Page 7 of A Wolf in the Garden

“No, it’s flat terrain in that paddock. They had sheep grazing on it, but I’ve already sold them off.”

“Not a sheep fan?”

“Not quite.” I refrain from saying that it’s more that wolves tend to be a fan of the taste of sheep, and the temptation with them so close by would be too much, particularly on a full moon. Better for them to live out their days on a farm where they don’t run the risk of being eaten by a hungry werewolf.

She stares at my face for a moment, and perhaps she’s already figured that out, because her next request pivots the conversation towards my nature.

“Can I see your eyes?”

Spoken in her soft voice, it’s an intimate request, far removed from the blunt demands that I’m sometimes subjected to when in public.

“Of course.” I remove my sunglasses, turning my torso towards her, my knee accidentally bumping hers. She doesn’t shift away from the touch, only stares into my eyes with a sort of stunned acceptance on her face, and I wonder what she’s thinking, and whether she’s comparing what she sees now to how I used to look, pre-Unravelling. “Do I scare you?”

A small frown appears between her brows. “You could never scare me, Evander.”

I absolutely could.I keep my thoughts about the full moon to myself, sitting still as her gaze dances from my eyes to my lips and back again.

“I… I’m just adjusting,” she adds. “My brain hasn’t really caught up yet. There’s a lot to process. You’re here. You’re offering me a job, maybe. You’re not human. You never were… I mean, youknew, right? You knew the whole time?”

My lips twitch with the urge to smile, but I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her question, as strange as it is. “I knew I was a wolf, yes. I’m sorry I was never able to tell you, before.”

For the briefest moment her expression flickers with an emotion that’s too quick for me to recognise, but then she smiles softly again. “It’s okay. I understand.”

My knee is still pressed against hers. Sitting this close, her scent borders on overwhelming because she smellsso fucking lusciousand it’s triggering a whole summer worth of memories; of my hands on her body, of her taste on my tongue. Of what it felt like — before my life fell apart — to be buried deep inside her, her arms around me, believing that we had our whole future ahead of us.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus on the conversation, willing my dick to cooperate and not get any harder than the half-chub I’m already sporting. “I’m definitely offering you the job, by the way, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re being pushed into it.”

She lifts her hand, adjusting her hat ever so slightly. “I would have to see the space first. I usually visit the client’s property, do a walkthrough with them, draw up some basic ideas on the spot, and then quote in the days after the meeting. I need to know that I’m suited for a job before I agree to anything; sometimes I’m not, depending on what the client is requesting. In those cases, I usually refer them on to the design firm I used to work for. And you may want to shop around, check that there’s not someone cheaper that you could go for.”

I have no intention of shopping around. “Are you insinuating I couldn’t afford you?”

She laughs, a nervous giggle that ends as quick as it begins, shaking her head. “I don’t know what your finances are these days, Evander. A lot of people lost a lot of money in the wake of the Unravelling when the economy crashed.”

“I didn’t. But I know what you mean. I hope it didn’t hit you hard.”

“I’ve been okay. I was supposed to have a full-size house on this property, not one that’s only a fifth of the size, but,” she shrugs, “it’s worked out well. More room for the garden. I don’t know if I would have fit in the big shed, the greenhouse,andthe chicken coop otherwise.”

“Have they got names?”

“The chooks? Yes. Rachel, Monica, and Phoebe.”

I laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m dead serious. I even got their personalities right; Rachel is a spoiled brat but she’s got gorgeous feathers, Monica is ridiculously energetic, and Phoebe is just plain nuts. She acts more like a dog than a chicken.” Her small laugh is light and carefree.

I shake my head, grinning. It is indescribably strange to be sitting beside this stunning creature again. She is beyond lovely, naturally beautiful, and perfectly at home among the pretty flowers of her garden. Her smile fades as her eyes search my face once more. “I can’t believe you’re here right now,” she admits.

“I feel the same.”

We stare at each other for far longer than what would be considered appropriate between acquaintances. There’s a charged tension in the air, broken only when a bumblebee flies right for my face. I huff, leaning back and watching as its little round body disappears through the archway surrounding us.

“Let me tell you about some of the garden features you might be interested in,” Ellie says, turning the conversation towards her business.

* * *

The rest of the guests and volunteers have long gone by the time we finish discussing garden design and its application on a vineyard like Lost Moon. Ellie shows me her greenhouse — an attractive all-glass structure, filled to the brim with seedlings and warm-weather crops — and grabs a huge harvesting basket from the old wooden shed, where tools line the walls and bouquets of flowers and herbs hang in bunches from the rafters, drying out for future use. We move about her garden, making small talk — I ask her about the weather here on Motuwai Island, she asks about my flight from San Francisco to New Zealand — and I watch her as she carefully selects each and every leaf, fruit, and vegetable she harvests, squashing the odd snail she finds along the way. There’s a real sense of calm amongst all the plants, the only sounds the buzzing of bees, our steady heartbeats, birdsong, and the odd passing car. It’s as if time slows here, and it’s exactly what I want recreated on the vineyard.

I desperately want to feel at peace, the way Ellie seems to be in her garden.

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