Page 35 of Dahlia Made A List

“What’s up, Grams?” I squeezed the back of my neck. “Don’t suppose you have some papers signed for me?”

“No, but I do have a message for Dahlia. You spent the day with her right?”

I didn’t like her nosy tone. I grit my teeth and waited her out.

“I called her first, but she didn’t answer, either, so I thought I’d try your cell.”

Fishing. I wasn’t about to offer anything up. I’d kissed her little protege. And wanted to kiss Dahlia again. Hell, wanted to fuck her into next week. But Grams wouldn’t approve and my conscience was already taking a hit with all I was considering doing with my tenant.

“Well, if you could just let her know that she can use the house for her dinner party whenever she likes, no problem.”

“I’ll let her know.”

I disconnected as soon as I could without being rude and shoved to my feet. Dahlia stood just this side of the kitchen, twisting a yellow and white hand towel between her fingers.

“Wyatt,” she said, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. Her nipples pushed against her shirt, tight and pointed and making my mouth water and wreaking havoc on my resistance.

The excited light in her eyes, the look she’d worn since leaving the rec center, dimmed. The sight wrapped a tight band around my chest. “Your phone on silent or something?”

She shot a look down to the counter where her phone had sat since she’d disappeared for her shower. Leaving me out here thinking about her and water and fucking bullshit.

“That was my grandmother. You can use her place whenever, she said.” I turned on my heel and headed to the door. “Lock up behind me.”

Chapter Eleven

Dahlia

Ipeekedovertheedge of the balcony to see Ms. Lester on her knees, the upper half of her body buried in an azalea bush. This was it. I’d make my move this morning. Bright sunshine, birds chirping, flowers blooming. Good omens. No need to worry.

I slid back inside and headed to the front door. The List wouldn’t count for much if I didn’t complete every item. And I’d written down “Grow a Garden” and the dead tomato plant on my balcony didn’t count as a garden, anyway. It was a plant in a pot. I needed to work in a real garden. A garden like Ms. Lester’s award winning azaleas.

I tossed back my shoulders and stretched my neck, then rolled my eyes. I could talk to my neighbor about her garden. I could ask her to help me with my list. Get ideas, maybe a plan.

I was a grown woman and I would complete The List, come hell or highwater.

My resolve faded like a spent bloom by the time I stepped down from the front porch and into the yard. Sucking in a deep breath and pushing it out slow and steady, I crept closer to my elderly neighbor. No risk, no reward. I’d created The List to get myself straight. I didn’t need to feel any shame in asking for help.

I wouldn’t know how to drive or have made it to the derby tryouts without Wyatt’s help, after all. Though I may have wrecked everything with that stupid kiss last night. What had I beenthinking? I’d aimed for his cheek, but when he turned his head, when his lips were right in my line of fire, I didn’t hesitate. I got greedy. The feel of his lips on mine still burned. The sun heated my cheeks. No wonder Ms. Lester wore a straw hat.

“Morning, Ms. Lester,” I called with forced cheerfulness as I crossed into her yard. “Your garden sure is looking pretty this morning.”

My neighbor emerged from beneath the bush, and sank back onto her heels with a waspish huff. “Despite your best efforts.”

Yikes.

The older woman wobbled to her feet as I approached and I quickened my last steps to hold out my hand. She waved my offer of help away before motioning to the ring of bushes around her oak. “You know, when those bloom, they’ll be a deep peach, almost orange.”

A little of the stiffness dropped from my shoulders. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “Really? I can’t wait to see the flowers.”

“The ones beneath your balcony were budding up, but I had to cut them back what with all the broken limbs. They’d have been a deep red, same as the ones along my front porch.”

The heat flushed my cheeks. “I’m really sorry I smooshed them that day.”

“So you’ve said.”

“They’ll bounce back, won’t they? I mean, aren’t you supposed to prune bushes?”

Splotchy bands of pink colored her wrinkles and I wanted to take a step back. Her watery brown eyes gleamed with righteous umbrage. “My aunt planted those azaleas when I was a little girl.”

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