The Chocolate Garden (Dare River Book 2)

by Ava Miles

  “Here,” he announced, sliding the bowl to her like temptation himself.

  She popped one in her mouth. The dark chocolate smacked her taste buds while the pomegranate tickled her tongue with its luscious fruitiness, the seed providing a pleasant crunch. Tammy found herself wanting to close her eyes again.

  Okay, so maybe she’d be forced to moan on this consultation, after all.

  He chuckled and popped an entire handful into his mouth. “They’re incredible, right?”

  Incredible was a paltry word. They tasted exotic and lush and one taste had made her crave more. She picked up three and ate them all at once, trying to scribble on her note pad at the same time.

  “Okay, so you love chocolate. Now, how about your favorite movie?”

  He winced.

  “First thing that comes to your mind.”

  “You’ll laugh.”

  “No, I won’t,” she said, intrigued by the way his ears were turning red. “I’m a professional.” Who might start moaning over chocolate right in front of you.

  “Well, you’ll recall that I was raised by women. And I’m a good Southern boy.”

  “Gone with the Wind?” she teased. Everyone in the South loved that movie or said they did out of loyalty. It was almost un-American not to consider it your favorite.

  His face bunched up. “Ugh, no. That would be Rhett Butler Blaylock’s favorite. I could never stand Scarlett.”

  Her gasp echoed across the kitchen.

  “I know. Don’t tell anyone. The old ladies at my mama’s church would chase me with shovels.”

  That image was so funny she couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, then what is it?”

  “Just remember that I have a mama and three sisters who watched it all the time, and then I developed a crush on Julia Roberts…”

  “Oh, my God. You like Steel Magnolias?” She put the pen down. “That’s my favorite movie.”

  “It is?” he said, grinning now. “Get out.”

  “Not because of Julia Roberts, though. Sally Field always makes me cry buckets in that movie, especially at the gravesite. And then there’s Shirley MacLaine as Ouiser. I’d have to stifle my laughter at her antics so Mama wouldn’t hear.”

  “My mama named my sister Shelby after Julia Roberts’ character.”

  “You don’t say.”

  He crossed his heart, his blue eyes sparkling. “I do. Maybe we should watch it sometime. We can see who knows more lines.”

  Was he asking her on a date? The idea so flustered her, she grabbed some more of those heavenly pomegranate chocolate pieces so she wouldn’t have to respond.

  “Okay, last question. I don’t want to take up too much of your day.”

  His smile dimmed, and she wanted to kick herself for dousing their easy-going fun.

  “Ask away.”

  “Country or city?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “No,” she replied, so flustered she pulled at her shirt’s hemline and smoothed out a wrinkle. “Would you be able to provide me with recordings of some of the songs you wrote? I listened to Rye’s music when I was designing his property, and it worked well.”

  “Sure. I can get those for you. Of course, plenty of them are sung by your brother.”

  “I know, but I’d like your original tracks—you know, the ones with your voice. Rye said you give them to him that way.”

  How could she explain that she felt something about someone when she heard them sing? It was like their soul was wrapped up in the music. And something told her there were plenty of hidden valleys inside this man.

  “Rye said you’re not much of a country fan. Are you sure you want to hear them?”

  “It’s growing on me, I suppose.” Sterling had thought country music was for rednecks, and he’d imposed a no-country-music rule since he hadn’t wanted to hear her “infernal” brother’s music on the radio.

  Since Meade, she’d started listening to it to understand her brother more than anything, and she’d been drawn to the songs about families, hard times, and lost love.

  “Let me grab that for you. I keep copies around for new clients” John Parker said and left her alone at the table. When he returned and handed her five CDs, she thumbed through them and stopped when she reached a professionally produced album. John Parker was on the cover, sitting on an old wooden bench in an open prairie with the sun setting behind him. He’d scrawled a message to her across the front in bold handwriting:

  To Tammy and our special project together.

  John Parker

  Her eyes darted to his shuttered ones. “You have your own album? How did I not know about this?”

  “Because it didn’t go anywhere.” His shoulder tipped up in a half shrug. “Rye helped me get a record deal when his star was rising. I love writing music—and singing it too—so I agreed, but I didn’t like everything that came with it.”

  There was no mistaking the despair in his voice. She could only imagine some of the things that had come with it. John Parker wasn’t wild like her brother had been then, and she couldn’t see him partaking in some of the crazier elements of country music stardom.

  “I didn’t have the heart for performing in city after city like Rye did, either. It’s water under the bridge now.”

  Funny, hearing all this made her like him even more. She was glad John Parker hadn’t compromised himself by becoming something he wasn’t.

  “Thank you, John Parker. I can’t wait to listen to your album and all your other songs, even the ones I’ve heard Rye sing.”

  “That’s kind of you to say. I hope you enjoy them.”

  She’d learned that even tough-guy Rye was touchy about his music. Tammy placed a hand on his tanned forearm. “Knowing you, I’m sure I will.”

  The moment hung heavy and thick like an August summer night, so she hurriedly placed the CDs in her satchel to break the tension.

  “I need to go home and let all this cook,” she told him.

  “Let it cook?”

  “It’s like processing. I need to take in what I’ve seen and what we’ve discussed, mix it in with what I know of you, and let images form in my mind.” Ideas were already flashing inside her head like starlight.

  “I do the same with my songs.” He smiled easily then. “Okay, I’ll walk you out.”

  He held out his hand, palm up.

  Was he trying to shake her hand? There was a moment of silence before she slowly extended her own fingers and grasped his awkwardly. He turned their clasp over until they were holding hands like sweethearts. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  When he squeezed her hand, she gave him a shy smile, unsure of what else to do, and let him lead her outside to her car, filled with the certainty that he wasn’t interested in keeping their garden project purely professional.

  If she was truly honest with herself, neither was she.

  Chapter 10

  A week later, Tammy was waiting for her babysitter to arrive so she could take her initial designs over to John Parker’s house when Annabelle screamed bloody murder.

  She was running toward her when she saw the reason. Bullet had just dropped a dead robin in front of her daughter. On her clean kitchen floor.

  “Out,” she told Bullet in the meanest voice she could muster.

  The dog just pranced away from her, and he wouldn’t listen to Rory either when her son tried to round him up.

  “Bullet! Out!” she yelled this time, but he didn’t mind her, and soon Banjo joined him, leaning down to sniff the bird.

  The robin fluttered its wings then, scaring both dogs to death. Tammy and Annabelle screamed, and even Rory jumped back and pressed against one of the kitchen chairs.

  Oh God, it was alive? The dogs started barking at it like the ferocious beasts they weren’t, and Barbie and Bandit joined in on the fun. Annabelle and Rory squealed as the robin fluttered its way across her clean floor, then they climbed on chairs.

  Tammy wished she could do the same.

>   But she had to deal with this injured bird, not to mention the four insane, barking dogs.

  The whole process took twenty minutes, and Alice was no help when she showed up. Who could blame her? Tammy finally managed to cover the bird with her biggest serving bowl and slide one of Rory’s posterboards from school underneath it, capturing it inside. The dogs butted up against her, vying for the bowl, but Alice thankfully came to her aid, holding the dogs back so Tammy could slip out of the house.

  Which is when she realized she had no idea what to do with the bird flapping at the posterboard. At her wit’s end, she enclosed the whole thing in an enormous garbage bag and carried it to her car. Going back inside, she stared down the still-barking dogs, who were being restrained by Alice. She pretty much wanted them to vanish right now. After kissing the kids goodbye, she picked up her satchel and purse and ran back to the car.

  The bird flapped around in its bowl and garbage bag prison as Tammy drove to John Parker’s house, and she worried it would somehow get out and fly around her car. Halfway there, she stopped by the side of the road and took the whole contraption outside. She stared at it, scared to open the bag, but then she knelt down, leaning her body as far away as she could, and did it. The bird fluttered, unable to free itself, and she suddenly teared up.

  That was me, she thought, and the realization made her heart hurt in her chest.

  All her remaining threads of fear unstitched themselves, and she inched closer, opening the bag fully and taking out the posterboard and bowl.

  “Come on, little one,” she said softly as the bird stared at her with its beady black eyes. “You can do it.”

  The trembling creature ruffled its gray wings and finally hopped out of the garbage bag. It took three tries, but it finally took off, flying haphazardly into one of the nearby trees for safety, needing a place for its wounds to heal. Tears were streaming down Tammy’s face by the time it disappeared into a thatch of green leaves, and she had to take a second to breathe through her emotions.

  “You’re going to be okay,” she whispered to the robin, and then she picked up everything and put it back in the car.

  By the time she arrived at John Parker’s, she’d cleaned up her makeup only to discover dirty paw prints on her navy Capri pants as she exited the car.

  She should just go home and try to start the whole day over again.

  But she couldn’t. Scrubbing with her dry hands didn’t diminish the marks much. Frowning, she grabbed her satchel and headed to the front door. After she rang the bell, the door swung open.

  “Hi there,” John Parker said. “Whoa! What happened to you?”

  There was no way she was going to tell him about bawling on the side of the road because a wounded robin had reminded her of herself. “Bullet and Banjo, that’s what. They’ve gone plumb crazy with Rye gone, and this morning they brought a dead robin into my kitchen…except the poor bird wasn’t really dead.”

  “Uh-oh. What did you do?”

  The whole sorry tale started to pour forth, minus her bawling, and finally she paused, realizing her Mama Drama was about the furthest thing from professional. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk out of turn.”

  He laughed. “You can always tell me how things are going. And look, I’ll come take Bullet and Banjo off your hands after we finish here. They usually stay at my place when Rye’s on tour anyway. We didn’t talk about it this year because you were there. Not very nice of us, leaving you alone with four dogs.”

  No, it wasn’t, she almost said, but it was the stress of the morning talking.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, following him into the kitchen, praying he was.

  “Tammy, I insist. I know they’re a handful. Rye has always loved that about them. I prefer Charleston, but we all have different taste in dogs.”

  “Thank you truly. I have to say it will be a relief.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  A reluctant laugh squeaked out of her and then another. “I must sound demented.”

  “No, just like a mama having a bad day. So, to make up for your dog and bird trauma, I’ll take Rory on a bike ride and make sand castles in the sandbox with Annabelle while you have a glass of wine and take some time for yourself. I meant to follow you home today anyway to see the kids.”

  Oh, she could use that time to send some design ideas over to Tallulah Parsons, another connection from Rye’s wedding, who’d asked her to plant some containers around her patio.

  “Thank you, then. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “So, let’s get you some sweet tea and a tranquilizer, and then you can show me what you have in mind.” He rubbed his hands together. “I have to tell you, I’m pretty excited to see your ideas.”

  The tranquilizer comment made her smile as he poured her sweet tea.

  “You sure you don’t want something stronger?” he joked.

  “If ever there was a day…”

  More settled after they were comfortably seated at the kitchen table, sipping sweet tea and eating more of his special chocolate, this time dark-chocolate-covered figs, she reached for her satchel for the designs. Butterflies danced in her stomach in anticipation of his reaction. She’d burned the midnight oil, scouring books, rifling through magazines, and reading dozens of gardening blogs. With one of Rory’s number two pencils, she’d drawn and re-drawn his gardens until the eraser had worn down to a nub.

  His soulful music had played in the background as she’d worked. Rye had been right. John Parker was one of the good boys. The lyrics on his one eponymous album were pure poetry. They painted pictures of loss and love, family and forgiveness, and the continued pursuit of the important things in life—even when the chips were down.

  Some of the songs he’d written for other artists were wildly different, though, like “There’s No Use Shooting Him” or “That Girl Needs a Real Man,” and she realized there were sides of his personality that were still a mystery to her.

  She extended her notebook so John Parker could see her final draft. “Well, this first design is more about the shape of the garden. Once we agree on that, I can move forward in selecting the appropriate plants to fill the space. I already have some ideas on that score, which we can talk about later. Let’s go outside so I can show you exactly where they’ll be. It’ll be easier that way. Men are pretty visual.”

  His mouth twitched. “We are indeed.”

  He gestured to the back door, opened it for her, and followed her outside. The air was stifling, and the hot sun immediately raised sweat on her skin. She felt it gather in her cleavage and prayed he wouldn’t notice.

  “Tell me what you have in mind, Tammy.”

  Taking a breath, she gestured to the sweeping line of the woods on the right and pointed to her drawing. “My recommendation is to put a pond here, nestled against the tree line. We’ll plant tall grasses that will sway in the breeze and bold wildflowers along the path to the woods. And if you like the idea, I think we should add a one-story brick structure resembling a small mill with a water wheel.” She tucked her chin nervously. “Reminiscent of the Old Mill from Gone with the Wind.”

  His mouth dropped open, and he blinked.

  “You said you didn’t have a budget, so these are high-concept designs,” she rushed to say. “If it’s not what you’re thinking, we could take it down a level. Your shed looked like it needed some…ah, repairs, so I thought the mill might replace it and look nicer.”

  He chewed on his lip like he was fighting a smile. “Are you saying my shed sucks?”

  Yes, she almost said, but that would be unprofessional. “I’m sure it’s quite lovely, but you asked me to add a new look to your property, and the shed doesn’t exactly fit in with it.”

  “That was pretty diplomatic. When I threw up that shed, all I cared about was having a place to store my lawnmower and tools. Okay, let me think about it. Tell me more.”

  They walked around his vibrant green lawn, their skin misting in the heat. She talked him through a stone wate
r feature on the edge of a redecorated patio with an open fireplace for parties. By the time she mentioned adding some waist-high fences to give the smaller gardens definition, John Parker was gazing at her intently.

  “My mama will love this,” he said, but his comment didn’t give her relief.

  He hadn’t said he liked her ideas yet.

  When she mentioned having to recast some parts of his sprinkler system, he laughed. “You’re going to bankrupt me with the water bill.”

  “Gardens need water, especially since we’re putting them in late and in this heat.” It still concerned her, but she’d read enough blogs to know they should be okay if they watered the plants with special care.

  Because he looked so good and sweaty, her newfound flirtatious streak rose up. “Unless you’re planning to haul water buckets yourself, being a big strapping man and all.”

  John Parker’s lips twitched. “Very funny.” He put his hands on his hips and looked around at his property. “It’s going to look incredible when you finish it.”

  Her gaze flew to his blue eyes. “So, you like it?”

  “I love it. I could never in a million years have come up with these ideas on my own. My family will want to come over here more to have barbecues and get-togethers. I might even have to buy a set of fine china to go along with your dramatic outdoor dining area.”

  Inside her arose a desire to punch her fist in the air and cry, yes, I did it. Her cheeks flushed. “I’m not quite done. I wanted to wait until the end to tell you about my idea for the premier garden. It will be in the middle of the lawn so your property doesn’t look…well, so much like a rectangle.”

  “A rectangle, huh?” he asked. “Or maybe a driving range? You can be sure I knock golf balls down it.”

  His teasing was most welcome. “This garden is going to define your property, and I want you to give me carte blanche on this.”

  “Sounds important. What’s so special about it?”

  Joy rose up inside her like it did when she caught sight of a rare rainbow after a rainstorm. “I’m going to plant a chocolate garden for you, John Parker.”