Page 16 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
“Yes, the blazing stars, sand verbena, and mock orange?” Lucian’s brows arched in question. Arlo wriggled beneath their steady, level gaze, when he never wriggled under any man’s scrutiny. “I always think potted plants are fine, and if you’re careful to pick the right ones, they can really make a room come alive. But there’s something special about cut flowers, don’t you agree?”
“There certainly is.” Although he didn’t think Lucian would want to know what he really thought was special about them.
“It’s so unusual to meet a man who loves to fill his home with flowers. All that heady, rich perfume filling the air. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
“Sure.” Arlo wrinkled his nose and cleared his throat at the itch that was forming. Just the thought of his home filled with brimming vases, infecting the air with heavy sweetness, was enough to make him want to reach for the antihistamines.
“Next time, when you come in, we’ll go through all your favorite colors and scents, and I’ll make you up a centerpiece for a table, or a cabinet.”
Next time… The words sent a frisson dancing the length of Arlo’s spine. But cut flowers… He’d better come clean.
“There’s a slight problem with them.”
Lucian’s eyes widened. “A problem? Don’t tell me they’ve died?”
“Not exactly. I gave them away.” No way could he tell Lucian he’d thrown them in the trash.
“You…?”
“I’m allergic to cut flowers,” he blurted. “They make me sneeze, my chest gets all wheezy, and…” He trailed to a stop. Lucian was smiling, then grinning, before he burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t laugh, but why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were so enthusiastic about making up a bunch for me.” And because I wanted to stay and talk to you some more…
“At least I know. I promise not to force any more flowers on you, but pot plants—”
“Hey, everybody, come and get the best BBQ in the Creek!” Hank’s hollered out invite was met with whoops and cheers, as everybody made their way across. Arlo and Lucian joined them.
“There’s enough here to feed an army,” Lucian murmured as he looked at the piled up stack of meat.
Hank speared a sausage and waved it at Lucian.
“Thank you, it looks marvellous, but I’m veggie.”
“You’re what?”
“Vegetarian. I don’t eat meat.”
“You don’t eat…?” Hank squinted, a pained expression creasing his face.
Arlo looked away, biting down on the grin aching to break out on his lips. In Hank’s world, men ate meat. Period. He knew his friend well enough to know he was asking himself how this non meat eating English florist had ever ended up at his back yard BBQ. It was no doubt a story he’d be telling his buddies in the workshop, the entire crew of them shaking their heads in disbelief.
“I’m awfully sorry, but no, I don’t. But the salads and all the side dishes look wonderful.”
Hank looked from the sausage to Lucian, and back again, his pained, constipated look turning to one of near horror. Lucian might just as well have said he only ate babies, well seasoned and slow cooked in the oven.
“Stick it on my plate, Hank, along with a burger and a couple of steaks. Come on,” he said, nudging Lucian towards a table groaning under the weight of various salads, sides, and breads, “I’m sure we can find you something that hasn’t been up close and personal with half a cow.”
Piling their plates high, they found a shady spot and sat down.
Arlo was bursting with questions, and now was the perfect time to ask why and how the quirky young Englishman had found his way to a small town even most Wyomingites wouldn’t have heard of. He also wanted to know who the guy called Miles was, the one who’d brought a frown to Lucian’s brow, had made his lips turn down, and a shadow cloud his eyes. He stabbed hard at his baked potato, but the angle of the fork was wrong and it flew off his plate and rolled across the finely mowed lawn.
Lucian laughed. “Spud croquet. Oh my god, I haven’t thought about that in years. We used to play it on the lawn near the ha-ha. It was the one thing I could always beat my brother and sister at. They hated losing, and especially to me.” Lucian grinned, his face bright with memory.
“Spud I know is potato. Croquet’s a game, because I watch far too much BBC period drama. But a — ha-ha?”
“Ah, yes.” A flush colored his cheeks. “It’s a type of sunken fence, commonly used in landscaped gardens and parks in the 18th century. The point was to give the Lord and Lady of the manor, or indeed anybody admiring the garden, the illusion of an unbroken, continuous rolling lawn, whilst at the same time providing boundaries for grazing livestock. I thought you’d know, being an architect.”
