Page 8 of Wishes on Wildflowers
She brushed past him, inhaling the scent of his woodsy cologne along with the March rain. Why did the man have to smell so good? It was beyond annoying.
“We need to talk, Jasmine.” His voice was low. Patient.
She swung to face him even as she backed up a few steps. “There isn’t anything to talk about.”
“I think there is. I have apologies to make. Explana—”
“Accepted. You were a jerk.” She sliced her hand. “We’re done. Nothing further to discuss.” She pivoted and strode up the sidewalk.
“I’m truly sorry, Jasmine.”
His words were nearly swallowed in the staccato of raindrops beating on the pavement, but she heard them. She heard the echo of them all the way back to Bridgeview Manor.
4
She’d blockedhim at every turn for two weeks. Nathan had even tried phoning for a massage appointment, not giving his name, but she’d assured him she didn’t have any openings. While it might be true her clinic was that popular, he doubted she’d turn away business that bluntly with anyone else. She must have recognized his voice.
But the rain had stopped, and the sun shone on a neighborhood that turned from brown to green practically overnight. Today a guy named Logan Dermott was coming up to the house to install the garden shed he’d been building in Basil and Alex’s dad’s workshop, a storage unit much needed by the fledgling Bridgeview Backyards. Nathan had offered to give the guys a hand building raised garden beds over much of the remaining lot. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do on a Saturday morning.
This would be the day Jasmine would need to decide if she was going to work in the business she’d helped create, or abandon it on account of him. He wouldn’t let her do that, of course. He’d step back if he had to, but not too quickly.
He padded into the suite’s small kitchen and poured himself a coffee, unable to shift his thoughts from Jasmine. Like Basil, he’d thought his previous relationship with Jasmine wouldn’t be a big deal when he returned. She’d have moved on, as he had. She’d treat him cordially, even if not throwing herself at him, and they’d get over the minor hiccup and be friends, or at least acquaintances who didn’t snarl at each other.
Nathan had hurt her more deeply than that. He still couldn’t muster regret at the decision to run, but he could have been nicer about it. Could have done more than ghost out of her life with no warning.
Voices and the slamming of truck doors on the street alerted him that the day was about to get underway. He gulped a mouthful of scalding coffee then jogged back to his bedroom for a pair of faded jeans and a gray T-shirt. Then he filled his thermal mug and headed up the outside steps to the carport. Breakfast would have to wait.
Jasmine seta box of cinnamon rolls and a carafe of coffee from Bridgeview Bakery and Bistro onto a folding table in Alex’s backyard. The treat would be gone in five minutes flat, no doubt about it, with her two brothers, her cousin, and Logan gearing up for a day of manual labor. She glanced toward the carport as footsteps approached.
Oh. And Nathan.
Had she forgotten to tell him rule number one about not wearing gray Henleys? That should be abbreviated. No wearing gray, period. Not unless it was the color of baggysweats instead of a snug T-shirt that stretched across his chest and brought out the stormy gray in his eyes. How did a guy pushing computer keys get muscles like that, anyway?
Not that she cared.
She’d made a decision. She wasn’t going to let Nathan Hamelin push her out of the business she planned to build with her family. Marketing guys could come and go — any day now — but she’d regret it forever if Peter and Basil ran Bridgeview Backyards without her.
Chin up.
“Hi, Jasmine. You’re here early.” Nathan sounded wary, and with good reason.
“We have a lot to do today, now that the yard is dry enough to work in. Want a cinnamon roll?”
“Uh, sure. Thanks.” He reached into the box with a tanned hand, fingernails neatly trimmed, and removed a roll. California boy.
The other men joined him, jostling around her, inhaling cinnamon rolls and caffeine while Logan briefed them on how the shed would come together.
Why was Nathan standing so close? She didn’t want him there. She might have accepted his apology — sort of — but it was going to take longer to actually forgive him, if ever. She’d thought she was well over him — eight years was a long time — but apparently not. And that was super annoying.
When Basil filched the last cinnamon roll, Jasmine folded the box flat and carried it over to the recycling bins in the carport. Then she tugged on a pair of work gloves and eyed the pile of lumber cut to length for the garden beds.
Alex poked his boot at a board. “Hey, Jas.”
She grinned at him. “Hey, little brother. Have I told youlately how proud I am of you?”
His brown eyes widened in surprise. “Uh, thanks. I think. What did I do to deserve that?”
Jasmine waved a hand around the yard. Logan, Peter, and Basil were already setting the garden shed’s base on the concrete pad they’d poured last week. “I don’t know too many guys your age who’ve bought their own house.”
