Page 53 of Lovingly Restored

She shoves her sore hands in the pockets of the coveralls and nudges the weed pile with her toe.

“We were…but I messed it up at the end.”

I step into her space, finding her waist with my hands and pulling her toward me, not caring if my grandmother is watching. Shehasto know how badly I still want her.

“The only thing you messed up was not letting me thoroughly kiss you goodnight so I could taste myself on your lips.”

She opens and closes her mouth.

“You can’t say stuff like that!” she whispers.

“Nobody heard but you.”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, like she’s steeling herself for something.

Don’t pull away.

“I thought you regretted it after. Because I made it so weird.”

Regret?Hardly.

“It’s going to take a lot more than that to keep me out of your bedroom…my bedroom,“ I tease. “I’m still down to pick up where we left off. If you are, that is.”

“Thank, god.” She presses a palm to her heart.

We both laugh, and I can’t resist a bit more banter. “That good, hey? We haven’t even gone all the way.”

“Isaac!” She sounds scandalized again, looking over her shoulder where she knows Mummo is.

Despite how tired I am, it only took ten minutes of staring into Ashlyn’s chocolate eyes to forget it.

I release her and clap my hands together once. “Get your things. And get Mummo ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Field trip. We’re going to the garden centre.”

I’m already heading for the back door to get my wallet and truck keys when she giggles and claps. With that sound every single trace of exhaustion is gone.

“I’ve never been here before.” Ashlyn’s eyes go wide as she observes the massive garden centre and busy parking lot. We drove out to a more rural area that isn’t far from where we met. The vibe in the April sunshine couldn’t be more different than that wind-swept winter storm. This garden centre is open to the public, but it’s a favourite of landscapers and more professional-grade operations. Someone with only an apartment-patio-sized garden probably wouldn’t have much cause to visit.

“I’m moving in here. You two can fend for yourselves,” she says.

I poke her between the ribs. “Try not to drool on the plants.”

“No promises.”

“You can push, Little One. Let her explore,” Mummo says as I tuck a light blanket around her knees.

We brought the wheelchair so she wouldn’t have to walk around the giant place and tire herself. We’re already interrupting her nap with our afternoon excursion. Ashlyn forges ahead the second we get inside, talking a mile a minute, taking everything in. She left the coveralls at home despite my protests, and I try not to leer at her legging-clad butt as she power walks toward the seeds. I steer Mummo toward some of the more heavy-duty tools, taking note of the things I need to manage the lawn and tough weeds. I’ll be damned if I let her spend another summer staring at that absolute disaster. Maintaining a lawn is the least I can do for her.

When I find Ashlyn, she’s ogling high-end greenhouses, trailing her fingers along the glass. Hanging back, I lean against a pallet of soil, watching her. I can hear her muttering to herself. She reaches for the price tag and scoffs, dropping the tag like it bit her and taking a small step back.

“A little steep?”

She whips around and finds me. “You can say that again.”

I walk over to glance at the tag, eyebrows shooting up. The price is fucking stupid. I could build it better for half the cost. Balanced in her arms are packets of zinnia seeds and, much to my relief, a heavy-duty pair of gardening gloves.

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