Gilded Lily

by Hart, Staci

  “No, you wouldn’t. You seem convinced there’s something in the way, but what if there isn’t?”

  “And what if it’s not that easy?”

  “And what if shrimp learn to whistle and chickens grow teeth? If you want to really live in the moment, stop worrying so much about what if and just go for it. Living in the moment means damning the consequences. It’s about choosing what you want instead of what’s safe.”

  “And what if I’m not ready to choose?” I asked, knowing that if I did, there would be no turning back.

  But with a knowing smile, she said, “Pretty sure you already did.”

  A laughed touched with surprise and relief and a healthy amount of fear shot out of me. Because she was right, and it was a bare and honest truth. I’d already chosen. And I’d chosen Kash.

  “When did you get so smart?” I asked.

  “When I fell in love and got knocked up. As dumb as pregnancy has made me, I feel super freaking wise. Ask me about preeclampsia or mucus plugs. Go on, ask me.”

  I made a gagging sound around my laughter. “Mucus is just as bad as moist.”

  “Worse. At least moist can be associated with happy things like cakes and vaginas. There is nothing happy about mucus.”

  I turned for the door, shaking my head, scooping up my bag on the way. “I love you, weirdo.”

  “Love you too. Have fun on your date.”

  With a parting rolling of eyes over my shoulder, I said goodbye and trotted down the stairs, musing over the revelation.

  I wondered when it had happened. In the small hours of some long night, wrapped in his arms. Eating takeout in bed for dinner every evening—me in his T-shirt, him in nothing but sweatpants and a smile. The night he’d first kissed me and promised he’d give me all I wanted. Or was it before? Had I known before I’d recognized the feeling? Had I leaned into him instinctively, knowing without knowing that he was good for me?

  With some certainty, I realized that I didn’t want him to be my rebound or fling or distraction. What I didn’t know what whether or not he felt the same.

  I’d known Kash for more than a decade, and I’d never seen him with a girlfriend. Girls, sure. But steady relationships? Never. Even now, the only woman I knew of was Ali, and even that was enigmatic. I didn’t feel it was my business to ask, as if speaking of serious things, such as past relationships, was oddly intimate, too close to a true relationship status, which we avoided discussing whenever possible. It was clear in the way he’d proposed our arrangement and the history of his relationships—or lack thereof—that he wasn’t looking for anything more. Never mind with me, the prissy, stiff girl who was so unlike him.

  But that didn’t change the fact that I did.

  And now that I knew, there was only one thing to do.

  Tell him.

  Deep down, I’d known I’d catch feelings, even if I’d insisted in the frivolity of a fling. But I’d thought it’d be easier to manage. Be more clear, how I felt. Take longer to develop.

  Brock and I hadn’t agreed to be exclusive until we’d been dating for six months. I love you had come somewhere around a year—after we were living together. In college, I’d dated Chad for three full years, and we’d never even discussed living together. Before I’d left LA, Todd and I had seen each other for a year and never even referred to each other in relationship terms like boyfriend, girlfriend, or even an It’s Complicated Facebook status.

  I noted then that I’d only dated guys with douchebag names. Not that Kash was much better, though the thought of calling him Kassius was deeply unappealing. I couldn’t see myself screaming his full name in bed, but Kash? A flush crept over me at the mere thought. That was a name I could whisper all night, and had.

  Hopefully I would in the nights to come—once I told him, I might not have the chance.

  The instinct was a sweeping tide, a compulsion so strong, it felt as if I wouldn’t be able to do or think a single thing until I told him. So I took a breath, honed my focus, and dove into a rationalization.

  I couldn’t bolt into Longbourne with a declaration on my lips. I had to play it cool, play it smart. The moment had to be right—the right moment could make all the difference. I’d know when, but I had to pay attention. We would spend the better part of our day together, so I’d observe through the lens of my newfound knowledge to determine just how and when I’d let him know.

  With that ambition guiding me, I lifted my chin and hoped.

  The bell chimed my entrance, the shop buzzing with people. Wendy smiled at me from the wall of tin buckets filled to bursting with market bouquets in chromatic order. Jett jerked his chin in greeting from behind the counter, flashing that brilliant Bennet smile at me.

  When I approached, I opened my mouth to explain what I was doing there, but he headed me off.

  “He’s back there,” he said with a flick of his head to the greenhouse.

  “Thank you,” I answered, my cheeks embarrassingly warm and smiling.

  “Try not to get too dirty.”

  I rolled my eyes and laughed to cover my discomfort, making my way behind the counter and into the workroom. Music played, some happy indie song I’d never heard before, and Tess and Luke were busy in the mini studio they’d set up for Instagram, staging Luke holding a gorgeous bouquet of exotic-looking flowers. Tess fiddled and fussed over the bouquet, and Luke watched her with the deepest, sweetest affection.

  Oh, to be adored like that.

  It seemed an impossibility, something only a sliver of a percentage of the population found, unattainable by me. I’d always thought that a loving relationship was forged through years of becoming accustomed to someone, of learning them and accepting them. I’d never been much for fairy tales, preferring reality and low expectations. But lately, I’d looked around and found a magic in love I hadn’t seen before.

  It’d been there all along, and I’d somehow missed it.

  Luke looked up and smiled the smile of a man who knew too much, and it left me wondering just what Kash had told him about us.

  “Look at what the cat dragged in,” he said.

  “That cat better not be around,” I sassed, smiling. “He hates me.”

  Tess chuckled, turning to face me. “Don’t take it personal. Brutus hates most everybody.”

  “But does he make it a point to trip everyone he hates?”

  “No,” Tess noted. “Only you.”

  Luke’s smile tilted a little higher on one side. “He’s got a whole setup back there for you. Hope you’re ready to get schooled—he’s got his chalkboard set and his pencils sharpened.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m hopeless, but if anyone can teach me, it’s him.”

  Luke shrugged. “I dunno. He’s been trying to teach me for years, but it’s just in one ear and out the other.”

  “That’s because you only pay attention to what you want to learn,” Tess added. “You’ve learned photography tricks pretty quick from me.”

  “That’s just because you were teaching me and not my hairy brother.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” I teased, heading toward the greenhouse.

  “Good luck!” Tess called after me, and I waved, accepting that luck.

  I’d need it.

  The metal door was cool, but the greenhouse was as warm as summer against the chill of fall. Music played back here too. The Bennets didn’t seem to like the quiet much, and with a house that full of people, I doubted it was ever quiet. Especially now that all the Bennets had come home to help out.

  I should have answered Ivy’s plea sooner. I should have helped before now. If I hadn’t been so concerned with my own neck, I would have. But ambition wasn’t forgiving, and being the best left no room for error.

  Lately, that mattered less and less. And I had Kash Bennet to blame.

  He didn’t see me walking down the wide aisle of the greenhouse, too lost in his work to c
onsider anything beyond his hands or the motion of his body as he cradled small shocks of budding green in his palms, transferring it to the earth where he knelt. Reverent was his care and attention, as if that little plant meant just as much to him as the plants he’d tended for months and years. Or as much as his cat, who sat next to him, flicking his tail, amber eyes locked on me.

  I narrowed my eyes at the beast, nose wrinkling as I imagined hissing at him. As if he knew, he stood, arching his back in a long, threatening stretch.

  It was then that Kash glanced up, his eyes snapping to me like he’d imagined I’d be there. Thick stubble shaded his jaw, sharpening the line, framing his brilliant smile.

  “I thought I told you not to wear white.” He dusted his hands on his jeans and stood, still smiling.

  “I thought you knew I didn’t own anything that wasn’t.” I smiled back, taking a long moment to appreciate the sight of him.

  His T-shirt was heathery gray, tight across his shoulders, straining to contain his biceps and chest, but somehow, it didn’t look too small. Instead, it appeared that he was just too strong to adhere to clothing construction of mere mortals. Printed on the front in black was the phrase, Weed ‘em and Reap.

  “Nice shirt,” I said with a nod at it.

  He looked down as if he’d forgotten what it said. “Got fifty more where that came from.”

  “Where do you find them?”

  “I don’t. Don’t tell anybody, but I don’t even particularly like them. Laney got me one for Christmas one year, and now it’s all anyone ever buys me. Figure they make the best work shirts anyhow.”

  “You’re kidding. You don’t even like them?”

  “Well, I should note that I don’t dislike them either. It makes them happy to see me in them, and given that I don’t have a real opinion either way …” He shrugged the rest off, that crooked smile on his face.

  I couldn’t have told you why it made my heart flutter at the knowledge that he wore those goofy shirts every day for the amusement of his family, but it did.

  “Whatcha doin’?” I asked, nodding to the planter box at his feet.

  He glanced in the same direction, hooking his hands on his hips. He looked like Paul Bunyan in a novelty T-shirt—all he needed was some buffalo check flannel and a knit cap.

  “Planting seedlings. These are black magic cosmos. Planted them, oh … a month ago? Now that they’re ready to move into the ground, we should have blooms in five or six weeks, I figure.”

  “For the Baker wedding?” I asked with a wondrous smile.

  He nodded, smiling back.

  I knelt across from him, looking down at the seedlings, the hopeful bursts of green in dark soil.

  “Black magics are delicate,” he said, lowering to his haunches, big hands hanging between his knees. “Its petals are so deep a red, they’re nearly black, but even more interesting—they smell like chocolate. Sometimes vanilla, but I’ve always only smelled chocolate.”

  I touched one of the sprouts tenderly. “How strange,” I said half to myself.

  “Tess is itching to get her hands on the blooms. We haven’t planted them here in years, not since I was a kid. I remember coming down here and sitting between the aisles because they smelled so good. Tried to eat one once. I don’t recommend it.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to eat flowers?”

  “The opposite—she used to walk me around and make me taste them. Although she was sorry she made me eat a pansy. They taste a little like mint, and forever on, she had to chase me out of the pansy patches. Don’t even get me started on marigolds. And when Mom would get shipments of lilac in the spring? Forget about it.”

  “Lilac? You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. Some just taste like nothing. Some taste … green. I don’t know how else to describe it. But some taste exactly like lilac smells, and it’s utter heaven.”

  “That’s my name,” I said, suddenly sheepish at the admission.

  His brows flicked together. “Lilac?”

  “My grandmother’s favorite flower was lilac, and my parents were married in her garden at the end of May when they were in bloom. So, they named me Lilac, and my sister Ivy because they must have known she’d be wild and clingy.”

  That earned me a laugh, and I smiled.

  “I’m surprised she didn’t tell you. She loves to embarrass me by telling everyone I don’t want to know.”

  “I take it you’re not a fan?”

  “It’s just so … I don’t know. Whimsical? It was a name for a fairy, not a practical girl who got perfect scores in penmanship. It felt patently unlike me. So I rejected it on principle. And the color purple too. It was all they put me in before I was old enough to have an opinion.”

  He smiled at me across the planter box. “And how old was that?”

  “Second grade. It didn’t help that I was teased mercilessly about it.”

  “Kids are cruel.”

  “And I didn’t want to give them any more ammunition.”

  He paused. “Was it bad?”

  “Remember Ashley Sanders?”

  His scoff told me he did.

  “She lived in our building. When we were home, she was my best friend, the best friend. But at school? She was queen of the mean girls.”

  “I don’t think I knew a single person who wasn’t terrified of her.”

  “There’s another side to her. Or maybe she’s a sociopath.”

  “I’d vote for the latter.”

  “Anyway, I ended up in her sights. She spent her time either rejecting me or pretending to be my friend so she could trick me—lock me in the bathroom, humiliate me in front of everyone, whatever her fancy was that day. And then we’d get home, and she’d knock on my door, apologize, and stay over for hours. All weekend. Sleepovers. The works.”

  Kash watched me with those depthless eyes of his. “Your parents didn’t put a stop to it?”

  “They didn’t know. Not really. They thought it was just the typical old girl drama, not noticing that I withdrew, that I was anxious about going to school. Even when I was having meltdowns in class. Like once, when my teacher interrupted me, I crawled under my desk and cried because no one ever listened to me. The teacher just sent me to the counselor, my parents thought I was just overreacting, and everyone went on their merry way.” I sighed. “But it wasn’t their fault. I should have learned my lesson when it came to Ashley sooner.”

  “When did you?”

  “Middle school. I didn’t have many friends—in hindsight, that was probably her doing too—and I was lonely enough to play right into her hand. When we were at home, she was honest and giving and funny and cool. I looked up to her, wanted to be her. But she was a liar, and I eventually gave up trying to make her happy.”

  “There was no lesson to learn, Lila. She should have known better.”

  “No, it was an important lesson, the most important lesson I’ve ever learned—people will manipulate you, if you let them. And no one will save you but yourself.”

  Sadness touched his face, smoothing his lips, his eyes, his brow. But he didn’t disagree, didn’t pity me or tell me I was wrong. He just watched me for a long moment before finally saying with a quirk of his lips, “Think I can prove you wrong?”

  A relieved laugh slipped out of me, along with the phrase of the hour, one I meant more deeply than he knew. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

  He smiled fully then, turning to the plastic tray of seedlings. “Wanna plant one?”

  “I don’t know,” I hedged, eyeing them like they’d turned into live explosives.

  “Here, it’s easy.” His hands stretched out, pausing expectantly with a little seedling in his palms.

  I reached out, cupping my hands like his. Mine looked so soft and small and pale next to his, which he lowered, his knuckles brushing my palm. Slowly, he opened them, transferring the cool pile to my hands with a long stroke of connection. I held the plant like it migh
t electrocute me if I moved too suddenly, but Kash’s fingers dug into the earth, spreading the dirt to make a space.

  “Go ahead, set it in here.”

  I did as he’d said, lowering my hands, nestling them in the dirt before opening them up. “Now what?”

  “Press the dirt down with your fingers, not too hard,” he warned, and I backed off from packing it down. “Good. Now, just brush a little dirt over the top to level it out. Don’t leave any space around the … yup, just like that. You just planted your first flower.”

  I dusted off my hands. “You grew that from a tiny seed. All I did was dump it in the dirt.”

  He shrugged, smirking at me. “You just put that little flower in the home it’ll know its whole life. So I’d wager it appreciates your effort.”

  There, in that quiet, mundane moment, the desire to tell him all the ways I wanted him surged in my chest, up my throat, my lips parting to speak. But he’d already stood to move the seedlings out of the way, the moment fading with the motion.

  “You ready to become a crazy plant lady?” he asked.

  I laughed to cover my nerves. “If you can show me how to keep a plant alive for more than a month, I’ll buy you a commemorative cake.”

  “Deal,” he said over his shoulder as he rounded the aisle. “Come on, I set us up back here.”

  I followed him, admiring that broad back, his rolling shoulders, the luxurious, dark hair curling gently at his nape. And with every step, I gathered my courage.

  I was a girl who knew what she wanted and went out and got it. But when it came to Kash, I was as delicate as those seedlings, roots fresh and seeking purchase in uncertain ground. He was uncharted territory—why exactly, I couldn’t say. Not beyond the simple newness, the unexpected truth of him.

  He stopped in front of the big table butted up against the end of the greenhouse, the same table he’d nearly nailed me on just a few weeks ago. Sitting on top was a variety of supplies, organized in neat, orderly rows—a plastic pot brimming with ivy, a tin of gravel, a pitcher of dirt, a pair of gloves, and a hand spade.

  “I present to you one of the easiest plants to keep alive—pothos ivy.”

  I leaned in, curious.