Page 45 of Marrying the Gardener
He tilts his smile away from me. “Maybe.”
“Are you going to explain them?”
He frees a small laugh. “Perhaps someday, Crimson. If you really want me to.”
I’m beginning to think I never want him to.
Sighing, I murmur, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. My asking you on a date doesn’t mean I’m any more interested than I’ve always been. It just means I’m giving myself a chance to learn who you are, in case I’m demisexual like you said. If I am, we can be a totally normal couple eventually, but if I’m not, nothing changes.”
“I know.”
“If you know, why are you so smiley?”
His smile broadens as he rests his head against the passenger side window. “Because, Crimson. I don’t care if you’re ace or demi or whatever. I care that you want to get to know me. I care that you’ve put effort into something for me while you have so much going on already.”
“I don’t havethatmuch going on,” I mutter, taking a turn toward Sunset’s vast and extravagant plant nursery, Sunset Gardens. “You’ve spent a week with me. You know most of what I do is sit around at home, waiting to be summoned.”
“Sit around at home, huh… Is that what you call writing condolence cards, get-well cards, birthday cards, sending flowers, thinking-about-yous, gifts, sorting invitations to parties, funerals, get-togethers? You never stop moving, Crimson. So you will have to excuse me if I understand that the time you’ve set aside for me today is, actually, important.”
Writing cards and sending flowers and keeping up with all the emotional aspects of my father’s clients is all he’s made me good for. It is a lot of work. But I do suppose I’ve never given it the space tobework. Not with the way my father has treated it my entire life. At this scale, socializing is a full-time career. Balancing people, memorizing important details about everyone, making sure each person I come across feels seen and heard—that ishard.
But. It’s just playing girl to my father, what with all theparties and shopping andfeelingsinvolved.
It’s so necessary that he makes me do it…but it’s sounnecessarythat he has never once made it sound like anything more than insipid playtime.
“Thank you, Kaleb.”
He tilts his head. “For what?”
“The mindset shift. You’re right. I do work hard. Undermining that undermines something that matters to you, so I won’t. I have set aside time today for you, and while my feelings have yet to change where you’re concerned, I am absolutely approaching this under a speculation that they might, and I won’t fight it if they do. Since you claim to love me, I can understand where that matters a great deal to you.”
His hand closes against his thigh. “I like how you do that, Crimson. Life isn’t an argument with you. You take information in, make decisions, and explain yourself—whether you agree or disagree. It’s…beautiful.”
It’s…basic communication skills?
Is this not normal? This is how Crisis and I communicate. Notably, it is not how most everyone else communicates with me, but I am not exactly what I’d consider emotionally close with many people, so I am not entirely open in my communication beyond Crisis and now my potentially real future husband.
As I make it to the lot of Sunset Gardens, I locate a parking spot and let the car sit for a second, engine rumbling. Sunshine fills the cab, running over Kaleb’s tan skin, his blindfold, his smile. Anyone could logically assess his physical appeal, but I can’t argue that I enjoy the idea of talking to him today more than the moments we’ve spent together each evening for the past week.
Taking a deep breath, I turn off my vehicle.
His chin lifts. “Are we here?”
“Yes. Stay put a second. I’ll come get you.”
Opening my door, I situate my purse, then head to his side of the car, opening it and guiding him to his feet. Once he’s standing, I turn him toward the large building across the parking lot, which is serving as both a greenhouse and the main storefront operation. On either side of the building, with its thrown-wide glass doors, more rows and rows of plants stretch until the land dips to make way for a burbling stream that separates the gardens from an outcropping of trees.
Kaleb breathes deep and straightens. “Fertilizer. Crimson, is this Sunset Gardens?”
The peak of excitement in his tone is not lost on me. Neither is the way he figured out where we were with a single sniff. “What are you, General?” I ask.
A broad smile overcomes him. “You took me to the plant nursery?”
“You said gardening was a passion, didn’t you? I was looking for things to do, and they have an event happening today, so I figured you might enjoy it.”
Enthusiastic, he nods. “Very much. They have community events on the weekend. Classes. Pottery. Painting. Once, they hosted the pound and had an adoption event.”
I reach for his blindfold, slipping it from his head. “Well, if you’ve already been here so many times, we can go somewhere else.” I smirk. “Maybe horseback riding? Or, fish. Crisis has mentioned your koi pond to me. It’s the only thing about you that she’s shared, so I must assume it’s your entire personality. Silly of me to bring you here. There’s an aquarium an hour and a half away.” I pat him on the back. “Get back in the car. So much for surprises. Let’s go to the aquarium.”
