We were led through the town by a woman in a costume similar to the clothing worn by the immigrants who founded this place. It was wonderful to experience the history and culture of the area along with the private tour of their gardens and luxury greenhouses.
Bowen’s hand never left mine and, once or twice, he rubbed his thumb along the outside of my palm.
No matter how many flowers there were around me, his scent had my panther’s full attention.
The wolf omega wanted me just as much as I wanted him. Maybe not just as much but close.
The woman asked if we wanted to go to the bulb storage area. She said there were some for sale.
I looked to Bowen, making sure he was still down for this not-wild-at-all day with me.
“It’s fine. Let’s go get you some more plants.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sweetheart, if it makes you smile like that, then absolutely yes.”
Sweetheart? The omega called me sweetheart.
“You know what else makes me smile?” I asked.
“What?” The blush was back in full force. It felt like a small win.
“You. You are so beautiful and every time I look at you, I want to smile.”
Chapter Twelve
Bowen
Remi was having the best time ever. He didn’t need to tell me in words, although he used them to make sure I wasn’t bored or having a bad time. But how could I? First, plants were great, and I had the opportunity to ask questions of some of those in the greenhouses.
“We have a program at my job where we are trying to reintroduce some of the native flora that has disappeared from the region,” I explained to one of the growers. “And since we have a greenhouse at our disposal, I’m always up for any tips on making the best use of everything.”
Not only did the employee offer some helpful ideas but, to my delight, Remi did too. Of course, as a nursery owner, he would know how best to start things in a greenhouse or out. Our conversation continued as we went on to the lunch and sat down to eat.
“It is a fixed menu,” our server explained, but if there are any allergies”—he leaned in and lowered his voice—“or things you hate to eat, just say the word and we will make sure you are not served them.”
“No allergies here, and I don’t have any other issues,” I told him, reading over the printed menu he’d handed me. “It all looks wonderful.”
“Me, too.” Remi studied the courses. “All farm-to-table, local food?”
“That’s right. Even this early in the season, we have a good variety of produce and of course our dairy products and meats are top quality.”
Our tour group was all being served at the same time, but the servers were doing a bang-up job of getting plates out intimely fashion. The restaurant itself was a converted farmhouse, bright and airy and utterly charming.
“The salad is so good,” I said, forking up another bite.
“It is. Really beautiful greens, and the vinaigrette doesn’t overwhelm it.”
We had a total of seven courses, each small portions, but that still added up to a pretty filling meal. “Lucky we didn’t have that big breakfast Franklin offered,” I said. “Even if most of this is light. I think the soup was my favorite so far.” A light broth, the chef had scattered diced vegetables and herbs across the surface.
“I’m going to gain ten pounds this weekend,” he said. “And worth every calorie.”
We’re walking a lot, too,” I reminded him. “So we can probably still have a funnel cake before we go back to the inn.”
We continued with each course, talking and laughing and getting to know one another. Most of the others in our group had joined up at larger tables, but I was very glad to just be the two of us.
“This is pasta primavera,” the server informed us. “Enjoy.”
