Page 24 of Arranging Ayra
“Barn, I have no idea how to make a wreath.”
“I know. I’ll show you.”
Fireworks went off in my belly. We’d spent the larger part of the morning together, and he now wanted to go on and work on this wreath project with me.
Could he be more adorable?
As Cindy loaded up with her newly acquired props, I followed Barn around to the back of the manor.
“This could get a little messy,” he said as he walked on. “So we’ll set up back here.”
Anything you say.
We reached the greenhouse, and he set the bags down on a large table set up near it.
“We’ll just have to clear some of this stuff away...” he said, as he pushed aside the few flower pots that sat on the table and then set the bag of seeds on the ground. “There.” Satisfied that we now had enough space to work, he turned to me and waved me over.
“I’m not much of a crafty person,” I said.
“No worries,” he said with a warm smile. “I’ll guide you every step of the way. You’ll see. It’s easy once you get the hang of it.”
We got to work, and I was surprised to see what a good teacher he was. He was patient and did a great job of explaining every step.
I didn’t want the day to end. Being with him was a dream I could never have imagined would come true.
“That one is a little wonky,” he said of a wreath I’d just made. “Reminds me of one of the first I’d made with my mother.”
“Oh?”
He shot me a teasing grin. “Yes... when I was eight years of age.”
I looked at my wonky wreath, holding it up and turning it one way and another. “Well, it’s not a perfect circle but...”
“Circle? Love, an egg is more circular than that wreath.”
Despite the harsh critique, I laughed. “I imagine your mother would not be very proud of that one.”
His chuckle was filled with the obvious affection he had for his mother. “Despite her title as queen of wreathmaking, she could be quite forgiving with a pupil’s first attempts.”
“How can I fix this?” I said, looking at the green disaster.
“Here,” he said, as he reached out to take a hold of the wreath.
His hand brushed over mine and my breath caught in my throat.
“Hold it here,” he said, pinching another portion of the wreath with his thumb and index finger.
This time it was my hand that brushed over his as I set my fingers precisely where he indicated.
“All you need to do...” He took apart a section of the wreath. “... fix this here, take that one away and...” He reattached the section. “Voila!”
His hand swept over mine as he took the wreath and held it up. “Isn’t that better?”
“Much,” I said, amazed by what his capable fingers had done to my attempt... not to mention to my racing heart.
Gazing at his handiwork, he smiled. “Mum would be proud.”
Dimples and all, he was more than charming. Dare I say, even more charming than the fictional Mr. Darcy.
