I turn my head and lift a brow. ‘They don’t give me nearly as much attitude.’
She grins wider. ‘I can’t believe you’ve got an actual rain forest growing in your bedroom. Is this your secret life? Captain of the Rebels by day, Tarzan by night?’
My cheeks heat up. She’s got no idea. But I should tell her. I should trust her.
I mean, it’s no big deal.
It’s just…
Nobody knows.
‘They’re good for stress.’ I try to sound casual. ‘And maybe I, erm…share some of them online.’
She sits up, and curiosity sparkles under her lashes. ‘Wait, what? Like, you post aboutyour plants?’
I shrug, forcing nonchalance. ‘Aye. On Insta. Only a few pictures. Some leaves. People seem to like it.’
Her jaw drops, and she squints at me. ‘Are you telling me you’re a plant influencer?’
‘It’s not like that.’
She squints her eyes. ‘What’s your handle?’
I pull a face. ‘Naw.’
‘Come on, spill.’ She pokes my arm. ‘You can’t drop a bombshell like that and not give me the goods.’
‘Och, it’s not that interesting,’ I grumble.
Her eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. ‘You’re kidding, right? You just admitted to being a green-thumbed fairy king. I’m invested now.’
I still hesitate, knowing damn well what’s coming. Then I let out a resigned sigh. ‘It’s @PlantDaddy.’
She blanks, as if she’s buffering, and her mouth falls open. ‘No way.’
Before I can stop her, she’s lunging for her phone, typing furiously. It only takes a few seconds before she’s staring at the screen, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
‘Oh my god,’ she breathes. ‘Twenty-one thousand followers? Brodie MacRae. You’re a walking plant kink. A horticultural hazard.’
My ears burn. ‘It’s just green stuff.’
‘No, it’s not just green stuff. It’s your forearms. Your veiny, muscly forearms and huge, capable hands cradling houseplants like you’re some rugged botanical sex god. I’m…I’ve never been so turned on in my life just from looking at plants.’
Her laughter rings through the room, and the part of me that’s always braced goes soft for good. I can’t help it.
Because I’ve never been this turned on in my life just from making someone laugh.
Still feels like I handed her a loaded gun and hoped she wouldn’t pull the trigger. Showing her that part of me – the quiet, careful side – it’s risky. But fuck me if it doesn’t feel good seeing her light up over it.
Charlie’s wiping tears from her eyes. ‘Unbelievable. I’m dating a hot plant influencer.’
‘We’re dating?’ I ask.
‘We aren’t?’
‘Up to you, Charlie.’
I would fucking marry her this afternoon. But I can’t tell her that.
