Page 13 of When Love And Destiny Collide

She tilts her head, lifting an eyebrow.

"You smell like white lilies," I confess.

Her smile widens. "Oh my gosh! How do you know that?"

"When I was a little boy, I used to garden with Sharon. She and Jon lived in the guesthouse for almost a year after they got married, waiting for their house to be built. They moved out right before Katherine was born. We spent a lot of time gardening, and I loved planting white lilies because they smell like heaven."

"Wow," she says, looking away, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't appropriate."

"No, I don't mind," she smiles, a soft, genuine smile that reaches her eyes. "I'm just speechless."

"Still, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay to say exactly what you're thinking," she says, her blue eyes locking onto mine.

She changes the subject, but the warmth of her smile lingers. "I was at Just In Clay today, talking to the manager, when Sharon stopped by."

"Okay," I say, leaning casually against the doorway and folding my arms.

"You remind me so much of Jon," she says, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"How so?"

"He has the same habit of leaning against surfaces, doorways, and walls just like you do."

I chuckle, feeling a warm connection to the men in my family. "My father did it, too. It must be in our genes. We do it so subconsciously that we don't even realize we're doing it."

"Where's Davey?" she asks.

"He's napping. I was about to fix lunch."

"Can we sit?" she asks, her voice gentle.

"I'm so sorry," I say, feeling like an idiot for not inviting her to sit earlier. "Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

"What do you have?"

I walk to the refrigerator and open it. "Right now, we have water."

"Hmm," she laughs, a light, musical sound that makes my heart skip a beat. "I think I'll have some water."

"I'm sorry. I did buy fresh lemons to make lemonade."

"Let me help you make it, and then we can have some together."

She's already so familiar with the house's layout. I watch her effortlessly find a pitcher, a measuring cup, and a saucepan. She walks into the pantry and comes out carrying sugar.

"Can you juice four to six lemons?" she asks, setting the sugar on the counter. "Enough to make a cup."

"Yes, ma'am." I take the cutting board and start slicing the lemons in half.

She stands over the stove, making simple syrup in a saucepan using a cup of water and a cup of sugar. Standing next to her, I feel a nervous excitement. She smells amazing, a mix of fresh flowers and something uniquely her.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asks, glancing at me.

"Yeah, what is it?" I ask, my heart racing. If she asks me if I want to kiss her, she will have read my mind. The idea is both thrilling and absurd. Get a grip, man! I chastise myself silently.

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