Just Can't Forget You: (Oakland Hills Short Story 2)

by Gretchen Galway

  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 won’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?”

  Chapter 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.

  P
ropping 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?”

  Chapter 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.

  She looked at him. He’d moved closer, so close she could smell his cologne. Or maybe that was the testosterone. She drew the scent into her lungs, enjoying the distraction.

  Leaving would be worse than facing the music. If only Eduardo were some hot boy toy of hers, there to caress and worship her among the perennials, facing Simon again wouldn’t have the same embarrassing potential.

  If only…

  “Eduardo?” she asked.

  “Yes?”

  “That’s…” She trailed off. Would he remember? They’d shared a lot of secrets at the Center, but would he remember the details of her teenage angst so many years later? Heart pounding, she put a hand on his arm—and left it there. “That’s Simon.”

  He stared at her for a long, hot second before finally lifting his hand to her face, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek with the back of his fingers, his knuckles like a kiss.

  “Then we should go say hello,” he said.

  Chapter 6

  RELIEVED Melissa hadn’t bolted, Eduardo seized the excuse to get closer to her. Capturing her hand in his, he turned to greet the infamous ex-boyfriend, the one who’d bailed on her when the going got tough.

  The man was blond, good-looking in a yuppie surfer kind of way, and was obviously infatuated with the glowing, equally infatuated woman at his side. Eduardo didn’t try to hide his dislike. From what he remembered, Simon had avoided her completely after the suicide attempt. He hadn’t returned her calls, her emails, nothing.

  “Melissa?” the woman asked, eyes wide. She was taller than Melissa, also with generous curves, and wore her long sandy-brown hair in a ponytail.

  “Eduardo,” Melissa said, “this is Jody and Simon, old friends of mine.”

  Jody shook his hand, giving him a curious smile, but quickly turned back to Melissa. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” Melissa said.

  Jody glanced at Simon, her smile tightening, and everyone fell silent.

  “So, I’m so surprised to see you here,” Jody said. “What are you up to?”

  “I work here.”

  Eduardo noticed Melissa had paused a moment, and there was an edge to her voice. Simon stood off to one side, his hands in his pockets.

  “Here?” Jody asked. Then she stretched out her arms. “Are you kidding me? That’s fantastic! I thought you were still in Las Vegas.” She enveloped Melissa in a bear hug, and after another awkward moment, they broke apart.

  Melissa came over and stood close to Eduardo, brushing her elbow against his and plastering a huge smile on her face. “You two look good. Long time no see, Simon.”

  Thinking she should have a little support, Eduardo hooked a possessive arm around her shoulders. Much to his satisfaction, he felt her fingers sl
ip around his waist. His blood heated.

  Simon took his hands out of his pockets and stepped forward, offering one. “You look great, Melissa.” His gaze darted to Eduardo, who stroked the curve of her shoulder. When her own fingers, still clutching his waist, began exploring the contours of his hip, he stopped caring about what the blond surfer yuppie had done to her long ago, turning his thoughts instead to what he’d like to be doing to her himself.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were here,” Jody said.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve only been here a few weeks, but I should have,” Melissa said. “I’ve just been so busy.”

  “I can see that,” Jody said, smiling.

  Eduardo slowly moved his hand down her arm to her waist, hoping the awkward conversation would go on a little longer. She felt lush and sexy, sweet and warm.

  To his disgust, she dropped her hand from his hip and offered it to Simon. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Simon’s face relaxed and he shook it with obvious eagerness. “It’s great to see you, too, Melissa.”

  “We have to get going,” Melissa continued, returning to Eduardo’s side, “but let’s talk tonight. Promise.”

  The women squeezed hands and waved and repeated their plans to catch up, and then Melissa and Eduardo strode out the back gate to the street.

  With their arms around each other.

  * * *

  Melissa forced herself to pull away from Eduardo as soon as they were out of sight behind a billowing Cecile Brunner rose that blanketed the chain-link fence. Her car was parked at the end of the street, and she planned on studying drip irrigation for the next several hours until her emotions had cooled.

  Which would be impossible in Eduardo’s arms. Cooling was the last thing that was going to be going on if he kept stroking her shoulder like that.

  “Thanks,” she said, wiggling away from him, “but they can’t see us anymore.”

  “I don’t care if they can see us or not.” He held her gaze. “Do you like Spanish?”

  “You mean the food?”