Page 55 of Sexy as Sin
“Dinner. Breakfast. My van, for that matter, so I can get home again.”
“Nope. I’ve got this.”
He didn’t talk to her in the car. Or, rather, he did, but all he said was, “We’ll go into it at the house. I have an agenda.” Which made her narrow her eyes at him again, and made him smile.
It was hard, even with the train wreck her life had become, to feel horrible when she’d climbed out of his car and headed up the stairs to one of the world’s good spots. The horses were grazing by the pond again, and the birds were quiet, no doubt doing some last-minute eating before their sunset roosting bonanza began. A reminder that, no matter what happened in her world, some things stayed the same.
She waited for Brett to catch up with his crutches, then headed into the house. And stopped just inside the doorway.
“Somebody sent you flowers,” she said.
“No,” he said. “Somebody sent them to you. Or, rather, I cut them for you. I looked in town, but the offerings were pretty sad by the time I realized it was Valentine’s Day, so I took a chance on the garden.”
She was already bending over the table, where a vase all but exploded with fragrance. It was amazing. And, yes, it could be she was prejudiced, but who wouldn’t be? The creamy-white, waxy blossoms of gardenias nestled into their perfectly polished deep-green leaves sent out their heady scent, while roses in the palest blush spread their ruffled petals like they’d do anything for Mr. Brett Hunter.
It was feminine. It was extravagant. It was gorgeous. It was forher.
She hadn’t expected anything. If she were ruthlessly honest with herself, she’d admit that she’d spent the day, in addition to everything else, specificallynotexpecting anything, and stuffing down the sneaky, stupid disappointment. But he’d remembered. He’d thought of her, and he’d tried twice to get something good enough.
Her heart was having such a rough time here.
She knew the bouquet was for her, because there was a white envelope propped in front with “Willow” written on it in a slanting, masculine hand, as if Brett did everything firmly. Everything but cut flowers, because that had taken care. She reached for him, mindful of the crutches, wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed his mouth, and said, “Thank you. This is the best thing that’s happened to me all day. I can’t believe you thought of it.” There may have been some tears behind her eyes, too.
“Lucky I was staying someplace with a flower garden,” he said, sounding, somehow, as off-balance as she felt. Because he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to do it right, and he did everything right? Or because this was, somehow, putting himself out there as much as it felt like to her?
“How did you do it?” she asked.
“Hung a bag around my neck,” he said sheepishly, and she laughed. “It took two trips. Hey.Youtry cutting flowers on crutches. It’s a challenge. I had to look at all kinds of pictures online to make them look right in the vase, too. I’m not a natural. Open your card.”
She did. It was a photo of a rainbow arching across the Byron coastline, and she had a hand on her chest. She opened it, her heart skipping a beat or two, and read,
Rainbows and unicorns for my pretty girl. Gardenias mean “You are lovely.” Pale-pink roses mean admiration and gentleness. Could be I need to show you more of both. Brett.
She said, “I didn’t get you anything, though. I didn’t even think of it.”
She had one hand at the back of his neck again, somehow, and this time, he was the one doing the kissing. “Nope,” he said, sending his mouth over to her neck in the way that made her want to sigh, then lifting it to say, “Sometimes, you need to stand back and let a guy do some courting, even if he has to drag you out of your house to do it. I’ve got dinner for you, too. At least, it’s ready to make. And no comments about how you could do it better, please. Remember, it’s the thought that counts.”
He’d bought mince and burger buns, she discovered. “I didn’t know you cooked,” she said helplessly, when he was standing at the kitchen island shaping meat into patties, and she’d pulled out the plate of sliced veggies and cheese. He’d done that. For her. The avocado slices weren’t nearly thin enough. She loved it.
“I’m almost forty-three years old,” he said. “As I’ve mentioned, just to get out in front of your objections. It’s been cook or starve for a long time now. Also, it’s a hamburger, not a Moroccan stew. Let’s keep it in perspective.”
“Or,” she said, “let’s admit what it is. Brett Hunter being pretty bloody wonderful.” The tears were still too close, and at the same time, she was laughing. The thought of him with a bag around his neck, shoving roses into it for her, and researching flower arranging online? It was too sweet.
“I bought another bottle of that wine, too,” he said. “We made a pretty good dent in the one from last night, but we can do better. You could take them outside with a couple glasses. After that, we’re going to barbecue, we’re going to watch the sunset, we’re going to listen to opera, we’re going to get a little drunk, and I’m going to love you so you believe it. We’re going to have a Valentine’s Day.”
He’d cooked her dinner, such as it was, and now, they were eating it outside, in the basket chairs so he could prop up his leg. She’d insisted on bringing his flowers out with them, “because they’re so beautiful, they make me want to cry.” There’d been a little wobble in her musical voice when she’d said it, too. She’d also told him, “Nobody ever cooks for me,” and that time, he thought the emotion was wonder.
Job done.
He waited for her to talk about what had happened today, and when she didn’t, he said, “I saw the article in the local paper about the poisoning, and I did some searching online and saw what’s been going on with Nourish’s reviews. I have some thoughts about it.”
She shook her head, made a motion like she could brush it away, and said, “In a little while. There’s something with Azra, too. It’s a lot. Can we just... not talk about it now? I can deal with it. I just need more time.”
There it was again. There were needy women, and then there was this. It was so damnfrustrating.Didn’t she see how much he wanted to help? What did he have to say to get that across? And then she said, “The same way you needed time last night.”
He set down his burger and looked at her. She picked up her wine, took a drink, and looked out at the twilit garden, but he could see the tension in her jaw.
The hell with this. He took her hand across the table. “Willow. Look at me.”
