Page 72 of Home Wrecker

“Out back. Digging. Her favorite spot to be. No wonder she’s still sporting a tan.”

I’m not sure why I was so hesitant to bring my fiancée into the home I grew up in. More than the paint and the flooring changes that Davina made after Rex’s funeral, Holly’s presence here lightens the entire mood.

And it’s no lie that it takes a lot to call Holly out of the backyard. My woman is constantly pruning and trimming, potting, and planting. It feeds her soul. Even if on a technicality the garden is not hers, I like to think of it as being so. Like she got the one she mentioned wanting again.

“How was your trip?” Mom asks.

“Good,” I respond.

Incredible, I should say. But part of me doesn’t want my mom to know that she was as right as she was about me needing to meet Addie. I also don’t want her to learn all about it before Holly does.

My mom sits up straight to pick up her drink and winces.

“Are you okay?”

I place a palm on her shoulder and Davina lurches away as if me touching her is agony.

“I’m fine. We had our own fun while you were gone.”

“What kind of fun?”

“Shopping, gardening—I went to Sweet Caroline’s!—got a tattoo…” she mutters the last three words.

“You what?” My refined mother spent an evening watching strippers and, “What kind of tattoo?” Please, make it be the temporary kind.

“It is none of your business is what it’s of. They really do hurt, though. Do you have one?”

I scrub my beard, wondering what other trouble they’ve gotten into while I was in New York. “Yeah, I do.”

My mother hums, her curiosity appeased.

“I’m going to let Holly know I’m home.”

“You do that, son. I’m going to sit here and sip my gin and tonic.” She lifts the glass in a toast. “By the time you wind up back inside, I’ll be ready for Holly to make me a refill. She’s an excellent bartender.”

I half expect Davina to be slurring her words. Mom looks haggard. From the dirt on her kneecaps, it’s obvious she’s been out digging in the garden too. I hope she’s been smart and kept the new design on her back well covered and out of the sun.

I have the slider open when Davina stops me. Mom’s lips twist. “Cary, Holly’s had a long day. Go easy on her?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I wink. Whatever, I’m not coming down on Holly for taking my mother to get inked.

Tall hedgerows trap the heat of the day between them and the southern-bred boy in me is thanking fuck it’s warm out. I’m going to need Addie to meet me down here if we join forces.

Holly is leaning over a shrub with clippers. Of course, she’s got the pin-up girl red bandana taming her long upswept hair. I don’t think the woman owns a pair of shorts that she can’t put on for a shift at Sweet Caroline’s.

She stands to wipe her brow and that’s when I notice how soaked with sweat the ribbed white tank she’s wearing is. Holly looks like a wet t-shirt competition contestant, making me instantly hard. She’s damned sexy. But my body’s reaction is also because I haven’t had her in a few days.

“Christ, Doll. You’re killing me.” I tent my hand like a visor while shaking my head.

It’s too fucking bad I can’t knock my mother’s new gardener up yet. I want to see her breasts stretch the material and for it to rise above the swell of her stomach into a crop-top.

Misunderstanding my meaning, Holly looks around the yard, making me grateful for the tall hedges that act as a natural fence. Her gaze drops her sweat-soaked shirt.

“Oh that,” she says, lacking embarrassment. It’s slicked to her wide, flat nipples. “They’re tits. I don’t see why everybody gets so worked up about them. For Heaven’s sake, mine are smaller than yours.”

I choke on my laughter as I approach her. “Holly, your breasts are exactly the right size and I have a genuine appreciation for them, but—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to go put on a bra, Cary Cass.” She wields pruning shears in my face.

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