“Because anyone can get roses,” I stammered quickly. “You just pick up roses outside the tube station. I wanted her to have something special that no one else had. It’s a rare hybrid, even for camellia. You have to go to a specialist nursery to find it. There’s not many of them in the world.” I was on a roll. That was me: once I got talking there was no shutting me up. Even my family stopped listening and walked away when I was midsentence.
“See?” I stroked the petals of the broken flower. “Camellia sasanqua is delicate but it grows strong, tall and full at the top. You know, it can grow taller than a person. So if she plants it outside her front door, it’ll be nose level. When she walks up the garden path to her porch she’ll smell it.”
“Like a nice welcome home?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question – it was like he already knew the answer.
He really got me. He understood. He wasn’t a stupid git even though he must have known how gorgeous he was – I mean, come on, you just had to look at him. But he was also quick on the uptake. And he totally cared. Of all the people in our school, he was the only one to show sympathy for Miss Gibson.
“Do you know a lot about gardening?” Osian asked, shooting me a look.
“It’s just a hobby.”
He smiled. “A great hobby.” And he didn’t look away, blue eyes still fixed on me. No, not blue – they were like stonewashed jeans in the middle, and the rim darker like denim-blue.
Yes, definitely blushing; my whole face heated up.
“I’m now even more sorry I broke it.” He pushed himself up in one quick move and went to gather my books and shake them free of gravel and soil. Then, with everything held under one arm, he bent down and offered me his hand to pull me up. He was very strong; must come from all that tennis he played. And when I stood up, I barely came up to his chin. Because he was six foot two. Everyone at school knew his measurements.
He helped me replace my books in my bag; my boring bag. For the first time, I really regretted not being more stylish. Look at him: tall, a little too slim according to PE coach, but I would bet it was all muscle. And he smelled nice. What had he said about my camellia? “Subtle but very nice.” Yes, that was exactly how he smelled too.
“Can I keep this?” he asked, picking up the pot with the half-spilled soil and broken camellia.
“If you like.”
He wanted to keep it? My heart was now bigger than the lump in my throat.
I watched him take another sniff of the white blossom. If I had known, I’d have grown another just for him. And the way his profile looked with his face bent down over the flower, nose straight like a… like a…
A phone was ringing somewhere. He suddenly looked behind him to where his phone was on the ground. It must have been knocked down when we collided. OMG, our bodies had banged together, and I hadn’t even noticed how his body felt. Where was my brain?
He picked up the phone, glanced at the screen, pressed the mute button and slipped it into his back pocket, a small frown between his perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Uhmm…” He glancedback at me with his amazing blue-jeans eyes. “Are you doing anything Saturday night?”
“No, nothing.” My mouth answered while my brain was scrambling to catch up.
“Only, the tennis club are doing this Christmas party thing. Want to come? It’s very short notice but maybe…?” He left the question hanging, his mesmerising eyes on my face, which was probably the same colour as the deepest, reddest azaleas.
Me? Geeky girl?
“Yes, of course.” My mouth took charge and answered for me.
“Great, shall I pick you up at eight?”
Chapter Two
Tricia looked at me as I walked out of the changing room in the red dress. Her lips pursed.
“What now?” I asked. “What’s wrong with this one?”
The sales lady came over and helped zip me up at the back. “Oh, that’s lovely on you.” She circled around me. “You’ll need heels with a dress like this, but it really brings out your colouring.”
I gave Tricia my best ‘I told you so’ look. She hadn’t liked any of the dresses I’d tried so far.
“It’s too red,” she muttered when we were alone again. “It makes you look odd.”
“But you heard what the sales lady said.” I examined my reflection in the full-length mirror, turning right and left. The velvety fabric was tight enough to give me curves. It moulded to my backside, pushed up my boobs and cinched around my waist, making it look so slim you could wrap both hands around it. How would I look dancing in Osian’s arms wearing this?
“Yeah, the clue is in the title?” Tricia’s lip curled. “Saleslady,” she said, landing very heavily on the word. “It means she needs to sell. She’s not going to tell you the truth, is she? Probablyexcited about the commission she’ll make off this dress that no one else was ever going to buy. You don’t want to go to the dance looking like the Bride of Frankenstein, do you?”
Bride of Frankenstein?I examined my reflection again.
