Page 27 of In This Moment

“Not at all.” She held the laminated sign while he taped. “I mean, if you worked at the bank or courthouse, maybe, but not at the Gazette. Besides, Twain is super sweet and mild-mannered. He could be another unofficial mascot, like Plucky.”

They continued toward the next box, and she rolled her head to stretch her neck. Her fibro was getting overly achy again and fatigue was threatening to put her under. Most of the excitement from the day had wound to a close.

“Yeah, okay. I could try to bring Twain for a few days and see. He’d probably love tagging along.”

There were a few stragglers out and about, but most of the shops had closed for the night. All except the bars and restaurants. Vallantine liked to roll its sidewalks up after dark, or so the expression went. She’d have to get used to that again now that she was home. Boston never seemed to sleep.

A cool breeze blew, tinged with scents from the river and spring blooms. Cherry blossom trees lining the curb were at their peak, as pink petals floated in the air, coating the street. Soon, leaf buds would replace them. Cast-iron old-world lampposts lit the way with a yellowish glow while purple and white pansies danced in the curbside flower boxes. Stars winked overhead, too vast to count, and she’d missed it. More than she’d remembered. Missed this. Being able to see this many stars and stroll in early spring without five layers of clothes or watching over her shoulder to be sure she wasn’t followed. Colorful awnings and turn-of-the-century buildings. Window displays and people who waved.

Distracted, she turned to look at him, and found him staring at her. Again. He’d paused by the next news box, stoically watching her. A silent smile crinkled the edges of his eyes, even if his lips hadn’t caught up yet.

“Sorry.” She shrugged. “I was reminiscing.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Do you know you wrinkle your nose when you’re embarrassed?”

Shoot. Did she? No one had told her that before. She brought her hand up to cover the traitorous body part, but he gently grabbed her wrist, lowering her arm.

“Don’t. It’s an adorable trait. Besides, I need all the leverage I can get when it comes to you.”

His timbre had dropped a note. Seductively lower. The motion of touching her had shifted him closer, so that they were nearly toe-to-toe, and he had yet to release her wrist. Warm hands. Calloused fingers. Thoughtful eyes. So darn green. More like moss in the low light. And Lord help her, his scent was alluring.

One of them needed to speak, so she said the first thing that came to mind. Which was dumb. She hadn’t done that since she was a kid. Plus, she couldn’t comprehend what had come out of her mouth because she was distracted staring at his.

“He was a stray.”

What? Blinking back into focus, she raised her gaze to his. His answer still didn’t compute. Probably because she didn’t know what she’d said.

“You asked where I’d gotten Twain.” One corner of his mouth curved in a half smile like he’d known her thoughts had plummeted south into naughty territory. “One of my first nights in the new house, I caught him digging through the trash cans. I had a dog growing up, but not when I’d lived on my own. Not sure why I decided to keep him. Had a connection, I guess. I love the doofus.”

Aww. “Meant to find one another.”

Grunting, he pivoted to continue walking. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those that believe in fate and destiny.”

Keeping pace beside him, she thought it over. “Not sure. Maybe. There are certain situations where I have to wonder if more is at play. A higher power or planets aligning.”

Huffing a laugh, he crouched by the next box. “Or it’s just a coincidence. The choices we make steer us on one path versus another.”

“True.” So, he wasn’t spiritual. More a black and white sort of guy. She wondered how many shades of gray he allowed in with that mentality. “Some things can’t be explained.”

Shaking his head, he grinned, continuing their trek. “Most things can.”

They approached the corner of Main Square where a small courtyard held the town’s infamous peach tree, and it gave her an idea.

“How do you explain this, then?”

Up went those brows. “A tree?”

She smiled, glancing at the current topic in question. A black fence surrounded its base with a brick walking path. Smaller lampposts and benches decorated the grassy part of the courtyard around the tree, which had been planted by the town founder William Vallantine for his wife Katherine. Thus, its name, Miss Katie. It had telltale characteristics of Belle of Georgia peach trees with a rounded crown shape on top, upward reaching branches, and dark green deciduous leaves. Currently, like Belles did each spring, brilliant bright red flowers adorned its foliage. Very pretty.

That’s where the similarities ended. Miss Katie was a modern marvel.

Tilting her head, Rebecca glanced at Graham. “The tree was planted in 1875, making it almost one hundred and fifty years old.”

“Uh huh.” He narrowed his eyes, obviously unimpressed. “And?”

“And, Belle of Georgia’s have a lifespan of fifteen to twenty years.”

Crossing his arms, laminated signs still in hand, he widened his stance as if preparing for an intellectual throw-down. “It’s made of good stock.” He shrugged.

---