Page 15 of Clara's Secret Garden
‘There’s so much of it.’ I sigh. ‘Why on earth did I thinkmaking four courgette cakes was a good idea, Bertie? I know for a fact thatneither Lois nor your mum will touch it, on principle.’
‘I’ll eat it, Clara,’ volunteers Luke, licking icing fromhis fingers.
I chuckle. ‘Thank you, Luke. Do you think your mum mightlike some?’ I ask doubtfully. ‘I’d hate to have to throw it away.’
‘When’s Rory coming to cut the grass?’ asks Bertie. ‘We wantto play football.’
‘Any minute now, I think.’ I glance at my watch and snap thelid back on the cake box, after leaving a slice for myself on a plate forlater. I was going to offer some to Rory but judging by Shaun’s reaction to bakingwith vegetables (and Rory’s own response when I mentioned it in our texts lastnight), I think I’ve changed my mind! Right on cue, we hear a car pull upbeyond the gate, and a moment later, Rory appears, trundling a fancy lawnmowerand looking cool in jeans, faded pale green T-shirt, sunglasses and a grey cap.My heart gives a happy skip at the sight of him and as I go out to greet him, Idive into my handbag on the counter and check my reflection in Gran’s hallwaymirror.
I look nicely glowing and healthy and my blue eyes aresparkling. A sneaky spritz of my light, summery fragrance will hopefully hidethe fact that I’ve been sweating like a carthorse for the past three hours!
‘Wow. Nice machine.’ I nod interestedly as Rory demonstratesits advantages over other lawn mowers, although to be fair, I’m not exactlytaking it all in, my attention having been temporarily hijacked by his verykissable mouth as he talks. I catch the phrase ‘spectacular mulching feature’which I’m sure is very impressive. But as long as it cuts the grass, allowingthe boys to kick their ball about, that’s really all I care about.
‘Want a lecture on the strimmer as well?’ Rory grins at me.‘Or shall I just shut up?’
‘Ooh, you know me too well.’
He laughs. ‘Any cold drinks on the go? This hot weather...’
‘Lemon squash?’
‘Perfect. Right, back garden first?’
‘Great!’
He glances over at the vegetable plot as he heads for theside gate with the strimmer. ‘Looking a whole lot better than yesterday.’
‘Thank you.’ His praise makes my foolish heart sing. ‘By theway, you’ve got alovelystrimmer. And don’t let anyone tell youotherwise.’
He holds up a thumb and disappears through the gate.
After checking the boys are in view and aren’t up to anymischief, I retreat indoors to pour Rory’s lemon squash, running the tap alittle to get the water really cold.
But I find myself waylaid for a moment, leaning on theworktop and watching Rory through the window. I know I’m biased but thatstrimming technique is a sight to behold. He’s using the powerful muscles inhis hips and thighs to swing the blade with a back-and-forth motion, workinghis way through the long grass. And as I stand there, feeling rather hot myself,he lays down the strimmer and strips off his T-shirt, throwing it to the side,and I get a view of the muscles rippling in his long back and broad shouldersas he picks up the implement and starts work again.
Wow, Rory Angel... you really haveblossomed into a gorgeous hunk of manhood...
‘Clara! You’re getting wet!’ yells Bertie.
Oh, bugger. I go to turn off the cold tap that’s gushinginto the sink but I somehow manage to turn it the wrong way, drenching thefront of my T-shirt even more, and Bertie and Luke fall about laughing.
As they run out, I call after them, ‘Don’t interrupt Rory.He’s very busy. Why don’t you play some games for a while until he’s finished?’
‘Okay,’ yells Bertie.
I’m thinking of the basketball net Dad rigged up on the wallat the side of the cottage. But when I peer out a moment later, they’re sittingon the side of the raised beds, engrossed in games on their phones, which theyclearly pocketed while I was in a dream watching Rory through the window!
Smiling, I decide to leave them to it for half an hour. Atleast while they’re immersed in their phones, they won’t be bored and gettingup to mischief. I go back out and start gathering up all the weeds and grassesdestined for Gran’s compost bin. But the lid is fixed tight and won’t budge,and eventually, Rory sees I’m having trouble and comes over to help.
His summer tan has deepened and a sheen of sweat covers hisnaked torso, and when he pulls off the lid and steps back, he smells of honest,sweaty toil and a hint of citrus body products. The deeply male scent of himlands a punch of desire deep within me.
At my involuntary gasp, he turns. ‘You okay?’
I paste on a smile. ‘Yes, yes. I’m fine.’
‘Was it the smell?’
‘What?’How does he know?
