Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
The mint surrendered beneath my shears, trimmed back to give the rosemary room to breathe. I collected the cuttings in a small basket. The mint would be dried, stored in the glass jars that lined my kitchen window. Sometimes I imagined I could still smell her on my fingertips after working with the herbs she’d loved. She said her herbs helped her create meals for her hardworking man. She said she grew them for me, but I knew better.
She found therapy in her garden. It never mattered what she had going on in her life, Sarah could come to her little garden, kneel in the cool earth, and tend her plants with loving care while peace filled her. She called it finding her calm. I never understood why digging in the earth and helping plants to grow filled her with so much satisfaction. Fucking shame it took her dying for me to figure it out.
“Dirt therapy again?”
I didn’t startle at Knight’s voice. I’d heard his footsteps approaching, the particular rhythm of his gait distinctive among the brothers. I didn’t look up, continuing to trim with the same measured pace.
“Not dirt.” I paused, scissors hovering over a particularly unruly stem. “Soil.”
Knight chuckled, the sound gentle despite his intimidating appearance. His tattooed face and colored eyes made strangers cross the street to avoid him, but the brothers knew better. Beneath the ink and modifications was a man who’d hack government databases without hesitation but couldn’t stomach killing a spider in the clubhouse.
“Soil therapy, then,” Knight conceded, shifting his weight. “Sorry to interrupt your” -- he waved his hand vaguely at the ground – “soil time, but we got a delivery at the gate.”
My hands stilled. Something shifted in my chest, a subtle change in rhythm I hadn’t felt in years. “The woman from last week?”
“Yep, Cora. The one with the blue eyes that had you looking like you’d seen a ghost.” Knight paused, immediately regretting the word choice. “Jesus. Sorry, man.”
I set the shears down with deliberate care, wiping my hands on the towel tucked into my belt. “Hannah handling it?”
“She’s with the kids at the shelter today. Knuckles took her.” Knight watched me stand. “I can take care of it if you’re busy.”
“No.” The word came out more forcefully than I intended. I moderated my tone. “I’ll get everything inside and put it away.”
Knight’s mouth twitched, a knowing look crossing his features. “Thought you might say that. She’s waiting at the gate.” He stepped back as I moved past him, giving me space. Knight always seemed to understand the need for physical distance, for the bubble of emptiness I maintained around myself.
“I’ll be right there.” I glanced in the direction of the front gate. I hadn’t meant to give away more interest than Knight already knew I had for the girl, but I’d never had much of a poker face.
I walked to the hose coiled neatly against the wall of the warehouse, where I lived in an apartment on the first floor in order to be close to the garden. Turned on the spigot, washing the dirt from beneath my fingernails, from the creases of my palms. The water sluiced over the burn scar, momentarily cooling a phantom itch that sometimes plagued the damaged nerve endings.
Knight pulled out his phone, sending a text to whoever was manning the gate, most likely. I moved toward my bike, parked in its designated spot beside my door. The machine gleamed in the filtered sunlight, meticulously maintained like everything in my life.
I started the machine and the motor rumbled to life beneath me. I guided the motorcycle through the compound, past the inner ring of warehouses, toward the gate. The wind rushed against my face, cooling skin that felt unexpectedly warm. I hadn’t felt this particular sensation in a long time, this anticipation.
I’d watched Cora drive away last time, the envelope of cash clutched in her hand, and found myself hoping she’d return. Not just for the convenience of having someone willing to deliver to our compound, though that was rare enough. But because something about her had pierced the carefully constructed numbness I’d maintained since Sarah died.
The gates appeared ahead, the metal barrier standing open. Beyond it, I could see her car. And beside it, Cora herself, one hip leaned against the driver’s door, her posture attempting casual confidence but betraying tension in the set of her shoulders.
I slowed the bike, approaching with deliberate care, not wanting to startle her with the engine’s roar. She straightened as I drew near, those striking blue eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before sliding away. The ghost of a smile touched her lips like an instinctive reaction quickly suppressed.
A feeling I thought long dead bloomed in my chest, an emotion I hadn’t allowed myself to feel since Sarah’s murder. If I embraced the emotions and let things progress naturally, I feared the danger I’d be putting my heart through.