Page 20 of Wish I Didn't Want You Back

I could still picture her in the dirt, with streaks of mud across her cheeks. She would hum some eighties song while planting wildflowers, and I always admired the simplicity of it, but it didn’t stop there. She had an eye for design, too. She would help neighbors plant their flower beds. She had a gift and enjoyed every second of it.

“I forgot how much I loved gardening,” I said, surprising myself.

She smiled. “Maybe that’s your answer.”

I scoffed while staring down at my perfectly manicured nails. “It’s a hobby, not a job.”

It was something I did for fun. It wasn’t a business.

“Says who? Lots of people turn hobbies into careers. You don’t have to get down and plant your hands in soil all day long. You could design open spaces. You have enough passion and skills to start a small business.”

I shook my head, feeling a tiny flicker of hope. She made it sound doable, but I wasn’t convinced. “My options here would be very limited. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Well, lucky for you, you have an entire town full of overgrown yards that could use a little love. I’m sure Finn could help you get started.”

I snorted. “He would probably kill me with a shovel.”

She laughed. “I’m serious, Harlow. Think about it. If I can pull off juggling law school with a baby, you can figure out a way to make it happen.”

I never considered creating something from the ground up, but now that she’d put that idea in my head, I didn’t see it going away anytime soon.

“I guess I could give it some thought.”

After all, I had nothing but time on my hands.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HARLOW

Heavy footsteps vibrated through the walls as Brooks entered the living room. I sensed the tension rolling off him before he appeared in front of me.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, setting a brown paper bag on the coffee table.

“I had one of your protein bars earlier.”

He looked like that answer didn’t make him happy. I wasn’t sure why he even cared.

Instead of replying, he reached into the bag and pulled out two containers. He flipped the lid open on one and pushed it across the table. “You need to eat something.”

I sat up straighter, my eyes widening in surprise. “No way. Beef on a wick from the pub?”

He reached over and grabbed the other container. “I stopped after work and brought food back. It’s not a big deal.”

My stomach growled, reminding me that I barely ate anything today. The only things I found in the fridge earlier were a sad-looking container of lettuce and a questionable block of sharp cheese.

I set my phone down and glanced at the time. It was almost eight p.m. “I was starting to think you forgot about me.”

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Why didn’t you eat one of the frozen meals in the freezer?”

“Because I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to.”

His glare hardened, and for a moment, I wondered if there was anything I could say or do to get him to not hate me so much. “You can help yourself to whatever you want. I don’t want you to starve on my watch.”

“Right.” I reached over and grabbed my container. The smell hit me immediately, and it was warm and comforting. This used to be my favorite sandwich because the roast beef was full of flavor and would melt in your mouth.

Brooks sifted through the bag and dug out the utensils and napkins. As I bit into my sandwich, I felt his eyes on me.

I chewed carefully, trying not to spill anything on my lap. “Thanks for bringing me dinner.”

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