by Ashley Logan
Closing my eyes and sighing at myself, I step forward. “I have a few orders actually. Do you think I could pick them up on my way back from the salon? I’m on dinner tonight, and it’s the last night for the club until the New Year, but Prez is out of herbs. I need some supplies before I head home to Franklinville tomorrow too.”
I should stop talking there. A normal person would. Not me. I just keep on going like a flaming imbecile. “I’ll be cooking up a storm to make up for being away from the kids. They probably finished the frozen meals I made last month within a week and have been living on Tim and Jem’s specialties - beans or spaghetti from a can. They’ll be hanging out for a dose of vitamins and some taste sensations, which is where you come in. Your greens are by far the best.” Great. Now I sound like a babbling, brown-nosing suck-up.
“The best.” Lennox tries the words as if tasting them. “By far?”
My raging mortification must surely have reddened my face to the fieriest vermilion. If I could only sink through the linoleum beneath me, or find the right shade of chili pepper to blend into, I could maybe recover, but no. There is no relief from this pit of humiliation. Dig yourself out Kat.
“I don’t know why they’re the best. They just are. And I only want the best for my family. I wish I knew the secret to great greens, but I guess if word got out, you’d have competition and might not be the best for long. Though probably you would be. I’d still come here either way, because it’s so close and you guys are so...” Even Linc and Kimber are staring at me now. Neither of them are doing a very good job of stifling their laughter either. Nice save, dork. What shade of red is the one beyond vermilion?
Lennox isn’t laughing at me, but he does study me with a strange smile on his face. “You wish you knew.”
“Pardon?”
Without answering, Lennox walks away. Pausing by the plastic strip curtain to the back, he waves me over. I glance at Linc and Kimber, but they instantly lower their eyes, taking entirely too much interest in a blank page of Kimber’s workbook. Looking back to Lennox, I will my feet to move.
Coming to a stop next to him, I try to understand what is happening.
“Can you keep a secret, Katarina?”
Can I what? I keep so many secrets from so many people I can’t even remember who knows what anymore, so I’ve just quit talking about those things. Kat, do not say that out loud!
I don’t say anything, just to be safe. Desperately wanting to avoid another display of verbal hemorrhaging, I simply nod instead.
Pushing the thick plastic strips to one side, Lennox gestures for me to enter before him. As I step into the short hall towards another plastic strip curtain at the other end, I hear the one behind me settle back into place. There are doors on either side of the hall. One has the words Cool Room carved into a rustic wooden board, and the other has a similar plaque that reads Private, making me wonder if that is the way to the secret I’m meant to keep. Sensing Lennox at my shoulder, I look back, uncertain. With just a fraction of a smile, he nods me straight ahead. As soon as I’m through the next curtain, I feel my breath catch.
Not only is the air warm, it’s as humid as a rainstorm in summer, and all around me, is green. There are walls of green, from floor to slanted, glass-paneled ceiling; row upon row of lush vegetation. Greenery hangs down from above and in every conceivable space. The air even smells green; tastes green.
Wide-eyed, I turn back to Lennox. Leaning against the curtained doorway, he’s watching me in that way he always seems to - as if trying to learn my thoughts. Secret stuff there Lennox. Sorry. Feeling not only my cheeks, but my whole body heating as I take another step into this secret garden wonderland, I pull the scarf from my neck before I start sweating under the hot, bright lamps.
Firm hands rest on my shoulders and Lennox leans in. “Leave your coat,” he says, helping me from it and hanging it on a nearby hook. I really do try not to think about how good it might feel for him to remove more than just my coat, but I fail miserably.
No less hot, I push my sleeves up as I walk between the green walls of the closest row.
Everything seems to be connected by pipes, and as I lean closer to inspect the plants, I realize the whole system is hydroponic. Not an ounce of soil in sight. Reaching a hand out, I brush it along a wall of mint, breathing it in. With the excitement of a kid in a candy store, I move down the row, my fingers stirring up the fragrance of each type of herb in heady bursts. At the end of the row, I meet a wall of lettuce, and a glimpse down the next row reveals walls of arugula and spinach.
“Lennox this is crazy! And beautiful, and amazing! You grow all the greens on site?”
“And harvest as close to pick up as possible to maximize flavor,” he says, plucking off a sage leaf and bruising it between his fingers before bringing it to his nose.
“No wonder they taste so good. I bet you supply the top chefs in town.”
He nods, his eyes moving up my body to my face. “You would know,” he says, clearing his throat.
“It’s not just ingredients,” he continues. “Some are for garnishing, and at this time of the year, we also stock festive greenery for ornamentation.” His eyes drop to my lips momentarily and he runs a hand down his face, scratching his beard.
What must that beard feel like? Thick and rough? A dark forest to explore.
Looking at the green forest around me to keep from staring at him, I cross my arms to trap my hands lest they wander unsupervised. “Thank you for showing me this... this oasis. I had no idea. It’s so... so...” Where are my words now? Back over by the door?
I head back towards my coat, feeling Lennox on my heels. “I should really be getting to work. I told the girls yesterday that I was making cookies, so they’ll be waiting on me. We really only have a few customers today - it’s more about us celebrating the past year with bubbly wine. Not that I drink wine, but, well, it’ll be nice to celebrate anyway. I hope you and Kimber have a great Christmas, Lennox. Unless you’re Jewish. Or Hindi, or Muslim, or whatever. Happy holidays. And Linc too,” I say in a rush as I reach for my coat, silently cursing myself for being such an awkward goose.
“Katarina?”
Why does he make my name sound so precious? Maybe because out of the handful of words he’s actually spoken, only a few of them weren’t related to his work, and my name has apparently made the short list of words worthy enough for Lennox to speak them aloud. Clutching my coat to my chest, I turn back to face him.
For a moment, he says nothing.
Raising his eyes to the greenery above me, he smiles briefly before giving a soft sigh and shaking his head. Following his gaze, I look up to see a few branches secured to the ceiling, their ends resting in the shallow, suspended trough. Hanging over the sides of the trough are several clumping, shrub-ish plants with leaves like...
“Is that mistletoe?”
Lennox nods. “Festive greenery for ornamentation. They grow like parasites, so I have to keep the host branches healthy to keep the suckers alive.”
“Sick.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin mistletoe for you,” he says, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck.
Looking back up at it, I consider any feelings I’ve ever had in regards to mistletoe. “I didn’t like it much before anyway.”
“No?”
Shrugging, I fold my coat over my arms, reluctant to put it back on when I’m still so warm. “No. Why? Were you going to kiss me?”
Oh my ever-lasting froghoppers. Will I ever shut up?
I check his reaction. What’s he doing? Just looking at me? Again? Doesn’t he ever tire of seeing me turn crimson? Is red his favorite color, or is he just distracted by it like bulls are? My face must look like an inflamed pimple with hair. Even if he was going to kiss me, he surely won’t now. That’s good. Right?
“Is that what you want?” he asks, stepping forward.
His words don’t register, but I’m watching his lips, so I know he said something. They de
finitely shaped words. Why can’t I lip read?
“Pardon?”
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
Okay. I heard him that time. I heard him, but I’m not sure I can believe my ears now. When did incoming transmissions become so difficult? My processing functions are off. Even swallowing takes more effort than it should. My voice is barely audible and I begin to wonder if my outgoing data is plagued by the same paralyzing affliction. I must have some form of brain malfunction. Maybe the unseasonal heat in here has fried my circuits.
Maybe Lennox Green fried my circuits by asking that question. What’s the answer?
“I don’t know.” Genius.
“You don’t know?” he asks, his eyes scanning my face.
My cheeks are so warm, I think I could serve as a radiant heater for this winter, and maybe even the next without needing to be recharged.
Why is he looking at my lips like that? Why am I looking at his? Where do people usually look at each other? His lips press together in a thin line and his eyes narrow.
“You definitely know,” he says with surety.
I do. I want you to kiss me, Lennox. I want you to more than kiss me.
Do not say that, Kat! Just shrug.
Done.
Good. Back it up with a dismissive comment.
“It doesn’t matter,” I mumble, shaking my head as I turn to leave.
Lennox reaches for my arm, slowing me enough to get in front of me. “It matters.”
Why are his lips at eye level? It’s so distracting. Damn heels. “Excuse me?”
“What you want matters, Kat.”
Before I can react to that statement by clumsily destroying his business in a tragic game of greenery-wall dominoes, or opening my mouth and saying something incredibly moronic, I’m stopped - immobilized; barely able to draw breath.
Sliding his fingers into my hair, Lennox leans in close and lightly presses his lips to mine. Pulling back ever so slightly, he repeats the soft kiss as his thumb strokes my cheek. He doesn’t push further, but rests his forehead against mine.
“Merry Christmas Kat.”
Pulling his hand from my hair, and brushing my cheek with the backs of his fingers, he backs up. “Leave your orders at the counter. They’ll be ready when you are,” he says quietly before melting away into the maze of immense foliage.
Ducking back through the heavy plastic curtain, I touch my fingers to my lips. I can still feel the kiss, even though it was such a gentle touch. Making the most of the cool hallway to get myself back into some form of functional being, I inhale deeply before continuing out to the store.
“Wow. It is hot out there.”
Not even a lie.
Wiping my forehead, I act casual as I dig in my bag for my shopping lists. “Can I swing by to collect this order around three?” I ask, ironing out the paper creases against my thigh before handing the first list to Lincoln. “And this one I won’t need until tomorrow. I should know the actual time by this afternoon, so I’ll let you know then?”
Exchanging a secretive glance with Kimber, Lincoln accepts the order and runs his eyes over it. “Three should be fine,” he replies with a smile as he takes the second, much longer list. “Have a lovely day Katarina.”
“You too, Linc. And you have a great last day of school, Kim-bones.”
Her eyebrow quirks at me in the same way her father’s sometimes does.
“Sorry. My brother is Tim-bones. My brain hiccups sometimes.”
“It’s okay,” she assures me, zipping up her schoolbag with a smile. “I kinda like it. How did he get the name?”
Gazing at the ceiling, I remember it clearly. “Well, I did a lot of dancing - you know, ballet and stuff, so I’d always be practicing, and Tim is three years younger than me, so I was his idol for like... five minutes. Anyway, he used to dance around after me - I had to dance in the yard, because Mom said the house was too small to contain my whirlwind - and he had this skeleton costume that he’d wear for weeks after Halloween - way cute, but also hilarious, because it really didn’t fit him very well by the fourth Halloween he wore it - we still tease him about it,” I add with a giggle. “Anyway, early on in what I refer to as the skeleton years, we were dancing and his outfit inspired the boy next door to start singing Them Bones - you know, the ‘this bone connected to that other bone’? Only then we all sang Tim-bones, Tim-bones, gonna dance around, and the name kinda stuck. I think he was maybe four or five, poor guy.” Linc laughs politely, Kimber smiles, and I run a hand down my face. “Total corn. I talk way too much sometimes. I’m going to head to work now. Catch you guys later!” I call over my shoulder as I head for the door, pulling my coat on.
“Bye Kat. Thanks for the presents!”
“You’re welcome,” I call back to Kimber as I pull on my own homemade hat and mittens. With a quick wave, I head out into the cold as the rising sun struggles to shine through the cloud cover. It’s still snowing lightly, but any flakes that hit my face are most welcome. They’ll help cool it down as I think about non-verbal communication, the expressions of bearded men, and in particular the lips of the reticent Lennox Green, and how to read them. Because if I am reading them right, I need to work out how to close their book when every part of me wants to flip ahead to the juicy bits he seems to be promising.
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BOOKS BY ASHLEY LOGAN
Other books in the BEYOND series...
Available Now!
Beyond HUNGER
(Violet Wheeler & Sergio Moretti)
Beyond HEAT
(Bruno Jackson & Scarlett Warner)
Beyond TOUCHED
(Alexa Carrington & Damon Shermansky)
Coming soon...
Beyond COMPARE
(Katarina James & Lennox Green) July 2018
JENKINS & the Naughty Nurse
(Bradley Jenkins and Stacey Lane) August 2018
Beyond TAKEN
(Natalia Chenkov & Nikolai Rigby) September 2018
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About the Author
Ashley Logan writes sexy, inspirational romances with a splash of cheek thrown in for good measure.
Ash lives in a house in the trees on the Kapiti Coast in New Zealand, with her crazy/awesome family. She hates folding laundry, but loves music, writing, a good belly-laugh, and of course, happy endings - especially for underdogs! Always a fan of stories and the amazing successes of human resilience, Ash traded a career in nursing for an armchair and a laptop when she became inspired by people's incredible strength of mind. Creating characters in her head started as an innocent hobby, but became terribly addictive when those characters began to dance and the compulsion to tell their stories became too much to resist.
Read more at Ashley Logan’s site.