I leaned down to get my fallen pencils and then put all my stuff in my backpack.
“I like to draw out here in the evening, too,” Rowan said, suddenly, still standing over by the workbench. “The light is perfect.”
Okay, so that was weird to hear him say something with no venom in his voice at all.
I stood and turned to look at him, blinking. He was smiling, and wow, it changed his face. His jaw didn’t look so sharp. His eyes less intense. With that expression and the otherworldly glow of the evening, the guy lookedsoft. Still exquisite, but approachable. The colorful flowers on the bench seemed to glow around him. Framing him. Such a shame he cared more about photosynthesis than photography. It would have been a lovely shot—if he’d been wearing decent clothes.
“You draw?” I asked. “I’m impressed. Plant-Boy is full of surprises.”
With his eyes slightly downturned, he chuckled lightly. And his cheeks pinked a bit. The guy could do bashful-cute, too?
At this point, I didn’t care that he looked like he shopped at Dollarama and the Disney Store, or that he had the personality of a garden slug...I decided then that, one way or another, Ihadto getpictures of him on my page this summer. He would look so amazing in my clothes, and Matteo wasn’t around to model.
Rowan shook his head, that small smile still on his face. “I’m glad to keep you on your toes.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you were the artistic type, based on your clothing choices, that’s all.”
“I can’t believe someone who wore high-heeled boots to a garden center claims to know who I am, based on my clothes.”
“You saying you didn’t like my outfit that day, Plant-Boy?”
“What I’m saying is I’m not surprised that you’re judging someone without knowing them. You get the manure out of your stuff, or is eau de sheep poo your permanent aroma now?”
That was it. I wasn’t going to let the most judgmental prick I’d ever met callmejudgmental. “You’re doing the same thing! You don’t know a thing about me!”
“I know plenty about you.” The venom was back in his voice. “You, andinfluencerslike you, only care about how somethinglooks. You don’t give a shit about what’s behind the surface, or the work that goes into making the pretty things. You just want to use everything around you for your quest for fame.”
I snorted. If almost anyone else had said that to me, I might have been hurt. But Rowan seemed determined to misunderstand me, so why bother caring? The toxicity in his voice when he spat out the word “influencers” made me wonder if an Instagrammer had kidnapped his puppies or something in his past. It sounded like there was some serious trauma there. I might have felt sorry for him, but no. He certainly wouldn’t have any sympathy for me.
I narrowed my eyes as I took two steps closer to him. “What is it about Bakewell and people making quick judgments on anyone new in town? You don’t want people invading your precious village and upsetting the equilibrium that keeps you and your type on top?”
“Mytype? What the hell are you talking about?”
I gave him a pointed look. “I met your ex today. That’s some taste you have there.”
He frowned, still stuffing the green, fuzzy stuff into his wire mesh. “Addison?”
I nodded. “Two sides of the same coin. Addison thinks my Instagram following makes meworthher time, and you find meworthlessbecause of it. Neither of you see that I’m more than that. By the way, you should tell her to leave Juniper alone. And now I’ll leave you alone.”
“Wait, Tahira,” he said with a sudden urgency as he dropped his handful of green stuff on the bench. “What did Addison do to June?”
So, hedidknow my name. “She was harassing her about that flower contest. Does every interaction in this town have to do with foliage?”
He swept his hand over his head. “ItoldAddie to cut that out. Was June okay? Addie didn’t call her any names, did she?” The big-brother concern in his voice surprised me. He hadn’t struck me as empathetic.
“She called her Junebug, which seemed to irritate her.”
“Addison didn’t say anything else nasty, did she?”
“She made a crack about your sister not being cool enough for New York City.” I stepped closer. “Why don’tyouenter the contest with June so Addison will leave her alone?”
He huffed. “That’s actually what I want.” He indicated the mesh-wire thing he was fiddling with. “I asked her to be on me and Leanne’s team, but she said no. I figured I’d try the flower-symbolism thing that June’s into to get her to change her mind.”
I looked at the flowers on the workbench. “What are you using?”
“I found this driftwood last week, and I couldn’t get the idea of using it in a floral arrangement out of my head. I figured June might like these irises and lisianthus for their meanings.” He pointed out the flowers. “The irises are for trust, I think. And the lisianthus are for admiration and respect. I’m not sure I was using the right book for their meanings, though. Honestly, this whole idea of choosing flowers as symbols isn’t normally how I design arrangements. I usually just usewhat works, appearance wise.” He narrowed his eyes at the arrangement, like he wasn’t sure it matched the image in his brain.
The driftwood was this gnarly, twisty thing, and completely bare of bark. The metal mesh was built up on one side with the green stuff wedged into it, and the flower stems had been poked into the green stuff. It honestly shouldn’t have looked this good—it was just dried-out wood and dead flowers. But it wasbeautiful. Modern. The twisted line of the wood continued on with the unusual shape of the iris flowers. And the pale, papery petals of the lisianthus grounded the whole thing. I wasn’t sure what I had expected when I heard the Johnston kids were into flower arranging, but I’d assumed it would be more like what my nanima did with plastic flowers from the craft store. Or maybe like the centerpieces in weddings. I’d heard them mention a “flower sculpture” competition, but I assumed it was more like flowers in vases.
