by Tara Sheets
Emma grabbed her coffee in one hand and the basket of muffins in the other. Buddy hopped onto the grass, tail spinning in a happy circle. He immediately began investigating the rhododendron bush that flanked Juliette’s front porch. From the sounds of laughter and good-natured banter going on behind the cottage, it was clear the planting party was already in full swing. Last year, Emma missed the party because she had no one to cover the shop. This year, she was grateful Molly had volunteered to open. It had been hard to keep things running all by herself, and Emma thanked her lucky stars every day since Molly had stepped in to help.
Juliette came floating down her front steps holding a pair of gardening gloves. She wore a gypsy skirt and no shoes, which was pretty typical of her, given that it was late spring. Juliette liked to feel the earth beneath her feet when she walked, and she only wore shoes when completely necessary.
She gave Emma a quick hug. “You made it.”
“Barely. I’m only on my first cup of coffee, so don’t expect coherent speech.”
“Babble all you want, honey,” a warm voice called. “No one’s going to care, because you brought muffins.” Romeo Rossi, the owner of the flower shop where Juliette worked, approached from the side yard with Buddy at his heels. He was a handsome man in his sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair, tanned skin and impeccably tailored clothes. It was unusual for an island local to wear collared shirts and pressed slacks, but Romeo was the exception. People often said he looked like an old Hollywood film star. He was also funny, pragmatic, and one of the kindest people Emma knew. If he wasn’t gay, she’d have tried to woo him with cupcakes, long ago.
He gave her a Rhett Butler smile and took the basket of muffins. “I’m starving, so I plan on eating at least three of these. They’re zero carbs, right?”
“Zero,” Emma said, straight-faced. “And they also have negative calories.”
“Perfect. I knew I could count on you. What’s their superpower?” Romeo was a staunch believer in the Holloway charms, given that he worked with Juliette on a daily basis.
“They inspire productivity.”
“Oh, thank God.” He put his hand on Emma’s shoulder and lowered his voice in a stage whisper. “Have you seen the motley crew Juliette has here this morning? They’re going to need all the motivation they can get.”
“It’s true,” Juliette said with a sigh. “You should have made a double batch, Em.”
Romeo glanced down at Buddy, who was eyeing the basket of muffins with laser-beam focus. “Come on, little dog. Let’s go feed the rabble.” He turned and headed toward the side yard with Buddy trailing after him.
Emma followed Juliette inside. Her cottage always smelled like a greenhouse. The damp, pungent scent of fresh earth permeated the air, punctuated by sharp notes of lavender, green herbs, or flowers, depending on where you were standing. Emma inhaled, grinning. Aside from her own house, Juliette’s cottage was her favorite place on earth.
“Who’s all here?” Emma asked, following her down the hall.
“Um, about that.” Juliette spun around to face her. “I may have invited a new person.”
Emma stopped fast, her coffee sloshing on her fingers. She narrowed her eyes. “What new person?”
A burst of laughter erupted from inside the kitchen, and Emma heard loud clapping. She pushed past Juliette to see Hunter standing outside on the back patio in a frilly pink apron.
All at once, he looked out of place, yet perfectly at home. And scrumptious. In jeans and a gray T-shirt, with Juliette’s gardening apron tied around his waist, he should have looked ridiculous. But the apron just seemed to accentuate his muscular physique. Impossible as it was, he had somehow succeeded in making pink polka dots look masculine and sexy. Emma took a gulp of coffee. Hot guy in frills. Who knew?
“Do it again.” Gertie laughed. She was standing beside her husband, Walter, with a half-eaten bagel in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.
Hunter stood on the patio holding three hand shovels. He tossed one into the air, then the next, until he was neatly juggling all three. The small shovels were all sharp edges and angles but he kept up the steady rhythm, expertly tossing and catching, while Gertie and Walter let out enthusiastic praise. With a final flip of one hand, he caught them all together, took a bow, and came up laughing.
Emma couldn’t find her voice. Hunter, laughing. It was . . . mesmerizing. Gone was the calculating look in his eyes, the serious expression, the hard-edged businessman. Standing in Juliette’s backyard, he just looked carefree and happy. Tiny ripples of pleasure shot through her, warming her insides. She tamped the feelings down and took a huge gulp of coffee. Calm and steady, Holloway.
“Where’d you learn to juggle like that?” Walter called.
Emma stepped onto the patio. “Clown school?”
Hunter’s mouth quirked up at the corner when he saw her and his green eyes sparkled with laughter. “Nah, I quit clowning a couple years ago. I try not to think about that time in my life.”
Emma fought not to smile. It wasn’t easy.
Gertie came onto the patio with a tray of lemonade. “Did you say clowns taught you to juggle?”
Hunter took the tray from Gertie, setting it on the breakfast table under the huge maple tree. “No, back in college I had a roommate who was a bartender. He and I used to compete with each other on who could juggle the most bottles without breaking them.”
Emma watched them talking and laughing. He looked so at ease in Juliette’s garden, but he didn’t belong there. The annual planting party was their thing. It was weird to see him fitting right in with everyone else. Sam Norton lounged on a gliding patio chair, talking with Romeo and two of the older men from the fire station. Some of the firefighters’ wives were setting out platters of bagels and doughnuts on the table, while Buddy wandered the yard. Hunter said something to Gertie, then went to help James Sullivan, the bartender from O’Malley’s Pub, carry in the terra-cotta pots from his pickup truck.
It all felt so normal, but it was just wrong. If everything went according to plan, Hunter wasn’t even going to be around for much longer. He shouldn’t be getting all involved in their traditions.
Emma went back into the kitchen where Juliette was filling a large coffee urn.
“What were you thinking?” Emma demanded.
Juliette gave her a vacuous smile. “That everyone needs coffee?”
“That’s not what I’m asking and you know it,” Emma hissed. “Why is he here?”
Juliette shrugged. “Because when I ran into Sam at the pub yesterday, Hunter was there, too. And Sam started asking what time the party started, and then he did his whole, ‘Oh hey, son, you should come along, shouldn’t he, Juliette?’ blah blah blah thing. You know how Sam gets.”
Emma sighed. She knew Sam all right. The old man loved the community. He was always trying to get people to gather and celebrate things. For Sam, it didn’t really matter what the celebration was, as long as it brought people together. Baby christening? Splendid! What time should we show up? Your dog had puppies? Marvelous! When’s the birthday party? One time, Sam even convinced the veterinarian’s office to have a memorial service to honor the town’s oldest rooster—an ancient, crotchety thing—who had finally met his end when he decided to cross the road in the path of an oncoming truck.
“I wish you had told me last night when I called,” Emma said. “If I knew he was coming, I’d have stayed home.”
“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I thought you might come up with some excuse, so I decided to omit that bit of information. Besides, think of it as temporary. You’re supposed to act nice and get along, remember? This might be a good way for you to butter him up.”
Emma didn’t like it, but Juliette had a point. It would be a good way to make Hunter feel right at home, without having to exert so much personal energy. It was a party, after all. Everyone was gathered together for a common purpose: potting the flowers for the shop storefronts along Front Street. That w
as all.
“Here,” Juliette said. “Take this coffee to the breakfast table, will you?”
Emma took the urn outside, careful to avoid Hunter. Juliette’s garden looked like something out of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. The grassy yard was surrounded by flowering bushes, with a huge maple tree at one end. There appeared to be no order to any of the plants and flowers, yet everything seemed to exist in harmony. Lilac bushes grew as tall as small trees on one end, right alongside lavender plants and roses. Here and there, fiery pink azaleas bloomed beside tulips and daffodils. There was an arching trellis of jasmine in the corner, and snapdragons along the borders. If anyone cared to point out that some of those flowering plants were out of season, Juliette just laughed and told them she had a green thumb. A select few believed it had something to do with the Holloway gifts, but most people attributed it to lots of hard work and planning.
Hunter and James were setting up the large flowerpots along one side of the garden.
Emma spent a few minutes talking to Sam, trying not to notice the way Hunter’s arm muscles flexed under the weight of the planting equipment.
Sam’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “And who’s this, then?” He grinned down at Buddy, who was attacking Sam’s shoelace.
“This is Buddy,” Emma said. “I’m taking care of him until I can find him a good home.”
Sam reached down to pet him. The puppy put both paws on Sam’s knee, wagging his tail furiously. “I like this little guy,” Sam said. “He’s a smart boy, aren’t you?”
Buddy would have agreed, but he caught sight of a squirrel and shot off toward the edge of the garden in a flurry of barking.
Hunter glanced over at Emma and smiled. Again, she felt that zing of warmth all the way to the tips of her toes. Juliette’s stupid jasmine potion sure had done a number on her. Maybe it was affecting him the same way. Maybe that’s the only reason his gaze seemed to linger on her. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. Except it wasn’t. Because she wasn’t wishing for it. That would be stupid.
She tore her gaze away and smoothed her sweatshirt down over her hips. Why did she have to wear the crappy jeans with the hole in the knee, today of all days? They were baggy and old, and she had much cuter jeans in her closet. She needed a do-over.
“How are things going with Hunter?” Sam asked.
“Nothing!” Emma felt her ears grow hot. “What?”
Sam’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “How are things going with the summer festival preparations?”
“Yes. Good, good,” Emma said quickly. “Everything’s going great.”
“He seems pretty intent on making a splash here,” Sam said. “What do you think about his ideas for the festival?”
Emma wanted to tear them down, but she couldn’t. Even though she had her own reasons for wishing Hunter would leave, she had to admit his ideas were fantastic. And the money he had donated to clean up the wharf was going to make a huge difference. “I think it’s going to be the best festival we’ve ever had.”
Sam beamed, the tips of his ears turning pink in his wrinkled face. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”
“Okay, everyone!” Juliette marched into the yard. “You all know the rules. Except you, Hunter. You’re a newb, but you’ll catch on. The idea is to be as creative and colorful as possible. Plant the flowers with the taller greenery toward the back, the lower-blooming flowers toward the front. If you need any help with the design, I’m here. If you need any help lifting heavy objects”—she jerked her chin toward Hunter and James—“ask them. Sam, you’re in charge of the breakfast table. Keep an eye on it and don’t let anyone loiter.”
“Jeez, Juliette. You sound like a drill sergeant,” Gertie said.
Juliette put her hands on her hips. “We’re on a mission here. I want these finished before noon so we can get the barbecue started. So behave or I’ll make you run laps with him.” She pointed to Buddy, who was gleefully circling the perimeter of the yard like an Indy 500 speed racer.
“All I want to know is, what’s for lunch?” Walter asked.
“New York steak.” Sam beamed. “Hunter brought some over from Sawyer’s butcher shop.”
“And grilled portobello mushrooms,” Juliette added. “For the herbivores in the group.”
“Yeah, I think that’d just be you, Juliette,” James called, hefting a wheelbarrow full of potting soil. “No sane person wants grilled mushrooms when steak’s on the menu.”
“Good. More for me.” Juliette clapped her hands. “Okay, let’s get to work.”
For the next hour, Emma focused on choosing which plants she wanted from the palettes of flowers, occasionally stopping by the breakfast table for more coffee. The atmosphere was lighthearted and easygoing, and the conversation ebbed and flowed in a lazy rhythm that soothed all her initial worries about having Hunter there.
“Are you ready for this?” His deep voice startled her out of her thoughts. He set the wheelbarrow of potting soil next to the terra-cotta pot on the grass in front of her.
Emma sat back and rubbed her hands on her faded jeans. “Thanks.”
Hunter began filling the pot with soil from the wheelbarrow. Emma watched him under her lashes, trying not to notice the way his muscles bunched and flexed from the weight of the shovel. His arms were like Thor’s in that movie, which was really saying something. Emma and Juliette had argued for days over who was sexier: Thor or his brother, Loki. Emma was team Thor, all the way. No contest.
Hunter paused and balanced his hammer in one hand. Shovel. Shovel in one hand. “Do you want more?”
Lots more. “No, I think that’s good.”
“Here, let me help you.” He kneeled on the grass beside her.
Emma was acutely aware of his body, the nearness of him, the heat of him. She felt loose-limbed and shaky, but in a delicious way that made her want to giggle. Cripes. Juliette’s jasmine fiasco had really screwed with her senses.
Hunter looked at the plastic cups of seasonal flowers with reluctance. “So how does this work?”
“You . . . plant . . . them?” Emma said with deliberate slowness. “You know, in the dirt.” She gestured to a cup of pink flowers. “And then they grow.”
Hunter handed her the plastic cup of flowers, his mouth tilting up at the corners. “You don’t say.”
She tried not to stare at his mouth. “Haven’t you ever planted anything?”
He shrugged. “Not that I can remember.”
“Not ever? Not even when you were a kid?” It seemed weird to Emma, who had grown up around Juliette. As kids, they were always running around, digging in the dirt.
Hunter shook his head and handed her another cup of flowers. “We had gardeners.”
Oh. Of course he did. “I should have guessed that.”
“It’s not like I didn’t play in the dirt,” he continued. “I mean, I was a regular kid. Climbed trees, skinned my knees, that sort of thing. But the gardens were off limits. My parents wouldn’t have wanted me to interfere with the ‘aesthetics,’ as my mother called it. I could pretty much do whatever I wanted as long as it didn’t cause a dent in the glorious landscaping. Same rules applied inside the house.”
Emma set the flowers into the soil and glanced up. “Sounds like a lot of rules for a little kid.”
“A lot of rules to break.” He gave her a wicked smile that made her toes curl in her tennis shoes. He wiped his hand across his forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt. Somehow, it only magnified the rugged, outdoor vibe he was channeling. “I was in trouble a lot.”
“Glad to hear it. I’d think less of you otherwise.”
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Once, my GI Joes waged war against my mother’s tulip garden right before her summer gala.”
Emma could just see him as a little boy, thrashing through the flower beds. “I’m guessing the tulips lost.”
“They never stood a chance.”
She tried not to grin, but failed.
“I
t was total annihilation,” he continued. “Flower carcasses all over the grass, dirt and debris everywhere. My mother was crying into her martini, but there wasn’t anything she could do because the guests were already on their way. The mayor was the first to arrive. His wife slipped and fell in the mud.”
“Your parents must have been furious.” Emma laughed.
“They stuck me with the nanny and didn’t talk to me for a week.” He said it in such a lighthearted way, but Emma could feel the darker, sadder emotion behind his words. How lonely he must have been. “My father called me a tornado on two legs, but what was I to do? Those GI Joes were a bloodthirsty lot. I was just a pawn in their scheme.”
“Was it just you?” she asked. “No brothers or sisters?”
“No, but that was a good thing. My parents always said trying to handle me was like herding cats. They never did get the hang of it. Even after they divorced, they each kept a full-time nanny.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma said softly.
He shrugged. “I was fine. I had friends, and did a lot of sports in school. It kept me busy and out of trouble.”
Emma tried to imagine what it must have been like for him to have two parents who felt he was constantly in the way. Growing up, she always thought it was tough having both her parents gone. But at least she had her grandmother, who had loved her completely. Maybe that was better than having to live every day knowing you were a burden.
“Well, someday when you have kids,” Emma said, “you can let them run wild all over the yard to make up for all those pesky rules you weren’t allowed to break.”
The humor died on Hunter’s face.
“Oh, do you already have kids?” Emma felt as if the world slowed on its axis and she held her breath. It made no sense, but somehow his answer mattered to her.
“No, I don’t have kids. And I don’t plan on it.” Clearly, he wasn’t comfortable with the direction the conversation was going.
“Well, you never know.” She turned her attention back to the planting. “Some people start out saying that, and then change their minds. When Gertie and Walter first got married they never wanted kids, but then they decided—”