Page 68 of Marrying the Gardener
I just know that the longer this rift lasts, the more sanity I lose.
?
Monday.
It’s raining.
On top of Crimson ignoring her week to plan our date, Crimson’s grandfather also didn’t summon us this Saturday. Since he had to leave the bar early, I’ve been checking in with him each day, wishing him well as he works to feel better. Our calls aren’t very long, but they’re better than nothing to keep me in his mind while we haven’t been interacting much in person at least.
Apart from the raging chauvinism, Mr. Nightingale isn’t the worst guy. He plays sudoku in his down time and apparently keeps a little book of puzzles by his bed.
People who play sudoku can’t be all bad.
That’s my belief, anyway.
I do hate how he treats Crimson. I can’t stand it, honestly. But even I can recognize when a smug man has too many regrets to speak of. He’s dying. Right now, he is at home with a private nurse staff and no visitors. Even with a will hanging in the balance, no one else in his family has called. Only me.
Being separated from family hurts. For some reason, I think it hurts even more when you know—somewhere in your tainted soul—that the separation is your own fault. The loneliness that creeps up on you makes it hard to breathe. And it’s nearly impossible to know how to regain what you’ve lost.
Closing my eyes after saying goodbye to Crimson’s grandfather, I toss my phone on my pillow, stretch my limbs, and rise from the corner of my bed. A rumble of thunder takes over the gray beyond the sliding glass door in front of me. Droplets beat into the window and race down the glass. I follow them with my eyes, picking favorites like I know how to be a normal kid.
Being a child held little for me.
Living in that large, cold, dark house held little for me.
Childhood was terrifyingly bleak, devoid of innocence and imagination. Suffused with pain and fear.
Maybe that’s why, in adulthood, I gravitate toward things that remind me of sunlight and fire. I am, still, desperate for the kind of warmth I’ve been starved of since youth.
A knock sounds on the closet door behind me, so I turn—heart racing—and call, “Yes?”
Uncharacteristically timid, Crimson cracks the door and peeks in at me. Eyes lowered, she steps inside and rests back against the door to close it behind her. Her hands clasp together in front of her white dress. The fabric plunges low between her breasts, bearing so very many freckles upon the soft, pale curves of her, and I…am weak. So terribly weak.
It feels like ages since she’s sought me out.
Rigid, I force myself to stay put. Waiting.
“Kaleb?” she whispers.
My lungs constrict around the sound of my name on her lips. “Yes?”
Her gaze fixes on me, and her shoulders rise with a fragile intake of breath. “It hasn’t gone away.”
“What hasn’t?” Careful, I make my way to her, as though she’ll bolt at any moment, leaving me cold and alone in this dreary world again.
Far too much hope rides on the way she pushes off the door to meet me in the center of the room. Eyes sharp and steady on mine, she lifts her hand, cups my cheek, drags her touch to the back of my neck, and pulls me down. There’s an instance of her breath grazing my lips, then her mouth owns mine.
I command my hands not to grab for her, but I lose all sense of self control as the frozen wasteland I’ve been lost amidst breaks to reveal heat and sunlight. Suddenly, there is warmth. And I can’t stop the way I latch onto it, beg it to consume me. Rain pours beyond the glass of my windows; lightning cracks; but the flames rage on, scathing my flesh, branding my soul.
My fist bunches in her hair, and her gasp hits my chest. Myknees threaten to give out, so I scoop her up and drop us both atop the comforter of my bed. While I’m battling for breath and sense andto slow down, she grabs the fabric of my shirt, raking it off my body. My collar gets stuck on my nose before I get a chance to remember why I’m trying to pace myself.
Something about respect. Sincerity? Wanting to be married for the right reasons, maybe?
A curse slices all reason from my brain as she gets the cloth over my head, leaving me to look down at…
Her.
Flushed.
