Page 65 of Marrying the Gardener
I didn’t think that Kaleb wouldhitme while he wasn’t feelingwell, but I did expect him to grump and grouse at least a little bit.
Instead, he was kind.
He was grateful.
He was gentle.
He told me he appreciated me.
I can’t explain how deeply that is all I have ever wanted from anyone. And he figured that out. Heknew. Because he didn’t just say he appreciated me. He recognized—while hungover—that appreciation was the language I preferred.
And now he’s taken me to a ranch and put me on a horse and—
Well. I just can’t handle this.
Being seen like this—and treasured through it—is an experience I’ve only ever had with Crisis before.
Kaleb mounting a black quarter horse beside me is the most attractive thing I have ever witnessed. Wearing his usual work outfit of a plaid shirt and dirty jeans, he looks as though he was built forfarmboy. Ranch hand. Nature. Gardens. Rugged activities that make his hands rough against my skin and…Ireallyneed to shut my brain up.
So I focus on our guide as she relays the instructions and tells us to separate our horses so we have room to practice on opposite sides of the bullpen.
With casual ease, Kaleb angles his body, clicks, and murmurs, “Good girl,” when his black mare walks away from mine.
In stark contrast, my steed heads toward him.
“Whoa,” the guide says, gripping a rein and halting my palomino. “He’ll follow your body language, so you need to commit to where you want to go.” She directs a handfirmlyaway from Kaleb. “Which is that way.”
“Right.” Heat flares. “Sorry. I got mixed up.”
Distracted. No more distractions. I’mnotattracted to Kaleb.That is silly. Deep emotional connections do not form in a matter of weeks—even if those weeks are spent together constantly, evenings filled with one another, talking…kissing…flipping Monopoly boards.
Maybe deep emotional connections actually do form under circumstances exactly like these…
After all, it took me a striking two minutes to fall in love with Crisis.
But, notably, Crisis is a woman with big brown eyes. Endearing mischief saturates her every motion. She loves like she hates—thoroughly, encompassingly, catastrophically.
My heart yearns after the simplicity of loving someone who already loves me. It disdains risk games. It protects itself against chance.
The mutual fall between Crisis and I happened, and the rest was history. Our souls knew their match. The end.
If Kaleb were a woman, thus removing my natural-born distrust of men, would I have fallen for him in the same way I fell for Crisis? Would my soul have recognized kinship in him immediately as well?
No.
No, I’m being stupid. Very stupid.
He somehow managed to convince Ava to give him cheat codes for today, and I am putting far too much weight on him knowing anything about me since I recognize that I slip sterilely through this world, only taking interest in what others need me to in order to cultivate relationships with them.
This isn’t monumental; it’s a trick.
Stopping my horse, I pull my phone out of my pocket, rub the palomino’s golden coat, and shoot a message to Ava, hoping I don’t get talked to for texting and riding.
Crimson:Ava, did Kaleb ask you about anything yesterday?
Her message returns, immediate.
Ava:He asked me what we were having for dinner?
