Page 26 of Putting Down Roots

“Yes, the garden. It’ll take some work, but yes, it is possible that you could open it to the public.” That’s a repeat of what he said, and yet it’s not what he said at all. I feel on the back foot. Has Anna been meddling? I look at her for help, and she briefly covers my hand with hers.

“All I’m saying is that I think you should consider it.”

Does she mean the garden? She means the garden, right?

She turns back to Jackson. “I haven’t had a chance to see it yet. Could you show it to me tomorrow?”

Phew, she means the garden.

I don’t wait to be called to help with the wine for dessert, a pinot noir that Anna had picked to go with her speciality—dark chocolate mousse with a coffee cream. It’s served in a coffee cupwith a cinnamon biscuit on the side. I don’t fetch it right away as I can feel a panic attack coming on. I lean over the central island trying to calm down and trying to breathe. Anna brings in the dinner plates.

“Really, Lu.” I can tell she’s not impressed by my performance this evening, so I know I’m not going to get any sympathy.

“What were you talking about?” I struggle to get the words out.

“You’d know if you’d been listening.”

“Anna,” I growl.

“The garden.” She sounds too innocent.

“What else?” My mind heads in a different direction—a worse case scenario situation—and I can feel myself starting to hyperventilate. As she passes, Anna leans close.

“Shall I fetch your boyfriend to give you a hug?”

“Fuck off.” My friend can be a real bitch sometimes. She relents though, seeing how bad I am, and starts to rub my back. She’s done this a thousand times, and I begin to calm down and breathe normally. I straighten up a little.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Shall I give Jackson a few tips?”

“You really can be a bitch, you know.”

“Relax, we didn’t say anything. We didn’t even talk about you. We spoke about the garden. But I like Jackson, he is a deep one, isn’t he?” She’s too perceptive to have not picked up on his meanings—hell if I can, she can a hundred times over.

“Please help me not mess this up?”

“I think your Jackson is far more into you than you think he is. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Which is what?”

“Like a delicate flower to be nurtured. Now go, before he wonders what’s happened.”

“Bitchy witch,” I call as I leave the kitchen.

Is that how Jackson looks at me?I’m not sure I want to be a delicate flower, but then again, I’ve seen the way he handles the young plants.

Gods help me.I try to act normally when I enter the dining room.

“I’m sorry.” I feel shitty for losing it during dinner. “I’ve been a crap host.”

“Are you okay?” Jackson’s face is full of genuine concern.

“I’m fine, I’ve just been a bit distracted.”

“Can I help?”

Damn him and his wanting to help. No, of course not. “Youarethe distraction,” I want to say, but then yes, of course you can help.

---