Page 13 of Putting Down Roots

“The garden.” He gestures towards the window. “It needs a lot of work and I can’t do it. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

I hesitate. My plan was to start a nursery, working for myself. I’d worked for people before and that had got me nothing but trouble, and a divorce. Yes, I’m currently working for Darla, but that’s different. It’s temporary, as needs must. But it’s also ending in a couple of days, and I still have the rest of the van money to repay. And this was Frances Winterton’s garden. The opportunity to work in it isn’t an everyday occurrence. I assume Luca wants it tidied, to prepare it for sale. That would be sad, but I can do it, and I can make myself some startup money for my nursery. In the end, I don’t hesitate for long.

“Yes, I would like that.”

His relief seems tangible.

CHAPTER 8

Luca

When Jackson is gone,I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling, trying to process what had happened. I feel ashamed. I feel elated. I feel sad, and I feel hopeful. Each emotion cycles through my brain. I try to take deep breaths and calm down.

Mostly, I feel embarrassed that I nearly had a panic attack in front of him. The thought of it is enough to make me anxious. I’d wanted to tell him how wonderful Aunt Frances had been to me. But to do that, I would have had to tell him why, and I can’t have him knowing about my father and what he did to me. No, some secrets are meant to stay buried. But I didn’t have a panic attack, and that was solely because of Jackson. His large, warm hands on mine, his squeeze on my shoulder, it was comforting. It was enough to break through and stop the spiral I felt myself descending into.

Those hands. I could watch them all day. I think I caught him watching me watch them, but how could those large, powerful hands be so gentle and tender towards his plants? I admit I’vebeen thinking about what it would be like to have those hands on me—on my body.No, I can’t start thinking about them now.Anyway, it’s unlikely to happen. I could tell he felt awkward. He’s probably never met anyone so useless as me before. He’s probably used to his strong, manly gardener friends, not some skinny, weak artist given to shaking with anxiety. At least I didn’t start crying. That would have just topped it off.

I thought he’d have definitely left after today’s incident. But then he agreed to come and work on the garden, which means I’ll get to see him every day. It’ll be both wonderful and torturous at the same time. To have his awesome good looks and deliciously desirable body so close, but unavailable. I start thinking about his hands again. It isn’t fair, but it is at least keeping the demons away for now.

CHAPTER 9

Jackson

I wake earlyto the sound of banging. Looking out the window, I see a huge marquee being erected on the village green, in front of the pub. I can see Keith out there pounding away at huge wooden tent pegs.Is he wearing a kilt? Yes, he definitely is.I quickly wash, dress, and go to see if there’s anything I can do. Darla doesn’t need me until ten when the pub opens, so there are a few hours left.

“Morning. Do you need some help?” Keith straightens up.

“Ah, good morning, it’s yon gardener laddie. Yes, yer look like yer have a muscle or two. Do yer think yer can help with yon tent?” He points to where a group of people are erecting a smaller marquee across from the larger one.

“I can try.” I wander over to help. After the tent is up, I help move trestle tables and chairs from the village hall onto the green. Other groups are putting up bunting, and various stalls and games begin to take shape as the morning progresses. It looks like a mashup of a Women’s Institute craft fair and a prideevent, and looks fun. Just before ten o’clock a crowd gathers, and a gentleman climbs onto a low platform that had been erected. I suppose he’s some sort of dignitary. He isn’t dressed in a suit, but a flowery shirt with aleiround his neck. I find myself next to Keith, who nudges me and nods towards the stage.

“That’s Len. Head of the village council.”

I look back as the man addresses the crowd.

“I think he started a commune in the seventies,” Keith whispers. I can well believe it.

“Friends, villagers, guests, and visitors,” he begins in a clear voice. “Welcome to the Larchdown Spring Fete. Happy May Day, Beltane or whatever you celebrate, but most of all, have fun!”

An enormous cheer goes up.

“I need to get to the pub.” I start to turn from Keith.

He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Stop by and say hello to Ben. I think he’s made something for yer.”

“I need to be off.”

“Och, it’s on yer way, and Darla can spare you for a minute. There’s hardly a queue is there?” I concede that this is true.

“Thanks for yer help laddie. I told Ben you’d be fitting right in here.”

I don’t know what to say to that, but apparently a response isn’t required.

“I said that we’d be rubbing off on you soon enough,” he guffaws. I can appreciate an innuendo as much as anyone, but I don’t know what he’s getting at.

“Sorry, Keith, but you’re not my type.” He guffaws loudly again.

“Och, I know that.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze and says, “I’m too much man for you to handle.” And with a gleeful laugh, he gives me a shove and strides off into the crowd, greeting people in his robust manner.

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