This time Rose couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not that bad.”
He inclined his head to one side and lifted a brow.
“Okay, sometimes it is.” She dug her toes into the dirt and kissed Ivy’s sweet curls. “Did Skye leave?”
“About fifteen minutes ago.”
“What in the world have you and Ivy been doing?” Rose hoisted Ivy up higher on her hip.
He examined a trellis laden with honeysuckle. “We debated wearing white after Labor Day. I let her win, of course.”
It was easy to be dazzled by him, to be charmed and lulled. What wasn’t easy was seeing who he belonged with. She tried her best to picture the woman who would capture his heart—something that should’ve been as easy as growing dandelions in the front yard. Maybe it only worked on the people in town. People she knew and had grown up with. People whose needs and wants were transparent as soon as they entered her store.
But Sasha…Rose lightly swayed from side to side, gently bouncing Ivy. Sasha was as mysterious as the Pamlico Sound at twilight.
He meandered around the glass-enclosed building, pausing every so often to read labels or sniff at a flower. When he got to the strawberry plants, he turned to her. “These the same ones you set out for me?”
“Yes.” They were also the ones used to make strawberry wine. A wine thought to be an aphrodisiac, and had been sold as a love potion during the late eighteenth century. A wine that every Poppy Holland shared with her favorite lovers. Her cheeks flushed as their eyes met.
What Sasha wouldn’t give to know what made her blush. “How much time do you spend in here?”
“As much as I can.”
“What’s your favorite flower?” Sasha asked, and she took a step toward the door. Beautiful blue eyes wary as hell. “Don’t leave. I only want to get to know my landlady a bit better. You’ve already shared your favorite dessert with me.”
Wariness gave way to a tentative smile. “Sunflowers. They have lots of uses. You can use the oil from the seeds for cooking, or applying directly to patches of rough skin. Paper can be made from them, even rope from their fibers.” She bit her lip, her gaze darting over his face. “I’m boring you.”
Ivy squirmed in Rose’s arms.
“Actually, I find you quite riveting.” He leaned against a table and a cluster of white flowers caressed his face. He brushed the flowers away, then nodded to Ivy. “Would you like for me to hold her?”
“No.”
“You were saying.” Her brows drew together and he smiled, gesturing to the neat row of sunflowers behind her. “The Swiss Army Knife of flora and fauna.”
“Oh, well, people think sunflowers follow the sun, but they don’t—not after the first few days.” She shifted Ivy to her other hip. “They like to face east.”
“Useful information if I’m ever lost.” He scratched his chin, then looked down. A vine with purple flowers seemed to twine around his ankle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rose shake her head and the vine actually moved away from him. He jerked his head up, then blinked at the innocent look in Rose’s eyes. He’d been chopping wood in the sun for far too long.
She studied his face for a moment. “Did you know that the seeds are said to relieve Whooping Cough and get rid of fevers? My momma used to give us a tonic of sunflower oil and water whenever we got sick. But I prefer to roast the seeds and eat them. My chickens like to eat the seeds when I’m done. I mean, I didn’t regurgitate them. I was talking about the other ones.” She glanced away.
Ivy grabbed her hair and tried to shove it into her mouth.
Dammit. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. He’d only wanted to keep her with him longer, to truly get to know her. To find out all her secrets and where that damn spring was hiding. That was top on his list, of course. “Brilliant. Now tell me what flower is really your favorite—purely aesthetic. No medicinal uses like curing toad warts on a man’s intestines.” Gently, he helped untangle Rose’s hair from the baby’s grip.
“For that you’d…Oh, you were joking.”
“Only a little,” he replied and rubbed the back of his head.
She took a step forward, then another until she stood directly in front of him. Reaching out, she brushed away the white flowers that continued to smack him in the face. He shivered.
“Do you really want to know?” she asked softly.
Leaning forward, he bent his head to hers. The heady fragrance of jasmine filled his senses. “Tell me.”
“Violets are my favorite.” Her words were sweet and hot against his lips. The greenhouse grew hotter, more humid, and the flowers more fragrant, but nothing as potent as her. Rose’s face seemed to glow and his heart thudded loudly in his chest. “Flowers have a language of their own. Sometimes, I’d rather talk to them than anyone else.”
A bead of sweat trickled down his back. He should concentrate on something else. Anything. He looked for Ivy, but she wasn’t in Rose’s arms anymore. There was a pram near the door. Rose must have laid her down. White flowers brushed his face again, directing his attention back to the lovely vision standing so close.
Swallowing, he said, “And what do violets say?”
“I’ll always be yours.” A cluster of pink flowers touched her shoulder, then grazed the top of her breasts. Her lashes lowered, hiding her beautiful eyes from him.
“Mine,” he whispered and an image formed in his head. One of him gently laying her down on a thick carpet of flower petals on the floor, sinking his hands into her hair, and kissing—
A cold breeze hit him and he blinked, stunned to find his arms holding air and Rose by the door with Ivy on her hip.
“It’s too hot for her to stay in here long.” She turned and walked through the doorway. The white gate closed behind her with a distinctive click.
“And for me,” he mumbled. He was hot as hell and painfully aroused.
He started to follow Rose and nearly tripped on the vines at his feet. Kicking them away, he moved to the door. Blackbeard met him at the gate, a reproachful look in his eyes.
“Nothing happened,” he told the cat as he made his way back to the house.
After jogging up the few stairs on the back porch, he strode through the kitchen and took the grand staircase two steps at a time. In record time, he’d changed into his trainers and a pair of sweatpants. Rose and Ivy were nowhere to be found as he moved through the house, making his way to the front door.
“Time to start doing what I came here for,” he said and began to run.
And plan.
Sasha stood in his “new” store, staring out of the dusty window. The faded vinyl letters of ‘Retro Dayz’ in no way obscured his view of Carolina Dreams.
Men and women went in and out of Rose’s shop all day long. With his door propped open, he could hear the bells ring every time her sunny door opened.
In order to look like he was actually doing something, he’d brought his laptop and sat down in a wildly leaning to one side rolling desk chair at the old counter. As he ordered new equipment and sent emails to friends asking for donations, he kept one eye on Carolina Dreams.
He didn’t know how she did it. It seemed as though Rose was always moving, always helping someone. Sometimes with Ivy in her arms. Not until a little after one in the afternoon did traffic to her store finally die down.
A group of four women—including Jemma Leigh—exited Rose’s shop, their laughter carrying to him. To his amazement Rose trailed behind them, but she stopped to prop open her door with a big pot of some kind of green plants with huge red flowers.
“Come to lunch with us, Rose,” Jemma Leigh said with a smile.
Rose froze in place.
Sasha stood, moving to the window to get a closer look. Why did Rose look so surprised at the invitation? She had to have girlfriends—all women did.
“Oh please come,” An auburn haired woman wearing square glasses said. “Maybe you could give Christina a love hint.”
“Sage Caswell!” Christina said, a blush forming on her cheeks as she lightly bumped her friend with her hip. “Well, my momma swears by your family. So whatever help you can give me, I’ll take it.”
A smile began to tilt Rose’s lips at the corners, but the fourth in their quartet banished it. “Not with that baby,” the brunette with straight brown hair snapped. “This is my one day without kids.”
Sasha narrowed his eyes at the self-centered women. “Rose never gets a day without kids,” he said under his breath.
Rose turned to Christiana. “It’s Jacob Mansell.”
Christina smiled and clapped her hands together, then reached out to hug Rose.
Quickly side-stepping the woman, Rose tucked a loose curl behind her ear and grabbed the sign by the door, repositioning it. “Y’all have fun.” She disappeared into her shop.
Sage frowned. “You really know how to make a person feel welcome.”
Jemma Leigh punched the brunette in the shoulder. “Way to go, Bernice.”
Bernice rubbed her shoulder, leading the way as the group of women followed. ”I don’t know why you’re so hell-bent on her coming, Sage. It’s not like you and Joaquin worked out.”
“You need to apologize to Rose before I do more than hit you on your shoulder,” Sage said, her eyes narrowing.
“You tell her, Sage,” Sasha said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’m not apologizing for—Oh, my God—did a bird just poop in my hair?” Bernice patted her hair, coming away with some whitish-gray goop in her hand. She let out a screech.
A little blue bird swooped down, finding a spot on the awning over Carolina Dreams’ door. It twittered joyfully, and Sasha’s jaw dropped. He swung his gaze back to the foursome, entirely satisfied to see the other three women laughing at Bernice.
Rose peeked out of her door, her eyes widening as she clamped a hand over her mouth. He kept himself from laughing, worried that she’d hear him and know he was spying on her.
However, he couldn’t stop the ache that began to form in his chest when her hand fell away and the longing on her face as the women walked around the corner eclipsed the sunny afternoon.
Sasha squeezed the stuffed rabbit he bought Ivy, making it squeak, and the baby squealed with delight.
Ivy’s dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners as she drooled and babbled. “Don’t think you’ll lure me in with those ridiculous lashes. I’m made of sterner stuff,” he said, but then the baby just had to smile at him. And his heart lurched.
“He’s too old for you, baby girl,” Rose said, sitting down on the faded rug beside him and handing him a cup of green tea.
“Thanks.” He leaned against the sofa and stretched his legs out on either side of Ivy’s blanket. Rose grabbed Ivy just as she tried to eat his sock and placed her back in the middle. “You’re quite good at the whole mummy thing.”
“Baptism by fire,” she said softly. “I was scared to death, but now…”
He leaned forward to set the tea on the coffee table, then settled against the couch again. “Now what?”
“Now I feel guilty because I don’t want Summer to come back. I want to keep Ivy forever,” she said with a little hitch to her voice. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for Ivy.” He wouldn’t insult her by saying everything would be okay. That she’d be okay. That maybe Summer wouldn’t come back after all and Rose could keep Ivy forever.
Life wasn’t fair, because if it were, he’d still have his dad and a mother who wasn’t in a coma. He wouldn’t be a pawn in his uncle’s schemes. He wouldn’t be a villain. One that was sitting on the floor with the woman who’d saved him while he plotted against her and all that she cherished.
“I know.” She swiped a finger across her lashes, then a smile curved her sweet lips. “Where have you been?”
Blackbeard slunk into the room, his bushy tail hitting Sasha in the leg. The cat eyed a half-eaten slice of cheese cake. He jumped on top of the scratched coffee table to inspect it closer.
Sasha gave the cat a mock grimace and shook the rabbit at him. “I can tell you where that damn cat’s been. In my bed and under my covers, making himself at home. I’ve been choking on cat hair. That beast of yours likes to sleep on my neck.”
“Poor baby.” Rose laughed and his heart turned over. “It’s only been a little over a week.”
It seemed a lot longer to him. Maybe because he spent every night listening to the sounds of her humming to Ivy. Of her asking about his day, his store, and what he wanted to eat that night. Watching as she ventured out of her shop and over to his, bringing him lunch, but never staying to eat with him. As she picked flowers and talked to Blackbeard as if he were human.
As he searched for weakness and only found his own.
Not once had she mentioned the “real” Holland Springs and not once had he asked her.
In the fireplace, a blazing fire crackled and snapped while the sounds of indie rockers lamenting their love lives, but not their unfortunate fashion choices (which never failed to boggle Sasha’s mind) filled the silence.
“Looks like she’s feeling much better.” This morning, when Ivy had woken up with a fever and Rose had been frantic, he’d volunteered to go to Palm Island and clean so Rose would have one less thing to worry about. She’d given him another one of her tight hugs in thanks, and he’d driven to the ferry, happy as lunatic—again.
