“You mean, talk about the fact that you have your own scent.”
“Yes.”
This is so fascinating. “What’s in it?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Oh, I for sure want to know.”
He’s quiet for a moment before admitting, “It’s dry gin, rosemary, and sandalwood.”
“I knew I smelled juniper,” I reply, feeling very smug. Then I show no shame and sniff his shirt. “The sandalwood really comes through, and now that you pointed it out, I can also smell the rosemary. But it’s the dry gin—the juniper—that’s the one that makes the whole bouquet stand out.” I sigh wistfully. “It is so good. You should sell it.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because then it wouldn’t be mine. I share enough with the world.”
He sounds bitter. Maybe his life isn’t as rosy as I assume it is. Before I can ask him about it, he shifts the conversation. “Tell me three things about you. Besides the fact that you let piggycorns lick your feet, I mean.”
“Even though you’re saying that sarcastically, you just wait until it happens to you. You’ll love it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“We’ll see about that.”
When I don’t answer, he gently squeezes my hand. “Three things.”
I frown up at him. “Why?”
“Because I’m living in your shamper and I’d like to have something to talk to you about other than piggycorns.”
“They are a great conversation piece.”
His nose wrinkles in distaste. “Not for me.”
“Fine.” I sigh dramatically. “Three things. Okay. I went to Auburn but dropped out, and when I have spare time, I design landscaping. I know you’d never know it by looking at the farm, but I’m really good.”
“Did you study horticulture?”
“No. English.”
He waves around the hand that’s gently cradling mine. “How did you get from English to landscaping?”
I shrug. “I couldn’t figure out a major and I always loved to read. I guess that I just wanted to live in fantasyland and read books all day.”
“Hard to pay the bills like that.”
“You’re telling me.” I laugh bitterly. “But a few years into college, my dad got sick. So I left to come home and help take care of him, and ... I never went back. So now I spend my time between the farm and piddling with plants, which I’ve always enjoyed.”
A line of concern worms its way across his brow. “And your dad?”
“He passed away from stomach cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” Heaviness blankets the conversation until a flirty smile flits across his lips. “So you love plantsandanimals.”
My heart expands under the weight of the flirtatious look on his face. I find myself grinning back. “Yeah, plants and animals.”
