Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 103119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Rebecca was my grandmother. Becca’s Blooms was established before I was born. She taught me how to garden.” She tilted her head a little, didn’t meet his eyes. “She’s been gone since January. Just . . . heart failure. In her sleep.” A shadow moved across her features, but she brightened again quickly. “Now she would have put your flowers an equal distance apart.”
“I’m very sorry,” he said, stopping when he realized she’d planted three big gatherings of red blooms and their accompanying greenery. It had happened so quickly and organically as they spoke, he didn’t even notice. Stepping back, Julian framed up the plantings with the house and found she’d sort of . . . anchored the empty spaces in between the windows with flowers. Like filling in gaps. Did she do it unconsciously? There seemed to be a method here that he couldn’t decipher. Still, the spacing was way off-kilter and already she was positioning the next one way off to the left, prompting a throbbing behind his eyes. “Would you mind just putting it closer to the others? You’re right on the brink of a semicircle. If I tilt my head. And squint.”
A lot like in their initial meeting in his office, he sensed her disappointment even though she kept right on smiling. “Oh.” She bobbed her blond curls. “Sure.”
“Never mind.”
The words were out of his mouth before he realized he’d spoken.
But she’d already put the flowers closer to their counterparts. Patted the dirt around them and turned on the hose to give them some water. And now she was gathering her things, sliding the trowel into a pocket it hadn’t been in earlier, if he recalled correctly. The dogs were circling her, sensing their imminent departure, dancing on their paws.
Yes, they were leaving.
Thank God. Right? Now he could get back to work.
What time was it, anyway?
Had he actually lost track of the minutes since Hallie’s arrival?
Julian was so startled by the rare possibility that Hallie was halfway to the truck with her fan club before he realized it. “Bye, Julian,” she called, tossing her tool bag into the open cab of the truck and prying open the creaking driver’s-side door, stepping back so her dogs could pile in. “Good luck with the book. It was really nice to see you again.”
“Wait.” He froze. “Again?”
She started the truck and drove right out of his driveway without answering.
They’d met before. He knew it. Where? How?
The stillness that fell in the wake of Hallie’s hectic presence eventually reminded Julian that he had a purpose for being in Napa. The cursor was blinking on his screen inside. Time marched forward. And he couldn’t spare any more thoughts on the pinup earth mother or the fact that she was extremely pretty. She’d caused a disruption to his routine, and now it was over.
He should be grateful.
No, he was.
Perhaps he’d been momentarily fascinated by someone so wildly different from him, but on a regular basis? That kind of disorder in another person would drive him up the wall.
“No, thank you,” Julian said to himself on the way back inside. “Not happening.”
Chapter Three
Hallie pushed her cart down the outdoor aisle of the nursery, tapping the skip button on the music app with her thumb. Next song. Next song. She’d gone through everything from Glass Animals to her nineties hip-hop mix and couldn’t seem to settle on anything today. After seeing Julian Vos again the afternoon before, she was caught between songs about unrequited crushes, letting go of the past, and hot tub orgies. In other words, she was a tad confused.
She stopped pushing the cart and stooped down to pick up a bag of potting soil, adding it to her cart with a grunt and continuing on. Oh, fifteen years later, Julian Vos was still gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous, really, with his ropey forearms and perfectly groomed black hair. Those same bourbon-brown eyes she remembered, in all their intensity and intelligence. She’d actually forgotten how much he towered over her five-foot-three-inch frame.
And that butt.
That butt had aged like a Cabernet. Full-bodied and—she assumed—delicious.
Neither Julian nor his backside had remembered her, however. It surprised Hallie how much him forgetting that night crushed her. Sure, she’d always carried a torch for him. But until yesterday, she wasn’t aware of exactly how bright it burned. Or how much it would suck to have it snuffed out by his foggy memory.
And his exact oppositeness.
Yes, he’d always been studious and structured. She should not have been surprised when he asked her to relocate the begonias. But apparently she’d created some idea of Julian Vos in her mind that wasn’t technically real. The man from her dreams who connected with her on a molecular level and could read her mind? He didn’t exist in reality. She’d built him up into a fantasy that would never play out. Had she been measuring men with the Julian Vos yardstick for fifteen years? Who could measure up to a figment of her imagination?