“Hmm?” Without looking at me, he rests his arms on the balustrade, hands clasped together, and watches the wilderness.
I move to stand beside him but a couple of feet away and turn slightly so I can look at him.
“This project…” I wave my hand over North Park below us. “The chance to create an entire large garden is the stuff my dreams are made of. I never imagined such a gift would land in my lap. But it’s not the only reason I came here.”
Instantly he stiffens; his shoulder muscles contract beneath his tee-shirt.
“I came here because I needed to leave my job in Styler TV. Actually, to leave television altogether.”
I’m not going to tell him. Of all the people in the world to tell, he’s the last. Especially when he’s not even looking at me. The way he leans over his clasped hands makes it so that I’m talking to his back.
“Would you just take my word that I have a very good reason for this, and it has nothing to do with you. It was very much a surprise when I saw you that first morning. You don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth. Reconnecting with anyone from the past…? No.” I swallow. “My school days weren’t particularly happy ones. I’ve spent the last sixteen years trying to move on from them.”
Stop, Evangeline. Enough. Any more talking to his back will start to sound like begging and I’ve begged enough.
“I can’t do anything about living next door to you, but I promise to stay out of your way. Remember I’m from London; we never talk to our neighbours. So if you want, we can just be Miss Palmer and Mr James.”
Yea-ah… begging.
I turn away and move towards my own French windows. I have my hand on the knob to pull them open.
“Sorry about calling you Miss Palmer,” he says. “It was an asshole thing to do.”
My lips twitch at this Americanism, but I pull my face straight before turning to face him. He’s standing in the middle of the balcony like… like a boy who can’t find his way. How can he be a man in every way but still have this lost boy inside him?
“We don’t have to avoid each other.” His footsteps come closer. “It’s not possible anyway. Kendric House works on the principle of cooperation.” He blows out a breath strong enough to be audible. “We’re both gardeners, for God’s sake. We should be able to work together at least a little.” He takes a small step towards me. “If you want.”
The slight lift on the end of his sentence makes it a gentle question. Not begging. Just an offer. Giving me the chance to say yes or no.
I hate that. The way he flips from ice cold to courteous and kind. People like Osian James have the gift of being liked. He can be – what was his word? – an ‘asshole’ for several days and then with a sentence make you want to forgive him.
“I think we missed lunch.” It’s the only thing I can find to say.
He checks his watch. It’s one of those fitness things that measure your heart rate and blood pressure. “I’ll say. It’s half past three.” He hesitates. “I have a frozen pizza that can be ready in half an hour if you like.”
“A peace offering?” I meant it to sound sceptical but it comes out amused.God, I’m hopeless.Shouldn’t I hold on to my anger a little longer?
He doesn’t smile but his face relaxes.
“Peace and mushroom pizza.”
I can’t help a small chuckle. “Organic?”
“The peace is definitely organic. The mushrooms, not so much.” His expression warms, and he sounds a lot more like the friendly Osian I met on that first morning.
Except there’s still a layer of hesitation between us. The last few days of estrangement have left a shadow which will take more than a couple of jokes to wash away. But I play along.
“Thank you. I might have a bag of salad in my fridge. Let me get out of my gardening gear.”
chapter Sixteen
“Corkscrew?” Osian asks, holding up a chilled bottle of California white as I come out on the balcony.
In the half hour it took to cook the pizza, I’d raced in and out of the shower, blow dried my hair and dragged on a blue shift dress. A little moisturiser and lipstick have transformed me into a more civilised version of myself.
He, too, has changed his dusty clothes for a clean white polo shirt and beige cargo trousers. His hair is still damp, so we’ve both had showers.
“No screw top for you?” I look at the bottle in his hand.
