Twin Piques

by Tracie Banister

  “Okay, instructions. We’ve already gone over a lot of what you need to know, feeding and fertilizing the bushes, deadheading the roses, using Epsom salts to promote strong canes . . .”

  He’s staring at me again. I’m guessing he wants me to acknowledge that I do remember discussing these things with him. How could I forget about deadheading? When he first mentioned the term, I thought he was confessing to being a fan of the Grateful Dead. He explained that deadheading means getting rid of spent flowers, and we had a good laugh about it. Aw, memories of happier times . . .

  Brody’s still looking at me, presumably waiting for a response, so I give him a weak smile and he resumes his tutorial on remedial rose care. Why did I find all of his gardening babble so fascinating a few weeks ago, and now it makes me want to scream?

  “The most important thing is to deep water the roses once a week. I installed a soaker hose and buried it beneath the mulch along the perimeter of the bushes. There’s an electronic timer on the hose, so you can set it to sixty minutes and turn it on, preferably in the morning, then go about your business.”

  “Seems like you’ve thought of everything,” I say a bit morosely. If he weren’t so competent, I might have an excuse to call him with a question every once in a while.

  “I wanted to make it as easy as possible for you. Don’t worry about committing everything we’re reviewing to memory. I typed up all the information and printed it out for you, so you’ll have something to reference.”

  That was really thoughtful of him, or part of his job as Sloane would probably point out. “My very own rose bible.”

  “The gospel according to me,” Brody jokes, then chuckles with embarrassment, realizing it wasn’t very funny. “I got a few other things that you might find helpful here in the garden. Hold on . . .”

  He lopes over to the Adirondack chairs, leaving me to wonder what these “things” could be. A copy of the Farmers’ Almanac? A list of the best places in town to buy mulch? A bottle of neem oil? (Brody likes using the stinky stuff to kill aphids and prevent black spot.) He returns with none of the above, instead he’s carrying an adorable tote bag that’s red with white polka dots. It has black leather handles and trim, with a row of pockets in the front that appear to be filled with all kinds of goodies.

  “For me?” I can barely contain my excitement. I love presents! And purses. And anything that’s purse-like, which tote bags totally are. SQUEE

  “I think polka dots are more your style than mine.” He winks at me playfully before handing over the tote.

  I accept it happily, hugging the bag tightly to my chest.

  He chortles. “Are you going to look inside?”

  “Of course, I am!” Kneeling down, I place the tote on the ground so that I have both hands free to do a full bag search. Cicero runs up and takes a seat next to me, interested to see if there’s anything in the tote he might like to play with or eat.

  Deciding to tackle the pockets first, I reach into one and pull out a nice pair of ladies’ gardening gloves. They’re cotton candy pink (So, Brody does know that pink’s my favorite color!), and they have “All things grow with love” stitched on them in white. “So cute! Thank you!” I beam at Brody, who’s joined Cicero and me on the grass, sitting opposite us with his long legs folded up beneath him.

  Next, I extract gardening tools from three different pockets – a trowel, a small shovel, and a rake-y thing with three prongs. “These are darling!” Okay, darling’s not a word I would normally apply to tools, but this set has the cutest, colorful, hand-painted design on the handles and threaded through a hole in the top of each one is a bow made of gauzy red ribbon – fancy! Oh, and did I mention that what’s painted on these tools is a certain pitted fruit that holds special meaning for Brody and me?

  “Cherries?” I can’t help but smile as I remember the cherry-covered dress I wore to our lunch date.

  “Yeah . . .” He picks a leaf off the ground and twirls it around in his fingers, giving himself something to look at other than me when he says, “They’ve recently become my favorite fruit. I thought you might be a fan, too.” His eyes flick up to gauge my reaction.

  I was a fan all right – of this incredibly sweet, personalized gift, and of the man who took the time and energy to put it all together for me. And to think that I questioned whether or not he was into me! Of course, my doubt was a direct result of him acting so distant in the wake of our lunch. I’d really like to ask him what that was all about, but I don’t want to ruin this wonderful moment. Just keep opening the presents, and forget about the rest of it, Willa.

  Having emptied all of the tote bag’s pockets, which included the printed instructions on rose care (complete with color pictures!), I start digging around inside it and find a pair of pink clogs to wear over my shoes in the garden, some pruning shears small enough to fit comfortably in a woman’s hand, and a wind spinner with a spotted dog chasing a ball toward a big pink flower. “I heart this so much! The dog looks just like Patch from 101 Dalmations, which was my favorite movie as a child.”

  “As a child?” Brody raises an eyebrow, teasing me.

  “Okay, it’s still my favorite movie,” I admit. “I have the two-Disc Platinum Edition DVD set, and Cicero and I watch it together every year, on his birthday and on mine. Isn’t that right, Cicero?” I give my movie buddy a squeeze, but he doesn’t notice because he’s staring with rapt fascination at the big pink flower on the spinner.

  “I’m not even a little bit surprised by that.” Brody smirks. “You’ve got one more thing in the bag.” He points at it.

  “I’m starting to think this bag is magic . . .,” I say, dipping my hand inside it once again, “. . . and every time I take something out, another item I’m guaranteed to love instantly materializes to replace it.”

  “Funny you should mention magic since the last item is–”

  “A garden fairy!” I shriek with delight when I see the tiny bronze statue of a beautiful, winged girl that I’ve lifted out of the tote.

  “The lady at the garden shop told me that fairies bring good luck and happiness.”

  “Well, I am very happy, so this fairy’s already doing a bang-up job. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Without really thinking about what I’m doing, I launch myself at Brody, wrapping my arms around his neck and embracing him with such force that I almost knock him over.

  “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.” Blushing fiercely, I pull back a bit so that my right hand is flattened against his chest and we’re almost nose-to-nose. “I got a little carried away with myself. Must be Gossamer Mistywish’s influence.” I blame the fairy I just named, who’s still clutched in my left hand.

  “She seems to be having a strange effect on me, too,” Brody murmurs. His smoky blue eyes are boring into mine, and I can feel his hand sliding slowly up the length of my spine, the heat of his skin burning through the thin cotton of my top as he presses me up against his body. His heart pounds beneath my fingertips, and mine accelerates in response. Our lips move closer and closer, until they’re just about to touch–

  “Hold on,” I hear myself putting on the brakes and wonder what the heck I’m doing. Brody was just about to kiss you, Willa! Isn’t that what you’ve wanted since the first time you met him?

  The answer is, of course, “YES!” But I have to be smart about this. Brody’s been blowing hot and cold with me, and I still don’t know why. What if I kiss him and then I don’t hear from him for ten days, or a month, or ever? That would be a hundred times worse than his radio silence after the lunch. I need to know where I stand with him before I get in too deep. I have to do what Sloane said and be cautious, not just hand my heart over to a man who hasn’t earned it yet.

  “What’s wrong?” Brody looks befuddled as I disentangle myself from his arms.

  “That’s the question I should have asked when you acted so oddly after I came to your house for lunch, but I didn’t, because I was afraid of the answer. I was afraid you were going to tell me
I wasn’t your type, or you thought we were too different to make a relationship work, or you just didn’t have romantic feelings for me. Most of all, I was afraid that my sister was right about you – you’re still hung up on Justine and can’t ever imagine yourself being with anyone else.” I hadn’t planned on saying all that; the words just spilled out of my mouth, but it felt good, cathartic even, to finally own how I’ve been feeling.

  Brody takes my hand in his and starts stroking it with his thumb, which is nice. So nice, in fact, that I’m tempted to say, “You don’t owe me any explanations. Let’s just make out!” Fortunately, Brody speaks before I lose my resolve.

  “First of all, your sister is dead wrong about Justine. I am not in love with her; any feelings I had for her walked out the door when she did five months ago. Still, I was pretty messed up over her leaving. I was confused, I felt like I’d failed, and I just wanted to lick my wounds and be pissed off about the way things ended between us. I knew I was wallowing, which wasn’t productive or healthy, but I was enjoying my pity party too much to leave it. Hell, I probably would have stayed there indefinitely if you hadn’t come bouncing into my life, with your big, blue eyes and bubbly personality. You were so sweet, and fun, and full of enthusiasm. I’d never met anyone like you, and that enthusiasm of yours was catching, just being with you made me feel better about myself, less bitter, more hopeful about the future, and I started to think that maybe I could let what happened with Justine go and be happy again. That’s when I asked you over for lunch. I wanted to share my home and my passion for flowers with you, see if you’d like being in my world, see if having you there felt right . . .”

  “And did it?” I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. Please say “yes.” Please say “yes.” Please say “yes.” It couldn’t have just been me who thought that lunch was perfect, right?

  “Very much so,” Brody assures me, and I exhale with relief. “It was an amazing afternoon. I enjoyed everything about that lunch and was sorry to see it end so soon.”

  I frown. “Were you upset that I left to go help my client? Is that why you pulled back after the lunch?”

  “God, no! I wouldn’t have said it was okay for you to go if I didn’t mean it. I love that your work means so much to you, and you place your clients’ needs above your own. That’s commendable, and no one understands that kind of commitment and passion better than I do, because I feel the same way about my flowers. It’s not just a job; it’s who I am.”

  “I’m glad we’re simpatico in that regard,” I say, giving his hand an appreciative squeeze. “So . . . we agree that our lunch will go down in history as one of the best first dates ever, and you weren’t mad about me having to chase down Fred. I got a bead on him in a neighbor’s back yard four blocks over, by the way. He was fine, just caked with dirt because he’d been trying to dig to China. Jack Russells like to do that, you know, dig. Having that breed would never work for someone like you who has a garden. You’d be forever replant– Why are you smiling?” Brody has the goofiest grin on his face all of a sudden.

  “Can’t help it.” He presses his lips to the back of my hand. “You’re adorable when you digress.”

  “I did get off track there, didn’t I? Sorry. I’ll focus.” Which is almost impossible to do when he just kissed my hand! How romantic and swoon-inducing was that? I feel like a heroine in an Austen novel. Now, what was it I wanted to ask him . . . “Ummmm . . . okay, the million-dollar question: If you thought our lunch was so wonderful, why didn’t you follow up?”

  He sighs. “Truth is I psyched myself out. After our date, I was riding high, excited about the possibility of us, then my brain overrode the serotonin and I started to overthink things. Was I rushing into a relationship with you for all the wrong reasons . . . because I was lonely, or on the rebound, or trying to prove something to myself? Could I trust my feelings when I’d been in such a bad place emotionally the last few months? And did I really want to get attached to someone new just to see it all go to hell in the end like it did did with Justine?”

  I blink hard several times, because I’m trying to process everything Brody just confessed, and also because my contacts are really bothering me. Must be all the flower and grass pollen, although it’s never affected me before. “Wow! You really did a number on yourself. Makes me glad I leap first without asking questions most of the time. You brainy types really thwart yourselves by second-guessing what your heart tells you to do. I bet you made a pros and cons list, didn’t you? ‘Reasons Why I Should/Shouldn’t Be With Willa?’”

  “Right here.” Letting go of my hand, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded up piece of green graph paper (the kind he likes to draw his garden design plans on). “I’ve been carrying this with me to remind myself what an idiot I was for ever doubting that dating you was a good idea. FYI, the pro side of this list has three times as many entries as the cons side.”

  “Really? Three times?” I can’t believe he thought of so many reasons to go out with me! I’m flattered.

  “Well . . . I did count your legs twice since there are two of them and I think they’re worthy of multiple spots on the list. Gisele Bündchen’s got nothing on you.”

  I chortle. “She has about three inches on me and I doubt I’ll ever be on the cover of Sports Illustrated, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Thank goodness, Brody’s a leg-man. If he’d been into backsides or breasts, I would have never caught his eye.

  “Oh, and just so you don’t think I’m a superficial jerk who only cares about a woman’s appearance, your supermodel legs are way down the list.” Brody opens up the graph paper and points to the first few numbers on the pros side. “See, I’ve got much more profound stuff here at the top: Charmingly eccentric and full of surprises – would never be a dull moment with her around. Shares my love of animals; Roxie adores her. Easy to talk to. Supportive and interested in my work. That’s a really important one after what I went through with Justine. Has a wonderful sense of humor that keeps me laughing. Is a great influence, because she’s always so positive, thoughtful, and kind. Smart as a whip– Oh, no! Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong?” he asks in a panicked voice.

  I shake my head. “I think I’m having some kind of allergic reaction that’s causing problems with my contacts.” I was trying to ignore the burning and itchiness, but now my tear ducts have gone into overdrive. I pull a tissue out of my purse and start dabbing at my watery eyes with it. “Thank you for sharing your list with me. It makes me so happy to know that you appreciate me and all my quirks and think having me in your life improves it. Okay, now I really am crying.” And my nose is running. Lovely!

  “Let’s get you out of the grass and away from the mulch. I think you might be having a reaction to the cedar,” Brody deduces, grabbing both my hands. “And I promise I won’t say anything else nice about you.” With a smirk, he pulls me to my feet. Once we’re upright, he cups my face in his hands and starts to wipe away my tears with his thumbs. “Will you forgive me for screwing up this dating thing right out of the gate? Backing off the way I did wasn’t fair to you, and I’m really sorry.”

  I sniffle. “Apology accepted, as long as you promise to come to me with any future freak outs. I’m a good listener, remember?”

  “The best, and I will, but I’m hoping that was my first and last freak out. Now . . .,” he gently brushes the bangs out of my eyes, “. . . I know that asking a woman on a date just a few hours in advance is considered very bad form, but I would be thrilled if you’d agree to accompany me to the charity event at the Berkeley Rose Garden tonight. It’s for a good cause, Project Open Hand, the organization that delivers meals to the sick and elderly, and as you already know, I was responsible for doing the floral design. I’m really proud of how it all turned out and I’d love you to see the roses. Also, I’ve invited some friends from school I’d like to introduce you to; they were in the plant biology program with me. Did I mention that the theme of the event is A Midsummer Nigh
t’s Dream?”

  “Sold! I can’t imagine anything better than spending an evening under the stars with you.” Feeling a tickle in my nose, I turn to the side and sneeze several times into my tissue. Note to self: Take an antihistamine tonight. “Did you want me to meet you there?”

  “Heck no! This is going to be a proper date, with me picking you up. Is seven-thirty okay? I need to finish up here, then go over to the garden and make sure everything’s set for tonight.”

  “Works for me,” I say brightly. “I’m so excited! Thank you for inviting me, and thank you for this incredible gift!” I grab the gardening tote and sling it over my shoulder.

  “My pleasure. I’m really looking forward to this evening.” Brody rubs my arm, and my skin prickles with awareness, making my mind wander to a naughty place where those big, calloused hands are caressing the most sensitive parts of my body and I’m reveling in every delicious–

  “Willa?” My Harlequin-style daydream is brought to an abrupt halt by the hero himself.

  “Uh, yeah. Me, too. I’m sure it’ll be a night to remember.” There will finally be a kiss, right, universe? I’ve been really patient and I think it’s time for my patience to be rewarded. And yes, I know you presented me with a smooching opportunity earlier and it’s my fault that didn’t happen, but I was trying to be mature and cautious and all the other things Sloane says I never am. Besides, Brody and I deserve a better setting for our first kiss, don’t you think? The back yard of my childhood home is just too ordinary. I want special, I want romantic, I want epic!

  “Count on it,” Brody says, with a smile.

  Chapter 22

  (Sloane)

  Getting into my car, I press the power button to start the engine and toss my laptop case into the passenger seat. That case contains all the document-filled memory sticks given to me by Bradley Jensen, the CFO at Bainbridge Development Companies. Bradley is my kind of guy; he’s all about the numbers, no time wasted on chit chat or hunting down figures and reports, he had all the data I needed and gave clear, concise answers to each of my questions, which brings me one step closer to completing my business valuation on BDC.