"Morning," Victoria said, her voice slightly husky from sleep.
"Morning," Sasha managed, acutely aware that her hair probably looked like she'd been electrocuted. "Um, sleep well?"
"Fine, thank you." Victoria's gaze lingered on Sasha's face for a moment longer than necessary. "The bathroom's free if you want to…"
"Right. Yes. Thank you."
Sasha fled.
THE GARDENS, THANKFULLY, provided an escape from the charged atmosphere of shared sleeping arrangements. Sasha decided that she was being stupid and sleeping in the same room was no different than a sleepover. A weird, rich person’s sleepover. But getting out of the house seemed like a wise idea.
Cathy was already at work among the vegetable beds, and Sasha found herself gravitating toward the practical comfort of someone who dealt with problems by getting her hands dirty.
"You look like you've been hit by a truck," Cathy observed cheerfully, not looking up from the tomato plants she was staking.
"Rough night."
"Mmm, that day bed's murder on the back. Used to sleep on it myself when I was younger and stayed over sometimes." Cathy glanced at her sideways. "Though I suspect your sleepless night had more to do with the room's other occupant."
Sasha felt her cheeks burning. "I don't know what you mean."
"Course you don't." Cathy grinned. "Here, make yourself useful. These cucumber vines need tying up before they strangle themselves."
"And how do you know where I’m sleeping?" Sasha asked, putting her hands on her hips.
Cathy laughed. "A house like this is like a village. There’s no keeping secrets. At least not logistical ones. Besides, Ambrose was practically hysterical about it this morning. He’s finding it entertaining if no one else is."
Sasha grunted. "Glad to know my pathetic teenage crush is hilarious."
"Oh, come on now," Cathy said. "It’s not a pathetic teenage crush. For a start, you’re not a teenager."
Sasha snorted and got down to work. She might as well face it, it seemed like everyone under the age of forty knew about her crush. Other than Victoria, of course.
Working in the gardens was surprisingly meditative. There was something soothing about the methodical work of tying and staking and weeding, something that required just enough concentration to keep her mind off Victoria's breathing patterns. Cathy proved to be an excellent teacher, pointing out which plants needed water, which were struggling with pests, and which were thriving in the unusual heat.
"You've got good instincts," Cathy said after Sasha successfully identified a cucumber plant that needed more support. "Most people can't tell the difference between a healthy plant and one that's just putting on a show."
"Really?"
"Really. Look at this one here." Cathy indicated a tomato plant that looked perfectly fine to Sasha's untrained eye. "What do you think?"
Sasha studied the plant carefully. The leaves were a good color, the stems looked strong, but something about it seemed… off. "It's not happy," she said finally. "I don't know why, but it looks like it's trying too hard."
"Exactly right. Root rot. Probably from overwatering. The plant's compensating by putting all its energy into looking healthy, but it won't last." Cathy looked impressed. "That's not something you can teach. Either you can read plants or you can't."
The morning passed quickly, and Sasha found that she was genuinely enjoying herself. There was something deeplysatisfying about helping things grow, about working with her hands and seeing immediate results. It was the first time in years that she'd felt truly engaged with something, truly useful.
"Oi, Sasha!" Ambrose's voice carried across the garden, and she looked up to see him approaching with Lukas in tow. Both men were carrying various gardening implements and wearing the sort of expressions that suggested they were trying very hard to look professional.
"Morning," she called back, then lowered her voice to Cathy. "How much do you want to bet that Ambrose volunteered for garden duty?"
"No bet," Cathy said dryly. "He's been finding excuses to help with outdoor work ever since he arrived. Yesterday he offered to carry fertilizer. Ambrose Sullivan, who once called gardening 'organized dirt management.'"
Sure enough, Ambrose was making a production of examining the rose bushes with the sort of intense focus usually reserved for neurosurgery.
"These roses are very… rosy," he announced to no one in particular. "Excellent rose work, Lukas."
Lukas looked amused. "Thank you. Though I think the credit goes more to the roses themselves."
