Page 34 of A Touch of Spring Magic

Storm drew his finger across his lips, and Jessica wished she didn’t have the urge to laugh. Maybe even be daring and kiss him. But definitely no to any of that. She was his client, nothing more.

Chapter Seven

Later that night,as the wind picked up from a whisper to a shout around the roof and windows of the two-story farmhouse, Jessica relaxed in the large claw-foot tub. She loved a good storm—no pun intended, as she tried to push the picture of Storm squatting next to her as she had meticulously uncovered a section of deep blue mosaic tiles. Because the power lines were underground since the Cramer Mountain neighborhood was relatively new by Belmont and Cramerton standards, she wasn’t as worried about losing power.

The candles and the bath balm were more for atmosphere and self-care.

She felt a little bruised from the day—physically, but also her confidence and sense of self.

Later in the afternoon, she and Storm had been discussing the approach to uncovering the mosaic. He felt that was a priority because they had to know if it was workable to be the anchoring centerpiece of this part of the garden, and for the first time that she could remember, Jessica had felt paralyzed.

“I’m just realizing that I don’t have all the answers,” she confessed.

His smile held amusement, irony, and a hint of sorrow that lanced through her.

“Yet,” he finished her sentence. “Welcome to being the boss.”

And as she submerged her aches and let her mind drift to the mystery of the mosaic and the possibility of a past maze—and what she might want to do with that information—another message flooped in.

Jessica, eyes closed, sighed.

She and her sisters often texted each other at night—group texts and individuals ones, which made reading in the bath or letting her mind free-range near impossible.

But still…

Smiling she picked up her phone. Storm. She yipped and jerked to sitting, water sluicing off, and she looked around wildly as if he could see her.

He’d sent a series of pictures of various historic and rehabbed gardens—Irish, English, French, Greek and Italian. Storm had been doing some research, and then he’d typed two words.

Botanical garden?

“Ambitious much?” Jessica muttered scrolling through the pictures, torn between telling him that she was thinking about taking that direction, thus risking his derision that she was far out of her league, or shutting down his enthusiasm.

But having been shut down in many meetings over the years, she cringed away from that method. She needed to find a way to be comfortable with Storm sharing ideas without her feeling like she’d lose her way in her own vision of her nursery, garden and career. It was a little eerie that he’d hit upon her not yet fully expressed desire to create a small botanical garden that would serve not only as a place of beauty for customers and visitors to stroll, but also an education center where she or others could host classes for garden enthusiasts. They could even have holiday- or craft-themed events like wreath building, terrarium gardens, succulent arrangements, kitchen herb gardens. In the bath surrounded by fragrant warmth and candles and soft music, anything seemed possible.

Are you trying to read my mind?

She was joking, but it sounded personal, so she went to delete, but her wet soapy finger pushed send. Her pulse jumped, and she was going to cancel the text but instead she let it ride. She and Storm were working together—it was totally transactional. He was getting paid something and would have a résumé boost and pictures for his website and local exposure. She was getting an extra set of hands and his knowledge to create the garden space for Chloe’s engagement party.

They weren’t flirting but working together.

Would I be scared by what’s in there?

“Ha, ha,” Jessica mumbled, then she smiled.

My scary mind is my superpower.

Thanks for the warning. Bossing is mine.

Don’t even try it.

Jessica smiled, held her breath as she waited for the dots. This felt like flirting. Bad idea. She knew it was; still, they were adults. Both focused on their new careers.

“Get over yourself,” Jessica murmured, embarrassed that at a happily unmarried thirty-one, unemployed and living rent free at Grandma Millie’s family farmhouse, she still had flashes of feeling she was all that.

She was most definitely a work in progress.

She stared at her phone like she was still a teenager, and just as she forced herself to set it aside, a message from Chloe popped in about food for the party. They could definitely save on costs by catering it themselves, but Jessica was going to draw the line—she wouldn’t use theSouthern Love Spellsbook. If Meghan or Sarah wanted to dance with romance, she’d happily host a future bridal shower or wedding for them too.

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