Page 49 of Never Been Gargoyled
“Maybe she felt guilty about giving her up and couldn't face contacting her.”
“Or maybe she had her reasons for leaving it to you instead.”
I wanted to believe that. I really did. But the doubt was creeping in, cold and persistent.
“What if I don't deserve this place?” I asked quietly. “What if I'm fighting for something that was never meant to be mine?”
Feydin turned to face me fully, his gray eyes intense. “Do you love this estate?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Do you want to restore it? Make it stunning again?”
“Of course, but that doesn't mean?—”
“Would you turn it into a business opportunity or a home?”
“A home,” I said without hesitation. “But Feydin?—”
“Then you deserve it.” He reached over and covered my hand with his uninjured one. “You see gardens and sanctuary and history worth preserving here and that matters.”
His touch was soothing when I felt like everything was spinning out of control. The way he was looking at me made heat swirl through my body.
“You really believe that?” I asked.
“I know it.” His thumb traced across my knuckles. “I've watched you with this place. The way you hum while you work in the gardens. The way you talk to the plants like they're old friends. The way you light up when you discover something beautiful that just needs a little care to flourish again.”
My face grew hot. “You watch me work in the gardens?”
His gaze fell. “I may have observed your gardening techniques. For educational purposes.”
“Educational purposes.” I couldn't hold back my smile. “Is that what we're calling it?”
“I'm still learning about proper plant care and who better to learn from but you?”
“Uh-huh.” I bumped his shoulder with mine. “And what have you learned so far?”
“That you have a remarkable talent for bringing stone-cold things back to life.”
The way he said it, so serious and earnest, made my breath catch. There was something in his voice that suggested he wasn't just talking about plants anymore.
“It's not really a talent,” I said. “Most things will grow and thrive if you give them the right conditions. A little water, some good soil, enough sunlight. Patience.”
“Patience,” he repeated, like he was filing that information away.
“The hardest part is knowing when to intervene and when to step back and let nature take its course.”
“And how do you know the difference?”
I thought about it. “Experience, mostly. And paying attention. Plants will tell you what they need if you know how to listen.”
“What do they tell you?”
“Droopy leaves usually mean too much water or not enough. Brown edges mean stress, though it could also mean drought or disease or just shock from being transplanted. Yellow leaves are often a sign of nutrient deficiency.” I glanced at him. “Why the sudden interest in botany?”
“I want to understand what makes you happy.”
The simple honesty of his answer hit me right in the heart. He wanted to understand what made me happy. Not just tolerate my interests or humor me but actually understand them.
