Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“I won’t hold it against you,” he agreed, his eyes warm.
I made my way to the balcony, sliding open the door, my sweats keeping the cool air from chilling me.
Harrison had minimal furniture, just two chaise lounges set at the widest part of the balcony.
But a few feet from the sliding door sat a three-level wooden plant stand, each one loaded up with various herb plants.
Thanks to a few gardening enthusiasts in my family, I recognized rosemary, thyme, parsley, cilantro, sage, oregano, chives, and several large basil plants.
I’d always been kind of amazed by people who could grow and keep plants alive.
No, this wasn’t at the scale of the girls at the homestead or even some of the backyard gardens in my family. Still, it was neat to be able to grow something like this in the city. On a damn balcony.
I grabbed some of the basil the way Kit had taught me to harvest and brought it back into the kitchen with me.
“Have you always been a gardener?”
“I don’t know if I’d call that a garden. But, actually, yes. There was a big kitchen garden at my father’s home. The housekeepers and cooks always liked having fresh ingredients. And the gardeners were happy to oblige.”
“And because you had no real friends, you helped.”
“Yeah. I even went out at night with a headlamp to pluck tomato hornworms off the plants.”
“Do you miss it? Having a real garden?”
“Yes and no.”
“How is it both?”
“I do enjoy it. But I don’t have the time for a real garden right now. Maybe in the next five years.”
“Oh, you have a five-year plan. Willa is famous for those. I’m assuming the plan includes a house outside of the city.”
If I hadn’t been watching so closely, I would have missed the way his posture tightened ever so slightly.
“My childhood home.”
“Do you own it?”
“It’s in a trust with a set of delayed possession clauses.”
“Like what?”
“I had to be over thirty-five, married, and the business had to pull in a certain amount of revenue per year.”
“Seriously? Why?”
“My father was… controlling. Exacting. Wanted everything his way. And no one and nothing was ever quite good enough. His father was the same.”
“Is that why you won’t let me divorce you? The trust?”
“No.”
“Why should I believe that?”
“Because even if you go through with proceedings, we would be divorced before the next five years. And as I said before, if the goal was simply ‘a wife,’ I’m sure I could find someone who has fewer… reservations.”
Okay.
Fine.
I guess that made sense.
“So, the house is just sitting empty?”
“There’s a fund to maintain it: staff, repairs, taxes. When I reach the parameters of the trust, all that will fall on me. Plus a sizable sum for renovations.”
“It’s not to your taste?”
“My father left it largely how my grandparents decorated it. Which was with a lot of brass and gold, dark woods, heavy drapery, and hideous carpets.”
“Sounds… gaudy.”
“That might be putting it kindly.”
“I don’t hate dark wood, though. I think I’d take that over all-white-everything like I see everywhere now.”
“I agree. It’s a Georgian Colonial mansion, so dark woods fit the original style. Just not so much of it.”
“Why do you want to live there if you were so unhappy there as a kid?”
His knife stilled, and his gaze cut to mine.
“It’s going to sound stupid.”
“Try me.”
“I want to raise a happy family there. It’s been two generations of miserable kids.”
Damn.
That was kind of sweet.
“You’d have to travel for work.”
“The company would be in such a position by then that it won’t need me to be present daily. And I wouldn’t get rid of the apartment. I think there are benefits to kids spending time in a big city: art, culture, walkability that allows for more independence.”
“Yeah, I’m a big fan of cities.”
“You seem to have fond memories of the suburbs too.”
“I did. I love my hometown. I just don’t plan on living on a farm or homestead. I get enough of that visiting family. So, you want kids?”
Why the hell was I asking?
“Yeah. Maybe not the litters that some of your family has, but more than one. Two seems like the right place.”
“They don’t outnumber you then.” I paused, then looked at him. “But they wouldn’t be lonely either.”
“You’re an only child.”
“True, but my family is… unconventional. I practically had two dozen siblings with how close we all were. Are.”
Harrison reached over, filling up the wine I hadn’t realized I’d already drained, then went back to his cooking.
I went back to the couch, opening one of the books I needed to read—a slasher erotica recommended by my crazy aunt—but I couldn’t focus on the words.
Clearly, I hadn’t thought this out as much as I had hoped.
Because, yes, my presence could, over time, start to nettle Harrison.
But proximity to him would also make me know him better. And, probably, like him better.