Page 25 of A Touch of Spring Magic

She looked around for a rock to throw at it. Drones were expensive, right? That would get the pervert or nerd to back off.

She stooped and sorted through the dirt for some suitable stones. Choosing one, she rose and came face-to-face with the drone.

“Hey, Jay, did I wake you?”

She stared at the white object that was the size of a dinner plate.

“You can talk?”

She heard low, amused laughter behind her.

“On my good days.”

She spun around and yipped and clutched the cardigan tightly around herself. She was not wearing makeup. Or a bra. And Storm looked good enough to eat for breakfast. He was also not looking sorry at all to have wakened her or trespassed.

Again.

“Sorry, I didn’t have your number to text you,” Storm said. He looked far too awake and handsome for this early. “But I got to thinking after we did our truncated walkabout last night about what you said about not having a bird’s-eye view to draw up your master plan for the garden.”

Feeling foolish, she tucked the stone in the pocket of her cardigan. “You actually listened to me?”

“It happens on occasion,” he said. “But always with a client.”

“I’m not a client.”

“Miss Millie and your sisters are my clients. You’re the…”

He trailed off as she narrowed her eyes at him, but he continued to grin at her like the mischievous boy he’d once been, convinced he’d be forgiven all. Storm had been the first person she’d heard say that it was ‘better to ask forgiveness than seek permission.’

He probably had that tatted on his body somewhere.

“What?” she challenged and immediately regretted. “No, I don’t want to know.”

“You’re the hard nut to crack,” he said.

“Does that line work on women?”

“Does it?”

She didn’t answer.

“C’mon, Jay, cut me some slack—at least I didn’t say you’re the PIDA, which was the kind way of referring to you in high school.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“You’re right. I don’t want to know or need to know because this is my land. My nursery and my garden. I’m the boss.” She slapped her hands on her hips and then abandoned the truculent position to clutch the cardigan tightly around herself once again.

“That you are,” he agreed. “So go get dressed, and we can go over the drone footage.”

“Storm,” she began, abandoning her attempt to distance their history with his proper name, but then her ears caught up with his words. “Drone footage.”

“You can see the whole land. Elevations, swales, erosion issues, soil distress. The acreage can be divided into grids where you can run it through an analysis, get data points that can help you put together a plan—long term but also short term. Get ready for Chloe’s party sooner.”

His voice was suspiciously neutral, but he’d pulled out a large iPad, and was looking at the screen instead of at her, and though what he promised sounded quite technical, something that he likely learned in landscape design college classes, she’d be foolish to not look at the whole property and gain some professional knowledge.

That didn’t mean she had to hire him.

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