Five Things I Love About You

by Sarah Ballance

  Uglier even than New York City.

  And yet another reason she should be home, not here.

  When she reached her floor, she opened the door from the stairwell to the hallway and froze. A beautiful six-foot-tall lace leaf maple tree was parked outside her apartment door, its root ball encased in a burlap sack. A card hung by a looped ribbon. She extracted it from the envelope.

  Didn’t think you’d see too many fire escapes back home. Thought instead you should think of me when you saw trees.

  Oh, melt. It was by far the most ridiculous gift she’d ever received. And also the sweetest. She stood there for the longest time just staring before she finally she let herself into the apartment and dragged in the tree. Her heart fluttered in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with four flights of stairs in triple-degree heat. Crosby was unreal. Maybe that was what should scare her. It probably would if not for the terrible injustice that rolled out in front of her, like a red carpet to hell.

  She was leaving.

  He wasn’t.

  Enjoy it while it lasts.

  And then what? Be wrecked for life?

  She positioned the maple by the window where she had a great view of it and the fire escape, then grabbed her phone and pulled up Crosby’s number to text him.

  Hardwood, huh? Freud would love this.

  She hit send and tossed her phone on the sofa, then poured a glass of wine. It was her third. More points for the city…she could actually have a drink while she was out and not worry about getting home. She and Peyton had gone through three courses, so the buzz never happened, but there was nothing stopping her now.

  She glanced at the bed. And against her will, she remembered her brother had had condoms. A partial pack. One she’d obliterated. With a man who gave her a tree.

  Somewhat reluctantly, she grabbed her laptop off the coffee table and hit up Amazon for a refill and a new set of sheets. Blue and tan stripes. Nice and manly. Her brother was a decent guy. A bit of a geek meets smart ass, but if she could manage for one second to unsee his condom stash, she’d have to admit he was good-looking. He just needed to work on the presentation a little. Like losing the Star Wars sheets. She ordered the new set and, shudder, a replacement box of condoms, then closed the computer and drained the glass of wine. She eyeballed the fifty-inch flat-screen TV on the opposite wall and thought hard about queuing up something on Netflix. But instead she picked up a piece of junk mail laying on the coffee table and sketched a tiny container garden. One sized just right for the fire escape.

  Her phone dinged.

  Screw Freud. :) What does Estelle think?

  She grinned. The man had used a freaking emoticon.

  It’s big and hard and only going to get bigger and harder. What’s not to like?

  I don’t know. I kind of prefer warm and soft and wet.

  Her grin grew until her face hurt. Before she could reply, he sent her another one.

  I love it when you ride me. When you scream my name. When you want it so bad the whole building hears you beg.

  If he kept that up, they were going to hear her beg some more. She picked up her wine and tried to get the last drops from the empty glass.

  I love that you text with entire words, she wrote. She was joking, but not really. She was just sorely in need of a change of subject, or she’d have to add a vibrator to that order. Sheets, condoms, and a vibrator…a guy in a warehouse somewhere would have a blast packing that box.

  She expected a text, so when the phone rang, she nearly dropped it. Crosby. Seriously? Suggestive texts were one thing. Actual speech? He had to be kidding.

  But he had sent her a tree.

  She answered and tried hard not to sound terrified. “Hey, you.”

  “That’s what you love? Really?”

  She laughed. His playful incredulity set her at immediate ease. What was she worried about? He melted her. The only reason she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye is because hers were rolled back in her head. That, or she was a couple thousand miles away. Ouch. “I was just getting warmed up.”

  “Good. Get yourself nice and warm. Get hot. Because I want to see you tonight.”

  “What if I want to wait and let you get me there?”

  “No pants,” he said. “When I get there, you’re going to spread your legs for me, and I’m going to suck on your clit until you scream. And I’m not touching any other part of you until you do.”

  Her breath caught. Her nipples tightened, already protesting the idea of being ignored for the thirty seconds it would take her to fall apart with his teeth and tongue working her. So much for embarrassment. She had a feeling she’d hit a land speed record with the force of the orgasm he promised.

  “Just in case we’re not clear,” he said, “I want you all the time. Long and hard and fast. Slow and easy. Floor. Fire escape.”

  “Not a one-night stand,” she said, more to herself than him.

  “No,” he said softly. “Two amazing weeks, however you want them.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sunday, when Crosby picked her up to take her to his mother’s dinner, Estelle was surprised to find his late-model pickup to be immaculate. Work trucks were supposed to be a wreck, weren’t they? She tried to keep hers back home clean, but inevitably, the small gardening tools would pile up on the passenger-side floorboard alongside her gloves, and dozens of hand-drawn garden plans would litter the seat. She had software that allowed her to show clients their redesigned landscape in full color against an image of their homes, like a photograph into the future, but she saved that for the presentation. She preferred to think with a pencil in her hand.

  After a fifteen-minute ride away from the heart of the city, Crosby parked the truck at a neatly maintained brick home with a small, albeit meticulously landscaped, lawn. “You and my mom,” he said. “You have something in common.”

  “This is beautiful.” Stunning, and not just because it was beautiful, but because it was unexpected. “Your mother did this?”

  “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

  Estelle swallowed whatever foreign feeling threatened her. Just dinner. With an entire family. Something she hadn’t done in the whole of her dating life was now occurring following a couple of nights of crazy sex with a man who she’d gotten naked with after just a few hours. She didn’t do random sex with strangers, so she had nothing with which to compare, but that all-nighter didn’t feel cheap. She hadn’t felt cheap. She felt…treasured.

  “So the whole family will be here?” Temporary or not, that brought on the pressure.

  “Every one of them. And they are all going to be studying your every move. I don’t typically bring anyone to the family dinners, so I’d be surprised if they didn’t try to wedge you under a microscope.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “Blame me. I won’t talk, and it’s driving them all crazy.” He shrugged and tossed a sheepish smile her way. “We’re typical men…we don’t really open up unless we have to.”

  The front door opened, and a tall man with the same blonde hair as Crosby, streaked with the same natural lowlights, emerged to lean against the porch railing. “That’s Sawyer.”

  “You sound worried.”

  “He’s smiling. Never trust him when he smiles.” With that, Crosby adopted a ridiculously dubious look and climbed out of the truck. He circled around and opened her door, and she let him, mainly because the enormity of this thing hit her hard. Again. Meeting the family. Was she crazy? Crosby had three brothers…she knew how much trouble her one had caused her over the years. And considering Crosby didn’t date, she might as well be walking into a pit of piranhas. If piranhas lived in pits.

  She hopped from the truck and shivered when Crosby put his hand on the small of her back.

  Sawyer opened his mouth, but Crosby cut him off. “Don’t even.”

  “What?”

  “Your face.”

  “It’s the only one I’ve got.” He turned his own set of
laser-green eyes on Estelle. “Miss Donovan, I have no idea what you’re doing with my brother, but it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Estelle, Sawyer,” Crosby said by way of introduction. “And I’d like to apologize in advance for his mere existence.”

  Before she could do more than smile, an older woman joined them on the porch. She had her sons’ coloring, though she was a good foot shorter than either of them, and a softer, youthful face that had Estelle second-guessing whether she was old enough to be Crosby’s mom. “You must be Estelle,” she said warmly.

  The voice from the phone. It seemed a lifetime ago that Estelle had called Fusion over the dead air conditioner. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Chase. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your generosity with the spare air conditioner. Crosby won’t tell me how much I owe, but I’d love to compensate him.”

  “In his defense,” Sawyer said with a snicker, “there are some services for which a man just doesn’t want compensation.”

  Crosby’s mom offered a gracious smile, holding it even as she playfully smacked Sawyer in the back of the head. “Call me Alice,” she said. “And come on in. You might as well meet the rest of these holy terrors. Are you an only child?”

  Estelle followed her, trailed by Crosby and Sawyer, into a spacious, open floor plan—a clearly modern renovation that maintain much of the home’s original integrity, with tall baseboards and a fireplace made of old red brick, the edges softened by time. “No, I have a brother.”

  “My condolences, dear.” She gestured toward a large, L-shaped leather sofa that held three carbon copies of Crosby and Sawyer, each of whom stood to greet her. “Estelle, meet, Liam, Ethan, and Russell. You can blame the elder statesman of the group for the behavior of these boys.”

  “It’s my good, strong genes,” Russell said with a wink as he reached to clasp her hand.

  “I’ve done my best to raise it out of them,” Alice muttered, though humor glinted in her eyes. “For what good it did. Excuse me just a moment while I check dinner. Thank goodness you weren’t here last week. Crosby was supposed to bring ingredients for dessert and couldn’t find his way to the grocery store and back. These boys went stark raving mad without it.”

  Oh God. Totally her fault. Did they know?

  “Because we love your baking,” Liam said, as he and the others returned to their seats.

  Alice waved a flustered hand and left for the kitchen.

  “Did you hear that?” Ethan asked. He leaned back against the sofa cushions and rested his hands behind his head. “We were completely normal until Crosby didn’t bring back the ingredients for dessert last week.”

  “Not that we blame him,” Sawyer said.

  Russell’s brow climbed. He looked from Sawyer, who was smirking, to Crosby. “Why?” he asked. “What were you doing?”

  Crosby shot Sawyer a warning glance, which he ignored with a gleeful smile. “Dumping pickle juice on Estelle.”

  “If that’s a euphemism,” Russell said, “I don’t want to know what for.”

  Crosby rolled his eyes. “No, Dad. I actually broke a jar of pickles on her.”

  “Unconventional,” Liam said. “But it clearly worked.”

  Sawyer snorted. “Damn straight.”

  Oh, God. Estelle wanted to crawl under the floorboards, but for the death glare Crosby fixed on his brothers. She felt oddly protected, the feeling unfamiliar, but good. Almost worth the embarrassment of having tidbits of her sex life flung from one side of the room to the other.

  “Language!” Alice called from the kitchen.

  Crosby took Estelle’s hand and led her toward the back of the house. “I’m showing Estelle the garden.”

  Alice popped out of the kitchen. “Do you garden?”

  “Actually, I’m a landscape architect. You’ve done a beautiful job on your front yard.”

  “Oh, honey, I’ll have to borrow you one of these days. I volunteer with one of those neighborhood beautification groups, only we can’t seem to stick to our own. There’s nothing better than fixing up a tired old yard for someone who can’t do it for themselves. Really brings them joy, and it lasts all season.”

  “That’s such a wonderful thing to do,” Estelle managed, more than a little taken aback. She was still reeling from the sight of the thriving greenery. That there was room for actual landscaping so close to the city’s urban center floored her.

  “Might be for selfish reasons,” Alice said with a smile. “I think I get more out of it than they do. Anyway, you two get out there so you can get back. I’m putting the rolls in the oven now.”

  “Dinner smells delicious,” Estelle said.

  “You’ll be blown away,” Crosby told Estelle. “People beat down the door to get to her food.”

  “You boys would beat down the door to get to a bag of marshmallows. Makes me think I work too hard.”

  “We appreciate you,” Crosby assured her.

  “And marshmallows,” came a voice from across the room.

  Crosby took Estelle’s hand and led her through the house, which was larger than it appeared from the outside. It shone from top to bottom, from the gleaming wood floors to the sparkling appliances. She’d always thought the houses near here were small and dirty, but she was wrong. Embarrassingly so. And, she realized, the stench was gone. Just minutes from the city, and aside from the small lots, she felt miles and miles away.

  The back yard was lusher than the front. And the flowers…they were astounding. Brightly colored blooms burst from every direction, their hues beautifully complimenting and contrasting one another as they tumbled down trellises and from weighted stalks that teetered in the humid summer air. Straight out of a Disney movie, a pair of birds fluttered and preened in a stone birdbath situated in one corner. A tiny vegetable patch sat in the middle, its edges flowing with the surrounding flower beds to create a path that wound through the space, leading to a bench swing parked over a patio made from cobbled slate.

  “This is unbelievable. Your mother did all of this?”

  “Between doing and giving orders, yes. We haul in plants when she asks, but she loves to get her hands dirty.”

  “The neighbor outreach program idea is…beautiful.” Estelle had heard of such things in sitcoms and the occasional news story, but she’d never been so close to it. She’d never seen the real people behind it.

  “Yeah, it is. I’ve helped her with some of the grunt work. It’s emotional for these people. Many are elderly. Some are wheelchair bound and couldn’t do it if they wanted, and others are just too strapped for cash to plant anything in their yards. Hard to justify putting flowers and mulch in when you need every penny to keep the lights on and the fridge from being empty. It almost always brings them to tears. The men, too.”

  Estelle took a tentative step into the yard, wanting to be a part of it, as much as she worried she’d disturb the birds, which now numbered three. She couldn’t think of a time when one of her clients had been brought to tears. The best she could hope for was payment at the end of the day, and rarely did that come with emotion. Not that her clients were rude, but they hired her to do a job, and she did it. Her mother’s garden aside, Estelle’s life’s passion ended in a business transaction, and for the first time, she wondered if any of those people for whom she worked ever stopped to really see what she’d done. She wanted to know all about the program—what it entailed, who they chose to help…how she could help.

  But she wouldn’t be around for that, would she?

  “Funny thing about all this nasty concrete,” Crosby said, his quiet tone giving her the impression he read her mind. “People here see enough of it. They really appreciate the green stuff.”

  “Okay,” she said. “You win. You’ve changed a major perception—or should I say misperception—I’ve held about the city. I would love to make people cry with my work.”

  “Ah, that makes four, does it not? And you have how many days left?”

  “Six days.” And they wer
e officially flying. Because suddenly her work felt meaningless, she needed a change of subject. “But that doesn’t explain the other thing.”

  “What other thing?”

  “The thing where Sawyer knows so much about the services for which you chose not to be compensated.”

  He shrugged, a poor distraction from the boyish grin that lit his face. “I told you, we only talk when it’s necessary.”

  “And what was so necessary about us?”

  He grabbed her fingers and tugged her close. “We are beyond necessary. We’re essential, at least for the next week. Which is why I had to stoop to asking my brother why you fled your own apartment the morning after. But that was all I told him.”

  “No details?”

  “Are you kidding me? Do you think I want him looking at you knowing you can literally bend over backwards?” He leaned in and kissed her softly.

  She melted to her toes. It wasn’t fair. Even the kind of kiss that wouldn’t be embarrassing should his family see them seemed to change her. Since she met Crosby, her world had been a series of shifts—some subtle, some seismic—and it was becoming more and more clear to her that it didn’t matter if this thing lasted two days or two weeks or two years…he’d changed her. What they had together changed her. And like it or not, there was no going back to who she had been.

  But there was no staying, either. Not in the city. Not when her whole life was on the opposite coast.

  Wasn’t it?

  …

  Crosby couldn’t keep his eyes off Estelle. She wore a simple sundress, but she was so beautiful, he ached inside. His family loved her, which he’d expected, but he worried they’d overwhelm her. He hadn’t wanted her to be uncomfortable, but he did want her to meet his mother and see that green did exist inside the city limits…that it mattered to the people there, too. But he needn’t have worried for her comfort. By the time the group had polished off the last of his mother’s three homemade pies, she was clearly at home.