Page 53 of Love is an Open Book
“That’s why it looks so good. You’ve had a hand in everything.”
Her unexpected praise means the world. “Only because I have the experience. It’s no big deal.”
“You’re kind of a rock star at this, Gavin Lane.” She hops up on the tailgate, swinging her legs, and I lean against it, trying to seem casual even though my heart is racing at being close to her. “I know I joke around a lot about how lame gardening is,” she says. “I go on about how it’s an old man’s hobby, and how anyone with a life would never waste their time puttering in the garden...”
I glance over and see she’s grinning wide. She was exaggerating to get a reaction out of me. “But seriously, you’re making our town more beautiful, every day. All I need to do is look around to see that. And I’m proud of you, even if I do tease you for knowing the scientific name of every green thing imaginable.”
“Hey, being able to identify any tree is cool.”
“In a nerdy sort of way,” she teases.
“Says the woman who once created a flowchart of the different Darcys.”
“That was a service to humankind,” she says. “You might not be running a whole tree farm, but you’re doing important work right here. I hope your family sees that.”
Whether they do or not, she sees, and that matters more. Hearing her say it is exactly the kind of reassurance I craved after weeks spent worrying about my future. “Does that mean I can bring you another plant to keep Frank company?”
She laughs. “Between him and the gardenia, I’m already pushing my luck.” Her eyes go soft, looking out over the freshlycleared lot. “But I have a new appreciation for what you do all day when I’m wrestling with plots and characters.”
“Mostly wrestling trees and bags of mulch.”
“And loving it.”
“And loving it,” I agree, straightening up and hoisting a roll of sod onto my shoulder, eager to finish up so we can get to the part of the day where it’s just the two of us in my truck.
“Is that my cue to get back to work?”
“Come find me when you’ve had enough. Another hour at the most.” I put on my best stern foreman face. “Don’t be a hero, Brady.”
“How can I when you’ve got that role covered?” she teases, and I duck my head, glad I can blame my flushed cheeks on the heat. This woman has my heart on a string and doesn’t even know it.
The shadows are lengthening, and I should call it a day, but Mia seems so happy. Relaxed, too, with no trace of the desperation that’s clung to her lately.
Hard to believe gardening is what put a smile on her face. She’s not used to manual labor, and I know from personal experience how many blisters she’ll have by the end of this, even with the thick gloves I lent her, but she insisted on doing the same work as everyone else and seems to be having a great time.
“Going to quit lazing around and actually help us?” Normally the ribbing would come from Morris or Riley, but this time it’s Mia. Grinning widely, she taps her smartwatch. “Time is money, boss.”
Riley laughs, and I glare at her. “Barely a day and you’ve already turned her against me?”
“You’ve done that yourself, bringing her along. She told me she’s never even weeded a garden, and she’s out here digging out tree stumps.”
“She’s not supposed to be doing that sort of thing.” I takehold of the thick trunk of the sapling with a decisive grip, arching my brows meaningfully at Mia. “She’s supposed to be pruning the bushes or spreading mulch. Not,” I say, bumping her shoulder with mine, “planting trees.”
Mia pushes right back, hip-checking me, and heat radiates through the thin fabric of her shorts.
I straighten the trunk, and use my boot to scrape loose dirt back into the hole. Morris empties a wheelbarrow full of dirt near us and Riley fills the hole with a shovel. Normally I’d be proud of the seamless way the crew works together, but lately it reminds me how hard it would be to leave them. Either way, I’m letting someone down.
Another group is planting trees on the far side of the lot, and Morris and Mia head off to get mulch. She climbs up into the pickup, waving him off as he extends a hand, even though she’s a bit wobbly.
“She’ll be sore tomorrow,” Riley says, watching Mia drag a bag of mulch toward the tailgate. “Heck, I’m going to be sore tomorrow. This is a big job.”
“Should we call it early?”
Riley snaps her gaze toward me. “Your friend seems like she can hold her own.”
“She can. I just didn’t expect her to jump in feetfirst. I didn’t invite her here to wear herself out.”
Riley watches me with perceptive green eyes. “Yeah, you said that.” She looks back over toward the truck where Morris is pointing out the different kinds of mulch. Knowing Mia, she asked for the details, storing them for use in a future book. Morris scoops up some cedar mulch and drops it into her upturned palm, bending close to tell her something.
