Page 21 of Lovingly Restored

“What are these all about?” He walks over to the fern in the corner.

Putting the largest plants in my room was my way of not imposing. That was before I learned how much of a plant lover Mrs. Lauri is. Since then, they’ve spilled over into the rest of the house.

“They’re called plants. Green, use photosynthesis, enjoy water?”

He frowns at me. Those Arctic eyes are so damn inquisitive. “Hold on.”

Something is going on in that obnoxiously handsome head of his, I just don’t know what.

My heart skips a beat as I remember my lie about my career. If I’m not willing to share a pizza with him, I’m sure as hell not sharing my dreams either, so I press my lips together and pick some lint off the comforter.

“What’s this one called?” He tousles the fronds of a fern.

“It’s a Maidenhair fern, and don’t touch it.”

He laughs, “What? Is it going to wither and die under my touch?”

“You never know.”

If the plant feels anything like I did last night, it’s not unlikely that the whole thing might combust.

“I like it.” He looks right at me while he flicks the tip of a leaf, trying to get a rise out of me.

I am the picture of serenity as I ignore it.

“You should have seen Mummo’s plants,” he says.

“I did. I mean, she showed me pictures. Everything was so beautiful.”

While I’m conjuring images of robust rhododendrons, Isaac makes himself even more at home, plunking down on the foot of the bed. I hug my knees to my chest, drawing my feet further from the heat radiating off his hips. This house is always so cold, yet Isaac emits heat like he’s recently vacated a sauna.

“Are plants a hobby of yours?”

“Something like that.” I fiddle with the elastic at the end of my braid, bristling at his use of the same word my mother does when speaking about my love of all things flora.

He tips his head.

“What do you do?” I turn the questions back on him.

I’ve been wondering since we met. What job does a guy have where he can afford that beast of a truck but doesn’t have anywhere to be in the middle of the day on a Thursday?

“By trade, I’m a carpenter.”

Oh, God.Why does he have to have a hot job?

“Cool. What do you usually, um, carpent?”

Carpent? Oh, my flipping God, Ashlyn.

He bites his bottom lip, eyes sparkling with amusement. At least one of us is entertained by my inability to remember common words.

“I studied Fine Woodworking and general carpentry, but I mostly enjoy restorations. Bringing old houses and furniture back to their original state. I can do a lot of different things.”

Every home and garden show I’ve ever watched runs through my mind like a highlight reel. My stomach somersaults as I glance at his hands. Can those big mitts actually hone chunks of wood into something ornate? I’d imagine most materials are pretty malleable under his influence. Women, for example.

Clearing my throat, I drag my eyes off the two fingers I’m perving over. “You must love it here then. Your grandmother’s house is lovely.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks. I do. It…needs a lot of work. Mummo’s making me a list.” He sounds tired at the prospect.

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