By the time I’d gotten my trainers on and headed out to query this new activity, he was sitting on our garden bench, sipping at a coffee with the satisfaction of a man who had Achieved Something. I looked at the flower bed.
“Umm. You dug up all my primroses?”
“What?” Jones said, pausing midsip and giving the flower bed a double take. “What primroses?”
I pointed at the heap of greenery now sitting by the hedge.
“Oh, shit,” Jones said, putting his coffee down beside him. “Those weren’t weeds?”
“Those weren’t weeds,” I confirmed.
“Oh no. I’m so sorry.”
Shifted his coffee to the side so I could sit down. “Hope that’s decaf,” I said, peering into his mug.
“Well, it’s not whisky,” he said slightly distractedly. He was still gazing at the flower bed. “Do you think I can replant them?”
“You could try,” I said, eyeing the squished primroses. “What inspired the sudden Monty Don–ing?”
“Bit of a weird day. You know Toby’s in love with Red?”
“I did sort of figure, with all the longing gazing.”
“They were together for a few weeks,” Jones said, reaching down to flip over one of the more distinct-looking primroses from the heap beside us. “They’re really not weeds? There aren’t any petals, or…”
“Not yet,” I said, trying not to laugh. “They’re not in flower right now.”
“You’d have killed me for ruining your flower bed six weeks ago,” Jones said, looking up at me with a little smile as he straightened.
When I first met Jones, he was soheavy. Heavy brow, heavy shoulders. These days, he’s lighter. There’s still a shadowy quality to him—a sense of complexity, maybe—but it reads as maturity ratherthan messiness. I remember when I first saw him at the harbor, I thought his whole vibe was very “I’m a hot mess, try to fix me.” Now it’s more, “I’ve got layers, want to see?”
“I’d only have minded because I’d care so much what Rog would think about us wrecking the flower bed he built. And what the rest of the committee would think when they walked along the track and saw our garden.”
“Ah, and you’re done trying to impress people now?”
“Absolutely,” I said, having just spent my day relentlessly trying “casual chat” with Galoshes (my latest unsuccessful tactic for winning her over). “Did you say Red and Toby weretogether?” I asked, rewinding.
“I know. An intense summer romance, apparently. All sorts of grand promises made. Then Red just stopped replying and started avoiding him whenever possible. It’s been driving him crazy.”
“That doesn’t sound like Red. She wouldn’t mess someone around like that.”
“That is actually not the mystery of the evening,” Jones said, chucking the remnants of his coffee into the grass. “I went to the farmhouse to drop off a love note for her from Toby—”
“I’m sorry, you what?”
Jones looked distinctly embarrassed, which made the whole thing even cuter.
“Look, it’s a long story, the boy was very upset…”
“How’s the grumpy island hermit act going for you, by the way?” I asked.
He leaned his shoulder into me, a teasing nudge. All very friendly and PG, but my body didn’t think so. My stomach went swoopy. I leaned back, just a little—prolonging the moment, maybe turning it into something else. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with him in thedarkening garden, I found myself thinking, I don’t just want him. That swoop in my stomach, it’s pure, undilutedlonging.
And honestly, I thought that feeling was gone for good. Thought I’d grown out of it, had been through too much. Surely you can only want someone like this when you don’t know how easily they could hurt you.
I pressed my shoulder to his and savored it, and all the while I was thinking…Oh no.
“So, yeah, there’s a spare room at the B&B, but they won’t let us use it,” Jones was saying, moving away slightly, breaking that connection between us.
