by Rachel Hauck
About to start for the house, Susanna paused when she heard a twig snap behind her, followed by the crunch of dried, dead brush.
“Hello?” Susanna stepped around her car, angling toward the wooded roadside easement. “Nate?”
Aurora peeked out from behind a tree, clinging to her pink bicycle.
“Hey,” Susanna said. “What are you doing here?” She smiled when she saw the woman’s pristine red Keds.
“Riding my bike.”
“In the woods?”
“Woods, road, beach.” Aurora shrugged. “I see you made it.”
“Made it where?” Surely Aurora didn’t know about her appointment with Nate.
“Here.” Aurora’s loose T-shirt swung about her waist when she pointed at the cottage.
“Am I supposed to be here?” Susanna assessed her tent-dwelling friend. Aurora seemed clear, lucid, though she talked in riddles.
“Oh yes.” Aurora walked her bike out from the trees and hopped on. “Most certainly.” She began peddling. “Relax. He’s got the whole world in his hand.”
“Are you talking about God, Aurora?”
“Most certainly.”
“Does he have me in his hand?” By faith, Susanna knew the Lord watched over her, but hearing someone else say it, even whacky Aurora, sealed the notion a bit deeper in her heart.
“Right here.” Aurora shot her hand above her head, palm toward Susanna. “See you.”
Susanna watched her ride away, envious of the woman’s freedom, wondering if she could achieve the same while living in a brick-and-mortar structure and driving a car. Or did deep, abiding peace only come from giving up everything?
But there was no time to ponder. She was late. Susanna hurried to the house, shaking the sand and grit from her shoes as she landed on Nate’s veranda and rang the bell.
The front door swooshed open. “You’re late.” Curt and formal, Jonathan stood aside for her to enter.
“Sorry. I had a moment with Aurora.”
“Who?”
“Aurora.” Forget it. Jonathan didn’t know about Aurora. Besides that, he was walking off and Susanna had to hurry to catch him.
The cottage was beautiful. The gray-shingled exterior hid the interior craftsman-style quality. Lunette windows, gleaming redwood, rounded archways, and the feeling that time rested here.
“Is this a craftsman house? They were popular at the turn of the twentieth century.”
“You have a good eye. It was built in 1901 and given to the …” He reached the kitchen entry, pausing. “… the family a year later. It’s one of the first craftsman homes built in the South.” Jon led her outside to the white, airy veranda with its stone fireplace and stained concrete floor and Nate.
“Welcome,” he said, rising, the same light in his eyes from last night. He looked different this morning in his crisp blue button-down and creased khaki shorts with his dark hair clean and loose about his forehead. A far cry from the aproned, hair-netted man who carried a ratty toothbrush into the bathrooms to scrub around the toilets.
Susanna released a low breath and steadied herself with a hand on the back of a chair. “This place is beautiful.” He was beautiful. Mercy …
She set her satchel on the table, her gaze flickering past Nate’s. He was looking at her as though he could see right through her.
“So … this is the garden?” Moving to the edge of the porch, Susanna took in the withered shrubs and thriving weeds and the low stone wall.
“What do you think?” Nate stood next to her, hands tucked in his shorts pockets.
Oh, Nate … She stepped off the porch. What are you doing to me? He made her want to lean into him as if she’d arrived home after an aimless journey.
Rebound. That’s all this was, rebound. Nate showed up just as Adam exited, and she was airing her feelings out on him. Thank goodness he was only here for a short holiday.
“You have tons of potential with this space.” She walked a few feet down the path, focusing her thoughts on the reason Nate called her here in the first place. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’ve no idea, Suz.” He’d started using her nickname steadily last night under the influence of Catfish, Bristol, Avery, and the rest of the crew. “You’re the professional.” Nate joined her on the path. “I had a grand time last night.”
She laughed. “Grand time? Is this the Brighton form of politeness? You scrubbed toilets, Nate.”
“There’s nothing that cheers a man’s heart like gleaming white porcelain.”
“You’re crazy.” When she tapped his arm, he caught her hand in his.
“I could do with a dose of the crazies,” he said, staring at her too long, holding on too long. “Shall we tour the garden? It’s big, as you can see, but with plenty of beds and space to create.”
“It’s a blank canvas.” His touch robbed her of breath. Why was he holding her hand? Why did she feel his heart against her palm? She took a giant step toward the ocean-side wall as if there were something important to inspect, dislodging her hand from his, easing his fuel from her pulse. “It’s lovely, Nate. So very lovely.”
“I see weeds. What do you see?”
Susanna cut across the lawn, smoothing her hands over her suit slacks. “Angles, textures, and ambiance. I see roses and foxglove, heather and perennials, perhaps a cobbled path and box hedges along the wall.”
Like the Christ Church grounds, Nate’s garden had a mystical aura, as if the flora and fauna understood gardens were for peace. For communing.
She could hide here. Find God here. Even among the barren beds. She stooped to run her hand over the cut blades of grass. “I could lie down and make a grass angel.”
“Like a snow angel?”
“Exactly.” She flopped on her back, pressed down into the grass and flapped her arms and legs, not caring about possible grass stains on her suit.
Nate bent over her. Did he know his smile was a potent elixir? “You look ridiculous.”
“You should see this from my angle.”
“Guess I’ll have to fix that straightaway.” He flopped down next to her, swinging his arms and legs over the grass. “Okay, on three, let’s jump up and see our creations.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.” She fired off the ground, twisting her ankle and tripping into Nate. He caught her, wrapping his arm about her waist, holding her to him.
“Well, what do you think?” He jutted his chin at their grassy, angelic impressions.
“I think, um, that my …” If he didn’t let her go, her heart would rocket out of her chest on its way to the moon. “My angel has a rather large behind. Look at that.” She bent down, moving out of his grasp, cupping her hands around the grassy impression of her derriere.
“Seems fine to me.” He winked, and she almost swooned. “It’s just where you pushed down to get up.” He hovered his hand over the grass, a grin on his lips. “See?”
See? Oh, she was seeing …
Susanna pressed her palm against her forehead. “The garden … We should get back to the garden.”
“The job is yours,” he said, low, sincere.
“You don’t know my price. You haven’t seen any drawings.”
“I don’t have to know, Susanna. I trust you.”
A pair of red birds flitted about in a black cherry tree while a couple of cherry-toting squirrels plunged their faces into the grass, storing up for the coming winter.
“You can’t keep doing this, Nate.” She sighed and headed for the veranda. Based on what she knew of the Ocean Boulevard homes, she’d worked up a rough estimate after work last night.
“Doing what?”
“Rescuing me.”
“I protest.” He followed her, arms wide. “I’m doing no such thing.”
“You feel sorry for me.” The truth escaped, smacking her heart.
“Sorry for you?” He dropped to a wicker chair. “No, Suz. Not for you.” The sparkle faded from his e
yes as he stared over the garden. “I don’t feel sorry for you.” He shifted his gaze to her. “I envy you.”
“Envy me? You want to run the kitchen tonight while I toothbrush bathroom tile?” How could he envy her?
“Tonight?” His countenance sparked.
“Oh, yeah.” Susanna perched on the edge of her chair. “Mama called this morning. Said she’d put you on the schedule. I told her you were some kind of government official from Brighton and she had no right to schedule you just because you volunteered once.”
“Volunteered? I was told I’d get a paycheck.” He tapped the table. “I deserve it. I worked hard last night.”
“Mama said government officials, of all people, need to see how hard a man works to get a decent wage.”
“She’s right. I’ll be there.”
“Okay, but be warned—she’ll have you cleaning out the trash bins or Cloroxing mold from seedy, hidden places.”
Nate leaned forward with arms on his thighs. “I’ll scrub mold if you’ll design my garden.”
“Sorry, bubba, but working at the Shack isn’t part of my negotiating. Besides, you don’t even know if I’m a good architect, Nate.” Truth nailed down some of her early morning excitement. “You barely know me.”
“Then why do I feel as if I do?”
“Hero complex?” Ha. But he didn’t laugh. He studied her as an easy breeze dropped by, scenting the porch with morning fragrances, and listened in on their words.
“I watched you work last night, Suz. You’re the boss’s daughter but you gave your all. You made everyone feel like a part of the team. Even me. You didn’t ask them to do anything you weren’t willing to do yourself. They respect you because you’re a woman of integrity. That’s how I know you’ll design a lovely garden.”
“You saw all of that on a five-hour shift?”
“It’s amazing what we can see when we take the time to look.”
She surveyed the garden again, then Nate. “I’ll do it.”
He smiled. “Good. I knew you’d see reason.”
“Whatever, wise guy.” She took her sketch pad and pencils from her satchel. “But we’re dickering over the price and signing a contract—the whole shooting match.” She passed over the rough estimate she’d prepared.
Nate flipped back through the pages. “Are you sure you’re charging enough?”
“Nate, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to dicker down, not up.” Susanna positioned herself on the top porch step and made her first mark on the pristine page, noting the pockets of shade in contrast to the pockets of sun, imagining all the personalities of a southern Georgia, ocean-side garden.
Prayer.
Picnics.
Parties.
Politics.
She imagined the path of a pearly moon through the magnolias. A wisteria vine under which lovers might sit, holding hands, entwining their hearts.
She breathed in the scent of pine, palmetto, baked grass, sea salt. And the fresh scent of Nate’s skin.
She glanced around to find him practically falling out of his seat to see her design.
“I’m just sketching …” She turned away.
“I’m just looking.”
“Nathaniel, you’ve a call,” Jonathan said from the kitchen door.
“Who is it?”
“Your father.”
“Excuse me, Suz.” Nate brushed his fingers over her hair as he left the porch.
“O–okay.” His touch had produced chills on her hot skin. He had to stop touching her. Awakening something deep in her soul.
She tried to focus on the dry weeds and barren beds. But her heart yanked her thoughts back to his touch.
Rebound. This is just rebound. A man gives you a bit of attention, and you’re ready to hand over your heart …
Back to the garden. What it needed was freedom. Space. A subtle beauty. When she finished the sketch, she scripted a garden name across the top.
A King’s Garden.
It helped her visualize the end design. Susanna wasn’t sure Nate would find any connection to such a lofty-sounding name, but she did. Already “A King’s Garden” took up a brilliant residence in her mind.
NINE
You fancy her,” Jonathan said as he cleared the cups and cakes from Wednesday afternoon tea.
“That’s out of the blue but if you’re talking about Susanna, yes, I like her,” Nathaniel said. “As a friend.” Far be it from him to confess he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since she left this morning with her sketch pad, excitement in her eyes.
Her design struck him. She’d sketched a near perfect replica of Dad’s old garden, the one Nathaniel loved so much. It was as if she read life and color in the garden’s fading shadows.
Simple. Spacious. But edged with blooming life.
“Friend? Nathaniel, I’ve not seen that look in your eye since Adel Gardner kissed you during the university autumn bash.”
“Adel? Really? Jon, you’ve got to move on. University is over. Ten years over.”
“Me move on? Who here has not fallen in love since our fourth year?” Jonathan’s glare accented his sarcastic tone.
“At least I’m not like you. Falling in love every spring and out every fall. You’re none the better for it, I’d say.”
“At least I try.”
“You don’t have a big fat crown on your head either.” Every once in a while, Nathaniel felt justified to pull the crown prince card.
Jon laughed over the clatter of the dishes as he headed to the kitchen door. “True, I’ll grant you, and I gather it’s why you’ve not told your new friend that Nate Kenneth is really Prince Nathaniel Henry Kenneth Mark Stratton, future king of Brighton.”
“She doesn’t need to know.”
“Perhaps you need to be reminded then. You fancy her. I see it in your eyes.”
“I know who I am and the boundaries I have.” How could he forget? Jonathan, Mum, Dad, the entire Brighton Parliament wouldn’t let him forget. “Let Liam know I’ll need the motorcar tonight, please.”
“Where are you going? And wherever it is, Liam is tagging along.”
“I can’t have my security officer in tow when I pull a shift at the Rib Shack.”
“Again?” Jon came around the kitchen island. “Whatever for?”
“Her mum put me on the schedule. They’ve been needing extra hands since her father has been in the hospital.”
“Nathaniel, you’re the crown prince. You don’t need to wait tables at an American barbecue bistro.”
“I’m not waiting tables.” Nathaniel started for the stairs. “I’m scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets.”
Jon swore blue. “The King’s Office will have my job if they get wind of this.”
“It’s not your choice.” Nathaniel stripped off his shirt as he made his way down the hall. Susanna and the rest of the crew wore shorts and Rib Shack T-shirts. He’d worn jeans last night and had sweat them through. Tonight he’d dress in the uniform—a pair of shorts he didn’t mind soiling and a T-shirt.
“Then tell her who you are, Nate,” Jon called after him.
“What for? To prove my superiority?” He paused on the first landing, glancing over the rail at his aide. “Or to embarrass her and make her feel bad she asked a royal prince to scrub a dirty floor on his hands and knees?” Nathaniel jogged up the stairs. “I won’t do it.”
“What if she finds out on her own?” Jonathan followed Nathaniel up to his private quarters.
“And how would that happen? Will you tell her? Or Liam?”
“Three hundred people saw you give a speech Monday night, Nathaniel. I bet at least one or two of them enjoys a good barbecue meal now and again. What if a Brightonian or Hessen on holiday happens by the restaurant?”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ll be cleaning trash bins or some such out of sight. And you saw Mrs. Butler’s social set. I daresay they won’t be calling for reservations at the Rib Shack anytime soon.”
&n
bsp; Jon glared at him. “I said it once, I’ll say it again. You do fancy her.”
“Right now, I fancy you disappearing so I can change.” Nathaniel pushed his aide out the door.
Yes, he fancied Susanna. A lot. And he’d flirted with her this morning, crossing over his own personal boundaries. Holding her hand, holding her waist, all the while concerned she’d mistake his heartbeat for distant thunder.
But it wasn’t right nor fair for him to awaken a love that he could not return.
Scooping change into his pocket from the dresser, he sketched her face with his thoughts and stored it in a private room with signage—For Nathaniel Only.
Downstairs, Liam passed him the keys. “I’d feel better if you’d let me come along, sir.”
“I’d feel better if you’d not go at all,” Jon said. “You’re a prince.”
“I’m on holiday and this is my idea of fun. Don’t wait up.”
“Before you go, here’s the latest from the Liberty Press.” Jon offered Nathaniel his iPad.
Nathaniel opened the front door. Warm, glorious light flooded the foyer. “Unless it’s a bomb scare or a catastrophe, I don’t want to know.”
“Define catastrophe,” Jon said.