Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
She took a cautious sip of the pink concoction.
“Whooo boy,” she gasped, fanning at her mouth face, eyes streaming. “You sure you put enough gin in this drink?”
His eyes widened and he took the glass from her to take a sip.
“Jesus… fuck, that’s pretty damned strong,” he agreed, his eyes going to the group of women still merrily laughing and chatting where he’d left them. “None of them breathed a word about how strong it is. And it all came from the same pink gin and tonic mix that I’d whipped up.”
“There’s tonic in this?” she asked incredulously and took another sip. Nope, no tonic. At least not that she could taste. “Lies! You’re a lying liar who lies!”
“Look at them,” he breathed, staring at her friends, and sounding almost awed. “They’re tossing it back like it’s water for fuck’s sake.”
“Oh they know how to hold a drink, those girls. We may look like nerdy plant-loving snowflakes, but we were the rowdiest bunch of party girls at college.”
“I know. I have firsthand knowledge of exactly how rowdy, remember?” His voice was dark. Somber. And Lilah’s eyes flew to his in horror as that night, eight years ago, came flooding back. The night Ben had rushed her to hospital, absolutely certain she was dying. She’d been so scared—barely conscious—but could still vividly recalled the look of stark, desperate terror on Ben’s face as he’d carried her into the emergency room, pleading for somebody, anybody to help her.
“Well, I’ve never really been one for strong alcohol,” she said, injecting lightness into her voice as she set the glass down in the tray on the bench.
He still looked pale and dazed and she tried to shake him out of it by grabbing hold of his hand and dragging him to her corner of aromatic lavender and rosemary.
“I’ve been working on the herb garden,” she told him. “The fragrance will permeate throughout the garden. When they mature, the bushes will be about waist high—your waist, not mine—and they’ll attract bees, butterflies, birds. It’s going to be beautiful.”
“It’s already beautiful.”
She beamed up at him, happy that he liked it. This was her gift to him. A peaceful place for him to retreat to, away from the frenetic pace of his world.
“The ladies were talking about another special project you were working on,” he said, watching her closely.
“It’s nothing,” she said, her cheeks going rosy. Not sure how much she wanted him to know about that.
“They said it was about Cyrus?”
“Oh, God, who said that? Darbi? It was Darbi wasn’t it? She’s such a blabbermouth.”
“Uh… quite honestly,” he admitted gruffly. “I’ve always had a little trouble telling them apart.”
That startled a laugh out of Lilah. She looked over at her very disparate group of friends in amusement. They were tall, short, curvy, slim, black, Asian, brown and white. None of them looked or behaved remotely alike. Ben had just never cared to pay attention to them long enough to work out who was whom.
“So what’s this project?” he asked and Lilah hesitated.
“You’re going to think it’s stupid,” she said, reluctant to share it with him.
“Or maybe I won’t.”
Or maybe he wouldn’t.
“I’m planning a commemorative public garden or park for Gramps. But more than that, I’m thinking of establishing a charitable foundation in his name. Gramps loved green spaces, he loved gardens and forests and, well, I don’t have to tell you. You know this already. It’s all still quite tenuous, but I wanted this foundation to provide grants to worthy community-based projects to build parks, play areas, and green spaces in impoverished areas with significant urban decay. And once I have all the kinks ironed out, I was thinking it would be wonderful if the opening of the garden coincided with the announcement of the foundation.”
She was chattering nervously, she could hear the pitch of her voice increase while each word fell faster than the last, until they were almost colliding into one another. She took a breath, peering closely into his face. He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before and she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that odd, bemused expression.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she ventured, her voice hesitant because—honestly—she had no real clue what the hell he was thinking. But she’d take a stab at it nonetheless. “A foundation, am I right? Such a useless spoiled rich bitch thing to do.”
“That’s not what I was thinking, at all.” The denial was soft, almost gentle.
“Then what’s up with that face?”
“What face?” He touched his jaw as if to check that all was well with his face.
“That stoic, I’m Hiding What I’m Feeling Because What I’m Feeling Isn’t Good face.”
“What I’m feeling is pride, Lilah.” His voice was shaky with emotion and the fact that he chose not to hide that from her, touched and shocked the hell of Lilah in equal measures. “I’m so fucking proud of you. Cyrus would have loved this idea so much. It’s goddamn perfect.”