybe I would like to know what you’re planting first before I give the green light. Just in case.”
Her heart skipped. “I think that’s very smart of you,” she said. “Can you meet at the nursery in about an hour?”
5
Their stroll through the nursery was as erotically charged as she’d hoped and feared. He’d upgraded the sweatshirt to a black leather jacket, but kept the faded jeans and the smooth baritone, which he inflicted upon her with the occasional “nice,” “beautiful,” and “mmmmmm.”
And he’d arrived on a motorcycle.
Of course he had.
“Native ferns are good for dry shade,” she said, holding up a four-inch nursery pot.
He took it out of her hands, gazing at her over the fronds. “Love it.”
Her mouth went as dry as the Mojave in late summer. “Don’t worry if it disappears between seasons,” she said. Focus, Mel, focus. “It goes dormant without water.”
“I’ve never been much of a worrier.”
She remembered that about him. Even in grief, he’d been steady, cool, unflappable. So unlike herself. “Lucky you,” she said.
Holding her gaze, he held out the fern. “I’ve been especially lucky lately.”
Her pulse accelerated. Was he flirting with her? Or was he just glad they’d reconnected in a platonic and botanical sort of way?
Emotions churning, she averted her gaze. But then, at the sight of a man and a woman standing amid the dinner-plate dahlias, her pounding heart came to a full stop.
It couldn’t be. She knew her old friend Jody lived in Oakland—and Melissa really should have told her by now that she’d moved to the area—but Simon…
Jesus. Knock me over with a crowbar.
It was Simon Brodie.
“Are you all right?” Eduardo asked.
She looked at the sexy, bearded man who had been giving her unwanted erotic daydreams all morning. Now all she could see was a boy from her unpleasant past, the same one that contained Simon Brodie. “I’m fine.
” She turned back to the couple.
While she watched in horror, Simon leaned over and kissed Jody on the lips. Jody, stretching up against him, slipped her fingers into his blond hair and drew him closer.
Eduardo’s low voice in her ear knocked her out of her daze. “People you know?”
She nodded, not looking away. When they were teenagers, she’d always suspected Jody had a thing for Simon. Melissa had been wild for him herself, even dating him in the weeks leading up to her suicide attempt—
God, now the two of them were just standing there, gazing into each other’s eyes, holding hands.
They were in love.
At that moment Jody glanced away from Simon and saw Melissa staring. As recognition flashed in her old friend’s eyes, Melissa prayed the Hayward fault in the earth’s crust beneath their feet would crack open and consume her.
She spun to face Eduardo, who was watching her with both eyebrows raised.
“Old friends,” she managed to say.
“Ah.”
“I haven’t seen them in a long time,” she added.
He nodded, but didn’t lower his eyebrows.
“All right. I used to date the guy.” Her breath caught in her throat as memories rose up in her mind. It was too embarrassing. The last time they’d seen each other…
She wasn’t ready to see him. Especially not here in a plant nursery where she got paid by the hour. Back in high school, before her suicidal sabbatical, she’d been top of the class, in line for valedictorian, the Ivy League, unlimited greatness.
“Something’s come up,” she said, mapping a path to the rear exit. “I have to go.”
Eduardo put a hand on her arm. “Are you sure?”
She’d call Jody later and explain, but right now she had to get out of there. She felt in her pocket for her car keys.
Then she froze. If she bolted, Simon and Jody might think she was as emotionally unstable as she’d been at seventeen—and that was the last thing she wanted. It wasn’t even true.
“Melissa?” Eduardo’s voice sliced through her frenzied thoughts.
Quick Takes Page 5
