Page 19 of Hold the Line

I threw my things into my apartment, locked my door, and climbed the steps to Deke’s landing. I knocked, and a few seconds later, I heard him moving through his apartment.

He cracked his door, his body filling the opening. “Hey,” he grunted.

“Deacon,” I sighed. “The planters are so beautiful. You really didn’t have to do that.”

He leaned his shoulder against the jamb, slowly crossing his arms. “You needed a spot for your plants. Now you have it.”

I shook my head, wondering if he thought life was as black and white as he made it out to be. Every action had a reaction, and that was just the way it was.

“Well, thank you. I would say you spent far too much, but I love them, so I won’t. I’d like to know the name of the artist, though.”

His mouth twitched slightly. “Why’s that?”

“So I can follow them, and maybe when I save my pennies, buy another piece.”

“You like ’em that much?”

“Love them, Deacon. I’m considering bringing them inside.”

“They’ll do just fine outside.” His gaze traveled down to his socked foot as he scuffed it on the floor. “They’re weatherproof.”

“I wasn’t worried about that, though that’s good to know. I thought I might like to have them where I can look at them more.”

“Ah.” He raised his eyebrows first, then his eyes, though they didn’t meet mine. I couldn’t tell if I was bothering him, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to close the door on me. “Then you still wouldn’t have a place for your plants.”

“Thatisa conundrum.”

His mouth moved, and I stopped breathing when I realized he was silently forming the word “conundrum.” When he didn’t say anything else and the silence stretched to a point where it might have been uncomfortable if I didn’t like looking at him as much as I did, I broke into a gentle grin.

“The artist, Deacon? Will you give me their name?”

He jerked, running his hand down his chest and abdomen. “It’s me. I built ’em. You want something else; all you have to do is ask.”

My breath caught in my throat. “You? I—wow, you made them? That’s incredible.”

He lifted a shoulder. “They’re just planters.”

“I don’t know a lot about carpentry, but it takes a special talent to make an everyday item beautiful, and you did. I’m so impressed.” I bit down on my bottom lip, giving him room to speak if he wanted—he didn’t—while considering my next words. “You don’t eat sweets at all? Or not my sweets?”

He chuffed. “It’s not personal, swear it.”

“So, no sweets.” I snapped my fingers in disappointment. “You build beautiful things and give them to people. I bake delicious things and give them to people.”

Arms falling to his sides, he worked his jaw back and forth. “I’d eat ’em if I could.”

My head tipped to the side, curiosity piqued even more. “Why can’t you?”

“Nut allergy.” He looked like it pained him to admit that, and I felt bad for having pushed the issue.

“I see. Well, in that case, we’re both in luck. Sugar Rush is nut-free. My nephew can’t have peanuts or tree nuts, so I’m about as mindful as they come. Everything I make at the shop is safe for you to eat.” I pressed up on my toes, excited I’d be able to feed him. “I have a box of pastries I brought home. Wait right here. I’ll be right back.”

Before he could reply—or, in Deacon’s case, stare at me in silence—I darted down the stairs. When I got to my stoop, I took a moment to sigh over the pretty planters then unlocked my door, grabbed the pink box I’d set inside, and returned to Deacon.

He frowned at me and practically scowled at the box I held out to him. “You sure?”

My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again to ask, “About what?”

He eyed the little pink box like it might’ve been a bomb. “It’s safe?”

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