She wanted it. Leaving now would save her from saying words that were better left to daydreams and fairy tales. Maia unclasped her hands. “It was nice seeing you again, but I have togo.”
London nodded and stepped back, giving her enough room to pass without making physical contact. “It’s been nice to see you, too. I wish—I wish you all the best, really. You deserve every goodthing.”
Maia searched his gaze, falling right into his heart, where every emotion was as easy to read as a teleprompter: sincerity, regret, hope, honesty, and—as always—something she couldn’t pin down. That last one was the reason she’d said goodbye the first time, and it was the reason she didn’t want to say goodbye this time. Whatever haunted London Wilder was beyond herreach.
“Thank you, London. You too.” Her hand itched to reach up and brush along his jaw—for old time’s sake. She held back, barely. Tearing herself away caused her body to shriek in protest. Her heart pounded against her ribs, crying, “Listen to me!” Her skin burned with the need to makecontact.
April held up her jacket. “Youokay?”
“Nope. But I will be.” She’d gotten through the separation withdrawals once before; she could do it again. “How soon can we leaveTexas?”
“Sixhours.”
The best medicine was distance. “Let’s doit.”
She looked forward to returning to her beach house, where nothing would remind her of London and how wonderful and easy it would be to fall into hisarms.
Chapter Four
London heftedtwo forty-pound bags of black mulch over his right shoulder and headed toward Mrs. Brown’s truck. The little red Nissan was a familiar sight in the parking lot of his mother’s flower shop during the spring. The truck bed bounced, and the struts whined in protest of the addedweight.
“Any chance you could follow me home and help me unload, too?” Coming from anyone else, that questions would have been suggestive and flirty. However, Mrs. Brown was two and a half times his age, and the only suggestion she’d tossed his way was a sample of her applesauce chocolate chipcookies.
He swiped theatrically at his brow. “Wish I could, but the boss is a slavedriver.”
“You’re a sweet kid.” She patted his tummy, because that was the highest point she could reach. He had no doubt she’d pinch his cheeks if she could reachthem.
“I’ll come by sometime soon and check your roses for mold,though.”
“I’d appreciate that. My peepers ain’t what they used to be.” She tapped her temple and climbed into thetruck.
He hoped her peepers were good enough to drive. She managed to make it into traffic without a mishap, and he let out the breath he’d been holding. He ducked under the wooden archway and into the nursery proper. The “shop” was one giant tent equipped with fans and a cooling system. They weren’t trying to chill the place so much as they wanted to dampen the hottest month’s enthusiasm. Indoor plants were displayed here, as were pots of different shapes and sizes, herbs, garden gnomes, pink flamingos, a cooler for cut-flower orders, and a small giftssection.
He’d built the register counter out of shipping pallets, adapting a schematic he found online. It was high enough for a three-drawer filing cabinet underneath and short enough that his mom didn’t have to stand on her tiptoes to give change. There were two customers in line, but neither looked like they’d need help loading, so he headed out to “the yard” to spend some time with somethinggreen.
Low tables covered with flowers dotted the fenced area, creating a checkerboard effect. Chalkboard signs indicating perennials, annuals, shrubs, and trees hung off decorative hooks. Customers browsed, sometimes reaching out to rub a leaf or cup a blossom. Rarely did anyone run through here. He didn’t know why, couldn’t explain the way his thoughts came to order out here as if they were in neat little containers or labeled with chalksigns.
Lately, he only needed one container, and it was clearly labeled:Maia.
He unrolled a coiled hose and began watering the cannas. In the bright pink color, he could see the swirl of Maia’s dress. She’d grown up since their last talk. The parts of her that had been skinny were now elegant and graceful. She didn’t let that dress make her beautiful; she made the dress into so much more than silk andthread.
A small hand patted his shoulder blade and his mom came around to smile up at him. “You’re going to drown mycannas.”
He immediately jerked the hose over a new plant. “Sorry.”
She pressed her lips together, weighing her words. “You’ve been in your own world for a week now.” She scratched out her words. “Your father didn’t try to contact you again, didhe?”
London hated when she used the words “your father.” He understood why she didn’t want to say his name—his name was associated with too many painful memories for her. But he didn’t like having that man labeled “father.”
He shook his head. Even if Reed had tried to contact London, there were measures in place to keep him from gettingthrough.
“So what’s on your mind?” Mom took the hose from him, changing the attachment to the rain setting, and moved it from plant toplant.
London fingered a rubbery leaf. “I ran into Maia the othernight.”
“Oh?” Mom turned partway to look at him and then went back to herchore.
“I can’t stop thinking about how things ended.” He paused. “Actually, I can’t stop thinking about how things startedeither.”
