Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Still, since it’s not like I need twenty-twenty vision to dribble some water onto flowers, I don’t bother to go back down to grab them.
“Hi, darlings,” I murmur to the plants, sticking my finger into the soil. Lillian’s extensive written instructions for her plants talk a lot about poking the dirt to test it. At first, this had made zero sense to me, but as I automatically stick my pointer finger into the cool, moist soil, I’m pleased to realize I think I’m finally getting a feel for being a plant mom. I could tell they hadn’t needed any water after a late summer thunderstorm yesterday, and I can tell now they only need a little sip.
Lillian refers to the pretty purple flowers as her “Buzzes,” which I thought had just been Lillian being Lillian, but have since learned is actually a thing. Buzzes are a variety of a flowering shrub called buddleia. They bloom right up to the first frost, and then I can ease back on the watering. I’d been annoyed by this at first, but now I’m sad I only have another month or so to enjoy them. They’re also known as the “butterfly bush,” and I make a mental note to come up during the day sometime in the next few weeks to catch sight of the butterflies their fragrance is supposed to attract.
“Good evening, Lillian’s niece.”
I squeak and drop the watering can, pivoting toward the unexpected slow rumble of a masculine voice.
Thanks to the lack of light and my currently uncorrected nearsightedness, I can’t make out much detail, but there is definitely a man on the neighboring roof not ten feet away from my own.
“Is that an easel?” I ask, blinking at the stand in front of him.
“Lillian did say you were a genius. A real marvel to see it in action,” he says in a sardonic, indifferent tone.
I blink, a little taken aback by the unfounded rudeness.
“I just mean… how can you even see—forget it.” If this strange man on the roof isn’t going to bother with small talk, then neither will I. “How did you know who I was?” I add with narrowed eyes.
“Lillian emailed all the neighbors. Let us know you’d be living here while she was gone.”
“Interesting. She didn’t mention you.”
He shrugs and picks up what looks like black chalk—charcoal? Is that a thing artists use?—and because it’s so quiet up here, I can hear the scratch of it over the canvas as he resumes his work.
I pick up the watering can, which thankfully still has just enough water to satisfy the Buzzes’ needs, but instead of finishing up with my plant duties, I continue to glare at Lillian’s neighbor.
“So. That was an opening for you to introduce yourself,” I say after a long silence.
There’s no pause in the scratching sound of the charcoal on canvas, and he doesn’t bother turning his head my way when he responds. “Archer.”
“Archer. Is that a first name? Last name?”
He glances over, and though I can’t make out much of anything about his features in the dark, I can see a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of white in the moonlight. “Why? You going to cross-reference my story with Lillian? Make sure I’m not some creepy squatter who lives on the roof?”
I scratch my nose, because that’s actually exactly what I’d been planning to do.
“Last name,” he says, smile gone, bored again. “And don’t worry, Lillian’s niece. Your aunt knows me. What are you doing up here?”
“Watering her favorite plants,” I say, gesturing with the watering can toward the Buzzes. “Lillian likes the rooftop ones watered at night.”
That seems to get his attention. He glances briefly to the plants in question. “I come up here almost every night it’s not raining, and I have never seen those plants in my life.” He points with his charcoal.
I blink in surprise. “What?”
“For that matter, I’ve never seen Lillian up here, either.”
Now I’m genuinely perplexed, because he doesn’t seem like he’s lying, but Lillian’s instructions had been very precise. “Are you sure?”
He shrugs.
I frown down at the plants. “I wonder why she moved them up here. A seasonal thing, maybe?”
He doesn’t reply, and I realize he’s gone back to his work once again, as though I’m not even here. It’s hardly an ego booster, but then I’m not the femme fatale type. This is hardly my first time being disregarded by a man, so I don’t take much offense.
Curious about Archer in spite of his overt rudeness, I walk to the edge of my rooftop toward his. It’s not a large space. In fact, there’s not even a foot-wide gap between our buildings. Enough to lose a set of keys forever, but not enough for anyone to risk falling between them.
The footprint of Archer’s rooftop is about the same as mine. Now that I think about it, I do vaguely remember noticing the rusted chair before.