by Sarah Gay
“Not since high school.” He pulled his hat off his head and stared down at it. “I earned this hat one summer when I helped out on a horse ranch.” He placed the hat back onto its shelf. “Cowboys are one tough breed.”
“Right,” she said, her thoughts jumping to her benefactor cowboy as her eyes perused his house. “I don’t remember that chair the last time I was here,” she said, pointing to a plush green chair as she walked into an office area that faced a window with a full view of his back yard. “I thought you were moving out?”
“I am,” he said with a casual shrug. “I brought a few things back with me to be more comfortable while I’m staying here, overseeing the progress of your garden,” he said, pointing to her back yard, which now had a winding path of gray pavers and black pebbles.
His window had an unobstructed view of her kitchen window on the main floor and bedroom window upstairs. Her eyes widened, wondering how much could be seen from here, like if he’d ever seen her dance to her 90s music after getting out of her shower. She released a sigh of relief; at least she’d always wrapped herself in a towel before getting her groove on. She made a mental note to order wood shutters for her windows before the new owners moved in.
“When did you say you were moving?”
“I didn’t say, but I’m in no rush to leave.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “Oh,” she said with a wide smile, not caring if he knew how happy she was to hear that he’d be staying, at least for a few more weeks. “So, you’ll be coming around more than you did last week?”
“I wish I could,” he said, opening his back door and stepping out onto the cherry-stained deck that overlooked his garden. “I’m going to do what I can, but with the shop opening in three weeks, I’m drowning in work right now.” He held a remote in his hand that resembled a garage door opener and smiled.
“Then why are you smiling?”
His face lit. “I have something to show you. Close your eyes.”
A rush of excitement blasted through her as she closed her eyes and waited. Jack clicked the remote in his hand.
She felt Jack move behind her. He ran his hands along her stomach, then pulled her into a soft embrace from behind, his breath warming her ear. Her body would have melted to the ground if he hadn’t been supporting her. It felt so amazing being wrapped in his arms. She could stay like this all night, relaxing into him and feeling more loved than she’d ever felt before.
“Open,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes to a wonderland of twinkling lights, strung from the far corners of his yard to the center, where dozens of strands connected to a metal circle at the top of a high pole. The lights brought the bright colors and depth of the garden to life. “It’s amazing. Were these lights up last week?”
“I strung them up in the spring, but haven’t had any reason to light them, until now.”
“I didn’t think your garden could be any more breathtaking, but this…” she said, placing a hand to her chest. “This is absolutely enchanting. The soft light gives a heavenly glow to everything back here.”
“It does now,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
She rolled her shoulders back into his chest, then tilted her face up, tucking her head under his chin. She concentrated on his chest as it rose and fell, setting her respirations in time with his while her eyes scanned his back yard until they ultimately settled on a waterfall that cascaded down the boulders she’d climbed up last week in search of Navi. The water continued off the rocks, bubbling into a thin river that curved halfway through the yard, ending in a small pond with goldfish and waterlilies.
“It’s so peaceful. With the floral scent, the bubbling brook and the soft lights, you could host meditation classes here.”
“Who has time to meditate?”
She laughed. “Spoken like someone in desperate need of meditation.”
He took in a deep breath, causing her feet to scoot forward as his stomach pressed into her back. After a minute of him not exhaling, she turned around. “Why are you holding your breath?” she asked, concerned by his red face.
He exhaled. “You interrupted my meditation,” he said dryly.
She touched his neck and laughed. “Holding your breath doesn’t count as meditation.”
“Worth a try,” he said with a shrug, then nodded to his yard. “Come choose some veggies for the salad.” He took her hand, leading her into his gardens.
They wound around his white rose bushes, walking to the far corner of the yard, where six long wooden gardening boxes stood in an area of his yard she hadn’t seen before.
“Like my produce section?” he asked, lifting a handheld tool from off the side of a gardening box and digging into the dirt.
“Halloween is in three days. How do you still have vegetables in your garden this late in the fall?”
“We have a year-round growing season.” He pulled a carrot bunch up by their green, bushy stems. “You haven’t eaten veggies until you’ve eaten from my garden.” He held out the carrots to her, but she wasn’t sure how to hold them.
She held her arms out in front of her, cupping her hands. He tilted his head to the side and smiled as he placed the carrots in her hands.
He laughed. “Never seen a carrot come out of the ground before?”
She wrinkled her nose and asked, “Is it that obvious?”
“Not at all.” He coughed down another laugh as he moved to the opposite side of box. “Do you prefer spinach, romaine, or leaf lettuce?”
“Leaf lettuce,” she said, following behind him as he grabbed three large heads of lettuce.
“That’s a lot of lettuce,” she said with wide eyes.
“Nothing says ‘I’m sorry’ better than a huge salad,” he said, digging for something else.
“Here,” she said, looking down at the carrots in her cupped hands, “add the lettuce to my arms.”
He objected with a slight shake of his head. “No. You’ll get your arms all dirty.”
“You don’t think I can handle a little dirt?” she asked, raising her left brow. “I walked ten miles a day for six days on dirt roads in Peru last year.”
He rested his arms against the edge of the planter box and stared at her for a full minute, searching her face as if he were wanting her to answer a question he hadn’t verbalized. “You’re the most unique and refreshing person I’ve ever met.”
His golden-brown eyes and dark lashes grabbed her, held her, but it was his words which caused her chest to burn. If she’d ever experienced a perfect moment in her life, this was it, and she would savor every second of their time alone together tonight, every touch, every kiss. She bit at her lower lip and swallowed hard, not breaking eye contact. “I am?”
“You’re one of a kind,” he said, his eyes dropping to her lips.
She closed her eyes and parted her lips, waiting…
“Hello!” a familiar woman’s voice echoed through the yard.
Becca’s eyes flew open and scanned Jack’s yard until she noticed a pregnant woman waddling toward them. Becca moaned out her disappointment. “Holly’s here?” she asked Jack.
Jack cleared his throat. “Part of my penance. I said I didn’t want to be friends with you last night, but I do. I couldn’t sleep after our argument, thinking about how right you were, and how stupid I’d been. I’m with you. If we want this thing between us to last, then we’ve got to cultivate it, like my garden. And I don’t want to get in the way of you having other friends, and to prove it I’ve invited Holly and Nick over for dinner. I know I’ve been moving too fast for you, so I’ll take a step back and work on this friendship.” He loaded her arms up with the lettuce. “I’ll let you set the pace. Friends first.”
What? No…I want to kiss! she wanted to scream and lay a big one on him, but she didn’t. “Thanks, Jack. That’s very sweet.”
“Talk about sweet.” He dusted the dirt off his hands. “Wait until you’ve tasted my berry cobbler with ho
memade vanilla ice cream.”
“Did I hear someone say ice cream?” asked Holly, rounding the rose bushes with a smile that could clear the cloudiest sky. “Thanks for inviting us to your garden dinner party, Jack.” She turned to Becca. “I see something more exciting than raspberry jam showed up on your doorstep,” she said, catching Becca’s eye, then glancing at Jack as he greeted Nick.
Becca begged Holly with her eyes to hush about Jack, hoping to prevent Holly from telling him that she’d texted his photo to Becca before Becca had shown up on his doorstep. Not paying attention to her footing as they walked back to Jack’s house, Becca stumbled over a stone paver and dropped a head of lettuce. She hugged the carrots and lettuce to her chest while she bent over to pick up the lettuce from the ground. As she rose, her lower back seared with pain.
“You okay?” asked Jack, his face expressing his concern.
Becca nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I think the stress of moving and lifting all those boxes has flared up an old injury. Nothing a hot bath can’t fix.” Hopefully.
“I get it,” Jack said with a sigh. “I injured my shoulder in college and it’s never been the same since.” He pointed to four partially reclined seats surrounding a raised gas fire ring. “Those are ergonomic chairs. We were going to have dinner on my back deck, but we can sit and enjoy the fire while we eat, instead. Those chairs will be easier on your back.”
“That’s thoughtful. Thanks,” she said with a soft smile.
“And feel free to come into my yard anytime and try out my hammock,” he said, pointing to two large trees in the opposite corner of his yard. “I have a brother who slept in a hammock while he played football in college. It’s the only thing that alleviated his back pain.”
The idea of snuggling in a hammock with Jack caused Becca’s mouth to parch. She licked her dry lips. “The ugly one?” she teased Jack.
He looked at her with a sideways glance. “They’re all ugly,” he said in a monotone voice.
Holly fell in step with Jack. “So, you’re the lucky one who found Becca’s cat?”
Jack’s face lifted into a broad smile, but he didn’t answer. He simply glanced at Becca and nodded.
Relief washed over her, followed by hunger pangs when the aroma of roasted chicken reached her nose as they stepped into the bright blue and yellow kitchen. Becca placed the carrots and lettuce into the empty chrome sink. Jack opened the oven to the crackling sounds of chicken drippings splashing onto a hot pan. He flexed his arms and bent down, pulling the chicken out of the oven.
Becca swallowed back her drool, and not for the chicken. “How’d I get so lucky?” she asked herself aloud, as if speaking to her frisky cat at her feet.
Holly giggled. “I knew you were ready,” she said, bumping into Becca’s side.
The cool water running over Becca’s hands as she scrubbed the carrots in the sink lessened the heat that flushed her cheeks. She contemplated whether she should allow Holly to continue with her speech or not. If she let her continue, the conversation would, if nothing else, force open a dialogue with Jack.
“Ready for what?” asked Nick, totally clueless.
Holly wiggled her brows, catching Becca’s eye. When Becca returned Holly’s questioning look with an affirmative blink, Holly continued. “Ready for love.”
Becca’s eyes shot to Jack, who stood with his back to them, holding the pan of chicken over the stovetop. The pan dropped, clanking down onto the stovetop, its juices splattering onto the counter on either side of the stovetop. Jack flipped around, his eyes immediately darting to Becca. Her breath caught in her chest as he advanced toward her. He grabbed her hand, not taking his eyes off her as he excused them from Holly and Nick, pulling her into the hallway and out of earshot.
He brought her hand to his chest over his heart and held it there as his eyes searched her face. “Is that true?”
She attempted a seductive smile as she locked eyes with his intense gaze, but it proved difficult while she swallowed to control her nerves.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, lowering his face and claiming her lips.
She breathed out a sigh as her body relaxed, yielding to her inner longings. Jack’s kiss softened the edges of her mouth, moistening her parched lips. His hands gathered the loose material of her shirt at her waist until his grip held her tight, deepening his kiss.
Sounds of clattering dishes originated in the kitchen. Jack pulled back and touched his forehead to hers with an exhale. “They don’t need us. We could head over to your house and leave them here.”
Becca laughed. “Leave them in your house? Wondering where we went?”
He shrugged. “It was worth a try,” he said, taking her hand as they walked back to the kitchen.
Chapter Six
The next morning brought with it sunshine and warmth. At seven o’clock in the morning, Becca had already shed her sweater on her brisk walk to her shop.
She slowed her pace in front of the neighborhood bakery to breathe in the salty air, saturated with the essence of salt and freshly ground grains. She smiled at how the large glass windows of the bakery, dusted with flour, provided a glimpse into the creative mind of the baker with her white apron wrapped around her midsection, reminding Becca of how hot Jack had looked when he tossed on his long black bib apron that reached from his chest down to mid-thigh. She went lightheaded, thinking about how the apron had molded to his chest.
A middle-aged man walked past her. He opened the glass door and held it open for her. “Coming in?” he asked.
“No, but thanks,” she responded with a smile.
The man nodded and continued inside. She recognized him as a regular at the bakery, but she wouldn’t be joining him today. At least once a week, she’d stop inside to chat with the baker, but not today. Today, before her store opened, she needed to paint a display table for McKinney’s annual art festival—and she was still stuffed from supper last night.
She rubbed her stomach, remembering the seven-course apology meal Jack had made her. It had been the perfect evening of food and friendship, even if she hadn’t been outwardly social; she’d been too busy staring at Jack from across the fire ring to socialize with Holly, wishing they could steal away for more kisses.
A massive black truck stopped in front of her boutique, blocking traffic. Two men jumped out of the cab and walked behind the truck. She picked up her pace to see what they were up to, wishing she’d worn her tennis shoes instead of her sandals.
“Hey!” she said in greeting, panting and out of breath when she finally reached the truck.
“Good morning, sunshine,” said Jack, with a grunt as he lifted a large planter filled with blooming wildflowers out of the truck and placed it next to her shop’s front door. “I brought you some flowers.”
She smacked her hands to her chest, her body tingling with excitement. “It’s gorgeous, thank you,” she said as the truck’s engine roared and pulled away. “You’re early.”
He reached down and gave her a quick kiss. “You said you needed to get in by seven this morning to paint something for the art festival next week, so I thought I’d come help,” he said in a chipper voice.
“You sure you want to paint?” she asked, looking him up and down. He wore a light blue button-up shirt, gray slacks, and tanned leather shoes that matched the color of his eyes. He looked and smelled amazing—like he’d just walked out of a men’s cologne ad. “You’ll spoil your clothes.”
Jack bent over and grabbed hold of the floral pot. “Oh, these old things?” he said, spinning the flowerpot closer to the door, then dusted off his hands, “I know how to keep myself clean. My grandpa had me pulling weeds before church every Sunday—told me that if I got dirty, Grandma would ship me home before supper. And I’d just as soon cut off my big toe than miss a plate of her Sunday fried chicken.”
“Your grandparents took you to church with them?” she asked, visualizing him walking to church as a young boy, his feet kicking up dust on the
dirt path, like something out of an old Norman Rockwell painting. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” She unlocked the door, then pushed it wide open, allowing the fresh air to funnel in.
“Yeah,” he said with a long sigh. “She was an amazing woman.”
Becca’s chest constricted to see the pain in Jack’s warm eyes. “She passed away?” she asked.
His shoulders dropped as he stepped in behind her. “She died a few months before my grandpa. His heart couldn’t take the separation. At least I had one example of a loving relationship.”
“I wish I could’ve met them,” she said, handing him three partially used gallons of paint left over from the store’s remodel.
He stared down at the containers in his hands. “What are you going to do with…” he asked, examining the paint cans. “—burnt rose, cornflower blue, and white? American flag?”
“Not a bad idea, but considering my merchandise is from everywhere in the world except the US, we may want to stick to a white background with blue and red flowers. I don’t want to make it seem like I’m trying to trick or confuse anyone.”
“You’re the boss,” he said, setting the paint cans down next to the flowerpot.
She had to admit, hearing him say she was his boss had her heart pumping, but she didn’t want that to become the norm. “We’re a team, no one’s the boss around here.”
He stood tall and scratched his left brow, looking off into the distance for a long minute. “Could I maybe be the boss, sometimes?” he asked with a teasing smile.
She responded with flick of her hair, then slapped his arm with her paintbrush. “I guess that depends on how well you paint.” She gave a slow blink and nod, inviting him to play along. “Let’s see if you can really stay clean while you paint.”
“Sounds like a challenge,” he said, snapping his fingers as fire lit his eyes. “But I should warn you, I’ve never lost a bet.”
