Page 46 of Marrying the Gardener
Before I can make it a single step away from him, he catches my wrist. “Very funny.”
Next thing I know, he is marching toward the gaping entryway and into the earthy chamber, letting his grip slidefrom my wrist to my hand as he tows me along. Our fingers lock before I’m prepared for such an intimate public display of affection, and I don’t know what to do with it.
“Kaleb!” a woman in a forest green apron approaches.
I jump, but I cannot free my hand. My feeble attempt results in a squeeze.
“Rita,” Kaleb greets.
“You’re back.” Rita’s attention skims to me as she curls a lock of dark hair around her finger. “And you’ve brought a sacrifice?” The woman tuts, eyeing our joined hands. “A girlfriend?”
“My wife.”
Rita’s shock hits me between the brows, just about as palpable as my own. “You’remarried? To…to…someone likethis?”
What in the world is that supposed to mean?
Rita’s lashes fan as she drops her hand from her hair and scans Kaleb. “Wait a second. What are you wearing? Is that apolo? Where’s your iconic plaid?” Rita looks at me. “Ma’am, are you attempting to refine our best customer? We’ll go under. Please.” Her hands clasp, pleading. “Don’t take him from us. Give him back his overalls. I beg.”
Oh.
That’s what she meant when she said someone likethis.
I glance at my pale green sundress and modest adornments—a simple gold necklace with matching earrings and watch. Apparently, my opinion ofmodestis not modest enough to grant me unaccosted entrance to this fine establishment.
“Rita.” Kaleb chuckles. “Crimson isn’t going to take gardening away from me.” He looks at me, casually brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “She wants me to plant gardens for her.”
Placing a hand to her chest, Rita exhales. “Phew. My paycheck thanks you.” She blinks. “I mean,aww, that’s soromantic. Is there anything I can help you with in your endeavors to continue supporting small businesses as the most adorable couple in the world?”
Every business in Sunset is locally owned, so pushing thesmall businessagenda seems a little extra. I think Rita is an overachiever. She’s also funny. It almost makes me want to hire her.
Kaleb touches a chaste kiss to my forehead before saying, “We’ve come to participate in the event today. Could you get us set up?”
Rita is more than happy to get us set up with clay pots and paintbrushes at a long table central in the greenhouse. While butterflies, bees, and other insects flit from blossom to blossom around us, I dab my brush in an acrylic white paint and dress my entire pot while I occasionally eye Kaleb’s work.
He’s painting the red clay of his pot all in black.
A perfect contrast to mine.
My gaze darts toward the other participants at the table, each group a few blessed spaces displaced from one another. The separation allows me the room to breathe.
Until a strange butterfly lands on my hand.
Eyes wide, I stare at its brown and orange wings. It’s…daytime, so it has to be a butterfly, right? Yet it looks almost like a moth?
“Wow,” Kaleb murmurs. “It likes you.”
“What is it?”
“A fiery skipper.” His warm eyes lock on mine. “It must like the fire in your hair almost as much as I do.”
Aw, that’s sweet. If utterly meaningless fluff.
“Kaleb,” I say, once the fiery skipper has skipped off to a plant it can drink from, “can we talk about…stuff?”
“Stuff?” he asks.
“Yes. Flirting is cute, but I don’t really care about it. It doesn’ttell me anything about you.”
