by Donna Alward
She recalled walking through the woods with him last night, simply chatting. “I like spending time with him, but it’s too early to say anything more.”
Willow smiled softly. “There, was that so difficult?” When Laurel would have answered her, Willow held up her hand. “Seriously, I just want you to be happy. Today you look happy, so whatever you’re doing, hang on to it. You deserve it, sweetie. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Laurel lowered her gaze, touched by Willow’s little speech. She didn’t know if Willow had guessed or was just saying the right things, but lots of times over the past few months, Laurel had wondered if she was the kind of person someone could really love. More often, she felt like the consolation prize. Funny how that term came to mind. Aiden had used it regarding her return and she’d denied it. She frowned. Why was that? Didn’t she believe she deserved to be first in her own life?
“I’m not ready for serious,” she admitted. “But I’ll admit I’m open to … exploration.” She couldn’t help how her lips curved up as she said it. Maybe Willow was right. Maybe she did have morning-after glow. She certainly felt more relaxed.
“Oh, my giddy aunt.” Willow’s smile widened. “That’s not a conversation for public, is it?”
“It really, really isn’t,” Laurel admitted, and laughed a little bit. “Wil, you have no idea.”
“Good for you.” Willow looked over toward the counter and Laurel followed her gaze. The shop was getting busy again, and she’d taken up enough of her friend’s time.
“I’ll let you get back to work. Thanks for the coffee and the help yesterday.”
“Of course. And you still owe me a yoga day.”
“Right.”
Willow got up and dropped a little kiss on Laurel’s cheek. “Be good,” she whispered. “But not too good. You’ve got to be bad for the both of us.”
Laurel choked on her laugh and watched as Willow walked away, her hips swaying gently. Willow stopped and re-tied her apron before stepping up to the counter and helping a customer.
Laurel leaned back and finished her coffee. Yes, she was feeling particularly blessed today. For the first time in months, she really got the feeling that Life Was Good.
She left The Purple Pig and turned right, toward where she’d parked her car. There, sitting on a bench not ten feet from her parking space was the man she knew must be George. She’d seen him around before and after listening to Aiden talk about him last night, she knew it had to be the same guy.
She did an about-face and went back into the café and ordered a sandwich. When she went back outside into the sun, she took a moment to pause and look around.
No one made eye contact with George. No one spoke. People adjusted their path to go behind the bench rather than in front of it. And yet Aiden had said he made a point of stopping. Speaking to him and offering help. And it wasn’t because he was a police officer, she realized. It was because that was the kind of person he was.
“George?” she asked softly, approaching the bench.
He turned his head. He had a few days of beard growth on his face and a ratty ball cap on his head. Laurel ignored the dirt stains on his clothes and instead looked into his eyes. They looked tired … and wary.
“George, my name’s Laurel. I’m a friend of Aiden Gallagher’s.”
When he didn’t answer, she added, “The police officer.”
“Hi,” he said. And that was it.
It was an incredibly awkward moment, but Laurel pressed on. “I thought you might like a sandwich. My friend Willow has the café here. Her sandwiches are delicious. Are you hungry?”
He looked up at her again. “Okay.”
She smiled, went closer, and perched on the edge of the bench, not wanting to overwhelm him. She handed over the paper-wrapped sandwich. “Here. It’s turkey and cheese.”
He took the sandwich from her hand, opened the paper. She watched as he took a few bites, then used the brown paper napkin to wipe his mouth.
It was a move that surprised her. Whatever the circumstances, he hadn’t forgotten manners. And when she looked past his rough appearance, she realized that he was actually quite good looking. There was a tattoo on his right arm and he wore a simple black bracelet on his wrist. Where had he come from and why had he ended up on the streets?
He finished the sandwich, folded the paper neatly. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“George,” she said, “what did you do before … before you came to Darling?”
His face closed off, shutting her out.
“Oh, well, I’m sorry I pried. Forget I asked.” She tried a smile, remembering how Aiden had spoken of taking George to get clothing or getting him a meal. Maybe she would be able to get through to him a little better. Aiden had to be very big and officious looking in his uniform. She couldn’t imagine that she was very intimidating. “I was wondering, are you interested in a job?”
His gaze met hers. “What kind of job?”
“I own the Ladybug Garden Center. It’s really busy. I could use someone to come in for a few hours each day and do some general things around the place. Sweep the greenhouse floors, water the plants, that sort of thing.”
She got the feeling he was interested, but didn’t want her to know it. “Would I have to talk to people?”
Her heart melted a little bit. “Not really. If a customer were to come up to you, you could send them to one of the other staff. I know it’s not much, but I’m willing to try it if you are.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“Why are you asking me?” His words were slow, not from lack of intelligence, but from what she thought might be an awkward sort of caution. Her heart softened further.
“Because I want to help. I don’t need to know your story, or any of your business. Aiden believes in you and that’s enough for me.”
Something lit in the other man’s eyes. “He’s a good guy,” he said.
“I know. Are you interested? I can take you back to the garden center and show you around. I see you have good sneakers. You’ll have to wear one of our golf shirts, of course. I should have some in your size in my office.”
George turned away. “I don’t know. You just feel sorry for me.”
She put her hand on his arm. He startled, but she left it there, firm but gentle. “Yes, I do. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t help. And believe me, there’s work for you. You’ll stay busy enough.”
He looked back at her. “You’re a nice lady, Miss…”
“Stone. Laurel Stone.”
“Not … not this afternoon. But I could come by tomorrow morning.”
Disappointment weighed on her. She knew what that meant. If he didn’t go with her now, chances were he wouldn’t show up at all. Not without someone prodding him. She’d tried. And maybe it wasn’t her fault, or anyone’s fault. Aiden had said that George was very private and single-minded.
“That would be fine,” she replied, encouraging anyway. “I’m there at eight. We don’t open until nine, so I could show you the ropes and stuff.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
He nodded. “Yuh.”
She smiled. Maybe he meant it, maybe he didn’t. At the very worst, he’d had something decent to eat today. All she could do was make the offer. The rest was up to him.
Laurel got up from the bench and held out her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said, and waited.
Hesitantly, he reached out with his hand and shook hers. His hand was strong and rough, the knuckles scarred and a little dirt beneath his nails, but the connection felt good. Right. She smiled at him and let go, gave him a brief nod. “Very good. Until tomorrow, George. Eight o’clock.”
“Miss Stone?” She was half a dozen steps away when he called out to her.
She turned back briefly, wondering if he had another question. “Yes?”
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re most welcome.”
<
br /> She went back to work, unsure of what the next day would bring but glad she’d stopped, glad she’d made the offer. It had just taken Aiden to make her see that she’d been entirely too focused on herself lately.
* * *
Laurel was at work by seven-thirty the next morning. Aiden had sent a quick text saying he’d been called into work but would she like to get together the next evening for dinner? She’d texted back yes, feeling those lovely little butterflies again. She took a duster and began cleaning the shelves of the small interior store, which had been neglected a bit during the last few crazy days.
She was really, really hoping that George showed up for work, and she also had wanted to be here in case he did.
Eight o’clock came and went and no George. Disappointed, she finished dusting and fronting the shelves and then went outside to uncoil the hose to start the watering. She’d start with the hanging baskets, then move on to the tables and tables of bedding plants and vegetable transplants and then trees and shrubs. The other staff would be in at nine. She really shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up.
At eight-twenty she was watering the last row of hanging baskets when a voice called her name. “Miss Stone?”
She looked down from her perch.
It was George. At least, it had to be. He had the same blue eyes, the same cheekbones and chin. But there was such a difference from yesterday that she couldn’t stop her mouth from dropping open a little.
“You made it.” She smiled, determined to not make a big deal over his improved appearance. He’d had his hair cut, she realized. And he’d shaved. And had on clean, well-fitting clothes.
It was silly, she supposed, because she hardly knew him. But she felt so proud of him right now.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I misjudged how long it would take me to get here.”
She looked behind him and felt a sudden jolt of embarrassment. Why had she not considered transportation to work? It had to be a good three miles from the shelter on the other side of town, and the town was too small for any transit service.
“Oh, that’s okay.” She smiled, shut off the hose and got down from the small step ladder. “I’ll open the gate and show you around.”
She was dying to ask him questions now but would not. Instead she showed him the greenhouses first, then the inside of the store, the storage room, and the shed. At each spot he was attentive, and appeared to be taking mental notes as he nodded or asked quiet questions. At eight-forty-five she handed over a red golf shirt in size large, shooed him to the bathroom to change, and then put him to work finishing the watering while she prepared the cashes to open.
When staff arrived, she simply introduced him as George and said that he’d be working a few hours, helping out with the greenhouse work.
By noon, everything was watered and swept and she’d shown him how to properly dead head the blossoms on the various plants. Laurel paid him out of the till and asked him if he’d like a lift back into town. He declined, and she let it go. She understood that he probably wanted to remain as independent as possible. She wasn’t even sure he’d be back the next morning, but she smiled and sent him off and said she’d see him tomorrow.
The next day he arrived at five minutes to eight, ready to work. A shipment of soil and mulch arrived, and to Laurel’s delight, George offered to man the forklift and unloaded and moved it all in half the time that it would have taken her. He even smiled at Jordan once, and offered a shy hello to a few people before withdrawing back into his duties.
Four hours a day wasn’t a lot of time and definitely not enough to make a huge financial difference, but Laurel rather hoped that it would be the start of something for him. Like her relationship with Aiden, she figured “one day at a time” was as good a motto as any.
On Sunday, Laurel locked up at four and rushed home to hit the shower. She hadn’t seen Aiden since Friday morning, and she was nervous and excited. Would things be different between them now? Better? Awkward? He’d texted again to say to dress up a bit for dinner, so she could only assume that tonight’s date wasn’t going to be a picnic in the park.
She scoured her closet for something suitable. Gosh, she’d been in jeans and cotton shirts for so long now it felt strange to see her remaining old work clothes hanging up, unused. And they weren’t right either. They were too … professional. Pressed and plain. She wanted something a little more relaxed. Something that …
She smiled to herself. Something that reflected the person she was now. The real Laurel. After all, she was doing what she wanted, and living life on her own terms. There was no one influencing her as far as friends or clothes or what to eat … the freedom that had been incredibly lonely for weeks and months now felt a bit more like a gift.
In the end she chose a simple sheath-style ivory dress dotted with little pink flowers. Her hair was still a little damp, too damp to curl, so she pulled a bit back from each side of her face and tacked it in place with hidden bobby pins. A little makeup, a pair of ivory heels, and she was satisfied. She hoped Aiden would be, too. This was their first fancy date where plans were made in advance. There was something momentous about that.
He took her to the Foxborough Inn, a sprawling, massive colonial with white pillars and black shutters and which the locals simply referred to as “The Inn” because there was none other like it nearby. The Inn boasted twenty impeccably decorated rooms, all with antique furniture and rich fabrics, a stunning parlor decorated in wine-and-gold draperies and upholstery, and a dining room that seated around fifty.
And he’d worn a suit.
A suit.
She’d seen him in his uniform, so a suit shouldn’t have seemed like such a stretch. But it was. Aiden had such a rough-and-ready look about him that to see him in a starchy white shirt, red striped tie, and navy trousers and jacket made him seem a bit like a sexy stranger. He’d opened her door for her when leaving her house, when they reached the inn, and then again when they went inside. She was very glad that she’d worn the dress, which suited the occasion perfectly. Their table wasn’t quite ready, so the hostess led them to the parlor, where they were offered drinks while they waited.
Aiden asked for ginger ale. Laurel selected a Pinot Grigio and they sat on a tufted settee together to drink.
“Wow. When you said dress up, you meant it.”
“Have you ever eaten here?” he asked, taking a drink of his soda.
“Not in years. We did once, for Mother’s Day, I think. There was some special brunch on and Dad got reservations really early.”
“We came for Dad’s birthday last year. I thought this might be nicer than the other spots in town. For, you know. A real date.”
She smiled at him, her heart doing a little flutter. “For what it’s worth, I consider our picnic and walk a real date. But this is lovely, Aiden. Really special.”
“Cheers to that,” he replied, and they touched their glasses together.
She couldn’t look away from him. Not when she lifted her glass to drink the smooth wine, not when the outside door opened and closed again. She was getting rather lost, she thought. But why not? Didn’t she deserve a little bit of romance? A thought bubbled up and made her smile to herself. Wasn’t it appropriate that it was Aiden giving it to her? Maybe he was a few years late, but he sure knew how to make up for past transgressions.
There’d be time enough later to let reality set in. Right now she was determined to enjoy the evening, and to let it be special and wonderful.
“Mr. Gallagher? Your table’s ready, if you’ll follow me.”
The hostess led them into the dining room, and to a front corner which held a table for two and was next to a window overlooking a green expanse of lawn. It was still light out, but it was mellowing as evening approached, and the hostess lit a trio of little candles in the middle of their table. “Your waiter will be right with you,” she said, handing them each a leather-bound menu. “Enjoy your evening.”
Could it have been more perfect?<
br />
They began with appetizers: pancetta wrapped scallops for Aiden and an arugula salad for Laurel, which had an orangey-vinaigrette that was light and made the flavors pop. Just that much had felt extravagant, but then their main course came and Laurel hesitated. It looked like a work of art.
“Something wrong?” Aiden leaned forward.
“Oh, no, of course not. It’s just … wow. It looks so good.”
He laughed. “Hopefully it tastes as good as it looks.”
He’d opted for the pork chop which had come with sweet potatoes and roasted Brussels sprouts, the colors contrasting on the white china. Her meal was just as delightfully presented, from the golden chicken breast to the polenta, roasted tomato, and kale.
Her first bite melted in her mouth.
“So it lives up to the hype?”
She blotted her mouth with her napkin. “Oh, more than.” As she arranged the linen on her lap again, the waiter returned to refill Laurel’s wineglass.
“Aiden, this is … goodness. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s good to treat yourself once in a while, I think.” He sliced into his delicately done chop. “There’s not much occasion around here. And I wanted to do this for you. You’ve been working incredibly hard.”
It meant a lot that he realized it. “Owning my own business is a heck of a lot of work,” she admitted. “It’s not just the store. It’s payroll and administration and advertising and the like. I’m good at those things. I’ve got an accounting degree. But it does make for long hours this time of year.”
“Maybe you should hire more help.”
The words sat on her tongue. She wanted to tell him about George so badly. But she wasn’t sure it was her place to tell, and she didn’t want Aiden to think she’d done it to, well, impress him. Maybe his mention of George had started the ball rolling, but Laurel was becoming genuinely fond of her new employee and wanted to respect his privacy. “I’ve definitely been considering it,” she hedged, focusing on cutting into her tomato.
