Page 8 of A Touch of Spring Magic (Southern Love Spells #2)

S torm sent the team home a little after six, and she and he worked in companionable silence for another hour. Jessica felt like his assistant as she helped Storm finish hooking up a temporary irrigation and lighting system.

“And I’m called over-protectively maternal about my plants,” she noted as the time ticked past seven.

“You love what you love,” Storm said.

That caught her up short. She thought of Storm as an athlete. A physical man. A builder. But if he wanted to gear his business more toward landscape design, he must love plants as much as she did.

“Plants don’t let you down the way people do,” she murmured without thinking.

He paused on the second to the top rung of the ladder, arms upraised as he secured the final rail and clipped on the light and plugged it into the power source.

“Have a lot of people let you down, Jay?” Storm asked as he hopped off the ladder a few rungs from the bottom. His expression was serious, and she felt embarrassed. She’d been staring at him while he worked instead of the plants they’d finished arranging—the ones that were unaffected by the greenhouse destruction along with the plants that had been damaged, but she thought she could nurse back to health.

“I think I’ve let people down,” she admitted. “I know my parents are going to be horribly disappointed that I’m no longer a CPA.”

There, she’d admitted it out loud.

“And I’m disappointed in myself that that still stings, and that I didn’t have the nerve to study horticulture and botany in college like I wanted. My dad was adamant that I study business. It was safe. Steady. And those skills would help me join him at Maye Development when he felt it was time.”

Even that decision had been his, and Jessica’s heart sunk deeper. “I feel like I’ve wasted time.”

His regard was steady, but she had the feeling he was holding back.

“Say what you’re thinking,” Jessica invited, waving her hand. “I’m turning over a new leaf here—literally—so I might as well plunge into the open and honest instead of swallowing everything I think and feel down and locking it away, never to be looked at again.”

She hadn’t even been this honest with her sisters.

“I don’t think walking away from the past is the panacea you think,” he said slowly. “But expressing yourself and being honest is a good way to go, though not always easy or comfortable.” He ran a lean hand through his thick light brown hair that was heavily streaked with blonde, making him look a little like a perpetual slice of summer.

The blend of colors called to her to run her fingers through the thick silkiness. Jessia had always loved Storm’s hair. It had been thick and wavy and grew back from his forehead like Harry Styles’s or Timothee Chalamet’s.

“But I imagine under the push, your parents want the best for you. You were always so talented, smart, buzzy. Golden.”

“I did my best,” she admitted. “It was like a contest—getting Mama and Daddy’s approval.” She took a step back from the intensity and sheer masculinity that was Storm and jammed her hands in her pocket. “I wanted to be the shiny perfect one.” She laughed a little. “There was some stiff competition academically, so I piled on the activities. It sounds so stupid now.”

“You were a kid. It’s normal.”

She huffed out a breath.

“Sorry.” She reached out to touch his forearm, but quickly tucked her hand back in her pocket, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “I didn’t mean to make this about me,” she said.

“Your business. Your vision. Your future. Your sister and her fiancé’s party. Of course it’s about you.”

His words sent relief tumbling through her.

“I really wanted something for myself,” she admitted. “I wanted my nursery to be my vision.”

“That’s part of being a business owner.”

She nodded. “I have a hard time accepting help. Working on a project together truly collaboratively. It’s hard for me to trust that the others will hold up their end.”

“Should I send out an IG post with this news?”

Usually his joking when things got serious had irritated her in high school, but maybe that was his tension release whereas she snapped or shut down.

“You do that,” she said looking around the barn at all they had accomplished today.

She saw a few of the feral cats that made the barn home when they wanted to escape the weather nosing around the plants. “Oh, that might be a problem.”

“We’ll move them. I can build them a structure, but there are a couple of outbuildings on the property. There must be an equipment shed. If we move their beds, cat towers and food and water, they’ll adjust.”

Nothing fazed him. He just jumped all in whether it was part of his job or not. Nothing seemed above or beneath him.

“You have such ease and confidence,” Jessica marveled. “You seem to glide through life.”

He smiled at that. “Like you do?”

“Me? I got fired.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “But it wasn’t my fault.”

“But that gives you the time to build your dream. Do what you really want.”

“And I’m dreading telling my parents what happened and what I’m doing like I’m still ten.”

“Then tell them. Get it over with so you can enjoy this process.”

Storm had never had a dad, and she was babbling on about displeasing her father when she was thirty-one. She was lucky he hadn’t given her a verbal boot in the bottom.

“Easier said than done,” she grumped.

“It never quite feels valuable if it’s easy,” Storm said, picking up one of the cats that was weaving in and out of his strong legs.

Of course the cats liked him. He was probably a cat whisperer, and they still darted quickly away from her. Jessica had always feared that they were reading something in her that they didn’t trust.

“The cats don’t really like me,” Jessica confessed, wishing it didn’t bother her—she wasn’t a cat person, exactly though she was starting to enjoy seeing them darting and slinking around the property. “They run away from me, but run to Chloe when she arrives singing and calling out to them. She even named them all.”

“Probably because she’s swinging a bag of treats and coming to feed them,” Storm said easily and cuddled the cat close but shifted so she could pet it. “Keep trying. Buy them something special. Talk to them. They’ll be fascinated with what you do daily in the garden.”

She took a deep breath and reached out and stroked the little white spot between the cat’s eyes. “This is Pepper,” she said. And then she went all in. “You mean what we do in the garden.”

“Was that pronoun so hard, Jessica Maye?” His honey-gold eyes warmed her.

She shot a look at him. Yes, he was smiling, and his eyes practically glowed with humor, and she felt herself smiling back.

“Yes, Storm. It felt dragged out of me.”

And for a moment neither of them said anything. The moment felt electric—like the hair on her arm felt like it danced. The cat nuzzled her hand, and it felt like a win. Then it jumped from Storm’s arms, swished its tail and stalked off.

“Good talk, Pepper.”

He didn’t seem to take things so personally as she did. “Coming back to Belmont full time, doesn’t dredge up parts of the past you’d like to forget?”

“Not at all. I don’t have a lot of regrets. The past and my experiences and the people I know have made me who I am,” he said. “The past is part of us, and a teacher, but focusing only on regrets traps you.”

She nodded, once, quickly, wishing she had his strength. The urge to lean into him, just for a moment to gather warmth, connection, was frightening. She’d been alone for so long. To remind herself that she had to focus on becoming as strong as she had often appeared, she took a step back. This was her time. Building her business. Preparing to host Chloe’s party and show the Belmont area that her nursery was ready for customers.

“You make it sound so easy,” she said again, wistfully. “Easier said than done.” She could get lost in the gold of his eyes.

“Didn’t say it was easy, Jay.”

Was his voice lower? The gravel in it made her tummy tingle.

“So, really, no regrets?” she dared.

“I didn’t say that.”

She could barely swallow and felt like she had years when she’d volunteered to do a pirouette on pointe for the first time in front of everyone, wanting to show off even though she knew she wasn’t ready.

“We sharing, Jay?”

“Maybe,” she whispered.

He leaned close to her, his lips nearly brushing her ears, and she held her breath in anticipation.

“Maybe.” He drew out the first vowel excruciatingly long. “I’ll tell you later then.”

Relief crashed with disappointment, which was dumb, because she wasn’t into confession—the real kind where you bared your soul, not even with the priest at church where she attended with her parents and Grandma Millie. She liked to keep her flaws and her demons leashed and under cover.

But she wasn’t ready for the day to end, and that was something she should definitely push back against.

“It’s late,” she murmured. “You arrived so early and have been working all day. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

She cringed internally. It was like she was asking him on a date, when she’d just been trying to be…what? Friendly. A solicitous boss? She had a feeling he’d laugh at that description.

“I made a chicken tortilla soup in the Crock-Pot so it’s no trouble,” she rushed, fearing he’d turn her down, and what was that about? The fear was unacceptable. She was Jessica Maye.

Keep telling yourself that.

Jessica Maye with no job and her new business venture partially felled by a late winter storm and years of neglect.

“I have tortilla chips with queso.”

OMG could she sound more desperate? Her lips tilted in a smile. Might as well go all in and admit she not only didn’t want to be alone, she was also backsliding into a stereotypical Southern small-town female—feed the big heap of a man.

But she was also his boss and had promised him breakfast and lunch, so dinner wasn’t a huge step.

As long as it doesn’t become a habit.

“That sounds delicious. Thank you.”

Relief shouldn’t make her knees weak.

*

Dinner was surprisingly companionable. Storm made a salad while Jessica had dished out the soup over tortilla chips and queso, and then she’d sprinkled more tortilla chips on top along with salsa.

“Meghan made the salsa,” she said when he commented on it. “I planted several varieties of tomatoes, and they grew like weeds. We had such a bounty that she made salsa, and I made spaghetti sauce that I shared with my sisters and friends.”

Jessica dished more salsa into a bowl and put it on the eating nook table. Sitting in the large formal dining room would have felt weird with just her and Storm.

“This past summer Meghan stayed quite a few weekends when she wasn’t traveling for work, and it was so much fun. She loves to make sauces but hardly has any time, but we looked up a lot of canning recipes online, and this spring and summer, I’m hoping to have quite the thriving vegetable garden. Maybe we can donate some to the food bank.”

“And sell in the nursery. You could provide recipe cards—show customers what they can do buying food-producing plants or edible plants like herbs if you’re going in that direction.”

“Here comes the marketing whiz again,” she said.

“I hope so,” he said quietly. “As I will have to market my own services and business.”

She looked at him chopping mini peppers for the salad, radiating energy that lit up the room. Even watching him ‘steal’ and chew a snuck piece of red pepper was sexy. How had she dismissed such an appealing, confident and can-do man?

“Vegetables and harvest, canning and pickling are a lot of work,” he noted.

She nodded. Meghan had said she’d help, but who knew what kind of a large case or complicated client she could be assigned. Plus she traveled. No, whatever she started she had to be able to do on her own.

“Have you thought about the staff you’ll need to run this place?”

She stiffened defensively.

“Jay.” He covered her hand as she went to withdraw it from the table to the safety of her pocket. “Just spitballing. You need to dream big, but also see the steps to get there.”

He released her and washed his hands again. He carried the salad to the table and she followed with the bowls of soup and the condiments—salsa, guac, tortilla chips.

She wondered if lighting a candle would make it seem like a date. Already she felt a little awkward, like she was trying too hard.

He’s a friend. Just a friend.

They sat and Jessica said a short grace. Storm bowed his head, and it took all her willpower to not peek at him.

He dipped a chip in the salsa. “This is delicious,” he said after swallowing. “Really it’s an internet recipe, not one from that mysterious book you keep trying to hide?”

“Oh, that,” Jessica said, coloring a little.

“You don’t want to talk about it, and yet you say it’s not a family recipe book with top secrets.” Storm passed the salad dressing he’d made with spices, mustard, fig balsamic vinegar and olive oil.

She was impressed with this quick dressing and his clear comfort in the kitchen. She didn’t want to admit to herself why, but she had started compiling more than a few easy-to-make nutritious dinners for Storm to add to his repertoire so that he could help his grandparents with shopping and meal prep when needed.

“I know Southern matriarchs guard their family recipes.”

“True.” Jessica blew on her spoon of soup, when what she really wanted to do was dip the tortilla chips into the queso and then her soup and crunch away. She would have done that if Storm wasn’t here. “Sarah, Meghan and I have tried to pry Grandma Millie’s meat loaf recipe that she used for decades at the diner out of her for years.”

She sipped at her soup and watched fascinated as he dipped a tortilla chip in queso and then scooped out soup and popped the whole thing in his mouth. His eyes widened. He chewed and Jessica waited for his verdict, feeling more nervous than she should.

“Men are lucky,” she groused. “If I ate like that with company, my mom’s head would spin.”

“Scary visual.” Storm laughed. “Your mom is the epitome of a gently reared Southern belle. Absolutely proper. Never a foot out of place. I always thought that must be exhausting.” He repeated his chip, queso, salsa and soup routine and closed his eyes, looking blissed out, and her tummy warmed.

Talk about a traditional female.

She mentally rolled her eyes, imagining how Meghan would kick her behind for worrying about a man’s stomach or his opinion.

He swallowed and stared at her.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. How does it work? Do I fall to my knees and declare undying love while you run a mile in another direction? That book must pack a punch if you guard it so zealously.”

“I don’t guard it,” she said stiffly because that was exactly what she was doing. “Chloe found it. Rustin’s looked through it for some inspiration—probably hoping he’d find the meat loaf recipe, but since he has a crazy good palate and worked at Millie’s for years, he probably knows exactly what’s in it and how much, but out of respect for Grandma Millie, he too won’t share,” Jessica confessed, putting down her spoon.

“Jay, this is your home. Dig in. Eat how you want. It’s just us here, and we’ve had a long, physical day.”

She felt her shoulders drop with his encouragement. She’d always felt on stage her whole life except when she was home alone or with her sisters, but even then, she wasn’t totally relaxed, needing to be the sister they expected.

She picked up a chip, hoping to not hear her mother’s scandalized voice in her head.

“This soup is amazing. If it’s not a secret family recipe, I’d love to make it for my grandma and grandpa one Sunday,” Storm encouraged. “I’d probably have to ease up on the spice a little, but with all the beans, and veggies and chicken, it’s gotta be nutritious.”

He took another bite, and chewed thoughtfully like he was mentally taking notes. “I’ve noticed neither of them seem that interested in eating. They’re getting a little more frail, and I’m hoping that by me being home and around, and taking off some of the burden, I can encourage them to keep their health and eat nutritiously.”

Jessica nodded in sympathy. “I’ll send some home with you for them and write it out for you tonight,” she said. “And I’ve created a file of a few internet go-tos that I use often,” she told him, no longer worried that she’d look desperate to please him other than as a friend being helpful. He was worried about his grandparents. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed that Grandma Millie seemed a little more sedentary than usual. Should she mention it to her sisters? Or would that unnecessarily worry them?

“Thanks,” Storm said and followed that with a healthy bite. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d still love to look through the Southern Love Spells book? Funny name for a cookbook, but it’s got me curious.”

“I didn’t realize you were so…curious about cooking.”

“I like to eat.”

“So do I,” Jessica admitted, though she was always careful with everything she put in her mouth after a childhood of her mother counting calories for all of them, though all the Maye sisters had been active. “I…don’t know about the book.” She stirred her soup, and then her stomach rumbled.

“It’s weird,” she said in a rush and then seized a chip and dipped it into her soup and queso and, leaning over her bowl a little and saying a prayer she didn’t get queso on her chin, though she was ready with her napkin, she took a delicate bite.

He stared at her.

“What?” She felt defensive, but he’d said to be herself.

As if in answer, he scooped out more soup with a chip, and queso dripping, he held up the chip, let the queso drip and popped it all in his mouth.

“We’re not dining fancy at Sammy’s or the Old Stone Steakhouse,” he reminded her. “And how is the book weird?”

He looked over to where it sat on the counter—out of the drawer again, and Jessica didn’t remember taking it out, but out it was. Still, she couldn’t imagine Storm rummaging through her drawers. He’d been outside all day. She’d been in and out of her kitchen, making sandwiches and then the tortilla soup, and she’d been operating on little sleep. Still she didn’t think she would have taken it out. A chill ran through her.

“It keeps showing up,” she admitted. “Like it’s stalking me, and that’s weird.”

He laughed, obviously thinking she was joking. Ha. Ha. But she did sound paranoid and ridiculous.

“Tell me about it.” He tilted his head, reminding her a little of a golden Lab at the park waiting for her to throw a ball to fetch.

“It showed up in Grandma Millie’s mini outdoor library. I told you that, but no way would she have put it there because she hoards—absolutely hoards family keepsakes. Her attic is full of trunks of Maye and Cramer history. If she ever leaves us, we could turn her house into a Piedmont, Gaston County museum. And she’s not forgetful. She’s as sharp as all of us.”

Jessica dipped her chip into the queso and spooned a bit of salsa on it, trying to look naturally proper but not too formal. She held the chip, not wanting to chew and talk though Storm didn’t have any such inhibitions.

“There’s handwriting throughout the book—different handwriting—none of it Grandma Millie’s, and lots of side notes, stories and sketches, and we don’t recognize any of the recipes except Grandma Millie’s famous biscuits, but even those she often doctored for certain occasions.”

Storm rose. “Doesn’t sound too weird or spooky. Can I?”

It seemed more portentous than it likely was.

“Sure.” She tried to act unaffected. It was just a book, and she was giving too much credence to her superstitious nature.

He carried the book in one palm back to the table and sat down, skooching his chair closer to hers so they could both look at it. He wiped his hands on a napkin before opening it, and Jessica braced as if bats were going to fly out of it, which she knew, just knew was utter foolishness.

“You don’t like the book?”

“I do. It’s just…” Now she was going to sound ridiculous. “I feel like it’s…I don’t know, like it thinks it’s meant to be here.”

She expected him to laugh.

“Like it found you?” He glanced up at her for a beat and then back to the book.

“Not just me. Us, I guess. Chloe found it first after the madrigal dinner. She’d volunteered to chair the Movable Feast, something Grandma Millie’s been doing for decades. I thought she’d have my mom take over—so did she, and my mom was beyond pissed, excuse my language—instead Grandma Millie insisted that all of us, take our ‘rightful’—” yeah she used air quotes like she was still in her sorority “—place in the community and Chloe jumped right up waving her hand like she was in school even though she didn’t cook.”

Storm smiled. “Sounds like Chloe.”

“That night the book appeared all alone in Grandma Millie’s mini library, and Chloe rushed off to Rustin to ask for his help to create an entrée for the Movable Feast.”

Storm concentrated on the book, leafing through it.

“And she and Rustin picked some recipes, and he made her follow them exactly, and then he fell in love with her, which is just weird. See? Weird.”

He looked up. “Why is it weird that they fell in love?”

She sighed and pushed away her bowl. “It’s not weird,” she said slowly, realizing how horrible she’d sounded. “Chloe is infinitely lovable, and if you go for the whole opposites attract, then maybe it makes sense as Chloe is high noon sunny and Rustin’s a stormy midnight.”

Storm laughed and his attention lingered on her until her pulse kicked up a little and her lips tingled.

“You’re not wrong there,” he said softly.

His attention returned to the book.

“It’s called Southern Love Spells ,” she pointed out the obvious. “And there are weird directions in there about full moons, or saying a couplet three times as you’re stirring something or picking thyme at midnight and drying it facing east.”

His fingertip traced down a page, and his eyes shone. “It’s fascinating. Let’s make something.”

“No.” She jumped up. “We don’t have time for that. Look what happened. Rustin made Chloe cook something for him as he watched each step, and she had to follow the recipe and then she served him, and he fell in love with her—that’s what he said. He said it felt like the earth tilted on its axis and he saw Chloe in a whole new way.”

“And now they’re happy and engaged and can’t wait to build a life together. I know Rustin craves a stable family, belonging. Chloe absolutely glows with adoration for him. Seeing them together is like…hope. How is that a bad thing?”

His question was quiet, but it felt like a shout. “It’s not,” she said. “But we aren’t touching that book. No way. Who knows what could happen? My life’s imploded. Sure, I was planning some changes but not everything all at once. Now a freak winter storm destroyed all my work from the past year. And Chloe’s engagement has hyperzoomed my timeline by months. So no you can’t use it. I can’t use it. The book is cursed.”

“I don’t think it’s a curse,” Storm said and closed the book gently, tracing his fingers over the word ‘ LOVE ’—which should have been sappy, but was disturbingly sexy. He looked up at her, his eyes glowing. “It’s an opportunity.”

*

Storm stayed about thirty more minutes after clearing up the dishes and kitchen with her. They reviewed more of the storm damage from the drone, but also started to brainstorm sections of the garden and how to have a cohesive feel even if she stylistically themed the different areas. He’d shared some rough sketches he’d worked on his tablet, and after a moment’s hesitation, Jessica brought out her drawing pad.

Her mouth and throat had felt so dry, and her heart had pounded as he leafed through, asked questions, and then started freestyling some of her ideas on his iPad sketches like he wasn’t worried about what she’d think of him—and he was the expert.

It had been so freeing to not worry about the perfect placement. Perfections. Just, in Storm’s words: ‘two people talking. Two people dreaming. Spitballing what-ifs.’

After Storm left Jessica wandered around the garden, exhausted, but keyed up in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She had loved the hard physical work today. She’d also enjoyed having the small crew helping out. It had enabled her to not just make several lists of tasks that needed to be done, dividing them into now—that she could do on her own; soon—but she’d need help or equipment or professional help she’d have to pay for; or future—meaning she’d put it in the master plan and save up for it.

Having the crew asking her for directions—not Storm—had made her nursery and garden project seem real for the first time. She was the boss and no longer felt like such an imposter, which had allowed her to relax and enjoy herself, let her imagination roam. When Storm or the others on his crew had questions, brainstormed solutions, it felt collaborative. She no longer felt she had to tussle for control.

And that was sad. Her career that she hadn’t loved, but had been proud of, had really done a number on her, that she was just beginning to understand. But so too had her traditional upbringing.

“But the future’s on me,” she reminded herself.

And she was seeing it play out in real time. She had a pad with a slew of working sketches that she and Storm had worked on this evening, along with what he put on his tablet. He hadn’t complained that she wanted to draw things out physically, that it helped her to ‘see and understand it.’ He’d shrugged that off and encouraged her to draw as it was ‘part of her process,’ which had made her felt seen and understood in a way she couldn’t remember—maybe since college.

Storm’s attention was seductive. It made Jessica realize how subtly toxic her workplace had been. She’d been successful, but she always felt she had to hide who she was, just be professional Jessica, not bring her personality or personal life to work, wear armor. But the land outside the farmhouse felt like her home office now and even the dark felt safe and full of opportunity.

This morning she’d ordered some party lights. They should arrive tomorrow and Storm’s crew was going to string them through a few strategic trees so they could work longer, and then as they built out the garden, they could move the party lights to highlight certain areas. He’d mentioned consulting a lighting designer but thought they could—at least for the first stage—create their own focal points.

Jessica wandered over to where she’d discovered part of the mosaic. She’d cleared out a portion out of curiosity once the greenhouse plants were safe. The mosaic was larger than she thought. She was tempted to put in another hour tonight, but she didn’t want to damage anything, and while the lights from the house provided a glow, it was a distant one.

Yet she wanted mysterious places in the garden. Not just for herself but for others. She’d traveled to Helsinki once for work, and the large open parks and forested area in and near the city had shocked her. She’d been intrigued to learn that ‘forest bathing’—being in nature was—considered a human right.

Perhaps that was when the seed of the idea of rehabbing Grandma Millie’s garden and opening up part of the property to others to enjoy had sprouted. She’d felt such a sense of peace and contentment in Helsinki, and yet it was a thriving capital.

Absently she swished her hands through the grasses, letting them slide through her fingers. She was closer to the center now, and she could feel the tiles instead of dirt. Pulling her flashlight out, she put the beam on low and tried to move the grasses out of place. She saw blues and greens and then something that looked more charcoal colored that seemed to swirl and loop, maybe in a pattern. She snapped a few pictures and sent them to Storm.

The tile’s in better shape than I imagined. Do you want to pull the grass or try to transplant it?

She smiled. Storm really did love plants as much as she did. Transplanting was more work.

I love the ornamental grasses, but many of them are choked so it looks like a field. We can save some to use as color and texture, but not here.

At least she didn’t think so.

I think there’s a kind of design. Not sure.

She added Chloe on the thread as she teased out more of the mosaic design. Chloe immediately said it looked like a Celtic knot and promised to google if Jessica could more pictures.

Jessica smiled. Her family was so supportive. Without her asking, Chloe, Meghan and Sarah had arranged a work party for this weekend to help with whatever needed doing, and because they were her sisters, they were already talking about who’d bring what to eat and when they should start planning the engagement party menu.

She truly was blessed with the things that were important.

Chloe texted again, promising that even Rustin and his restaurant crew would come and help Sunday as it was one of their days off.

She tipped back her head and looked up at the almost full moon. The sky was arrogantly clear after throwing a fit yesterday.

“The nursery will be a success. A destination success,” she promised herself and the neglected garden. She believed that plants communicated with each other, and she wanted them to know she had their health and happiness in mind.

Storm’s focus on ‘creating different spaces’ had really resonated with her and had made her think of that week in Helsinki. When she had a moment of down time she wanted to look back at some of the nature photos she’d taken during her walks and explore online alpine spaces, sculpture gardens, tropical gardens, and so much more. So many people in the Charlotte area didn’t have as much access to quiet spaces of beauty and contemplation. She could provide those magical moments of connection along with unusual plants that would thrive indoors and others outdoors, but when she really allowed herself to dream, she knew she envisioned offering a few classes—growing a garden to feed a family in raised beds, creating beautiful pots to last a season or a year, holiday wreaths, Mother’s or Father’s Day living gifts…so many ideas burbled up when she allowed her brain to free range.

And that’s what Storm had done for her—allowing her time to get a handle on her dreamy musings. She was starting to feel in control of her life again and no longer as guilty for accepting her sisters’ financial help, as this was all of their land and their home. Maybe they too would build something here—put their own stamp on their legacy.

She caught her breath when she saw the moon shimmer along the grubby white tiles of the mosaic’s base. It looked luminescent. She snapped a picture and without thinking texted Storm.

Magic in the moonlight. You’re right. We should create some mystery, unexpected places to explore and discover.

She noticed the word ‘we’ and, smiling, she hit send.

Storm replied with a picture of some glass balls that were solar-powered and a link.

Get some sleep. Early start.

That’s all you got? You in bed already, garden boy?

Was she flirting? Mentioning bed? She thought to recall the text, but thinking of Chloe’s YOLO approach to life that she had utterly lacked, she didn’t. She’d always been driven to please. To achieve. She’d been precise. Careful. Analytical. Safe. Never looked right or left.

“And hated every moment of it,” she murmured.

Storm sent her a picture of what must be his office. Two massive computer screens with various blueprints pulled up. The walls of the office were rough pine, like he was in a cabin or a shed. Two thick, wood shelves hung on the wall in front of the massive desk, and she could see piles of gardening, landscaping books along with a variety of plants.

He’d typed STILL WORKING on one of the computers.

So now I’m the slack one wandering around the garden in the dark.

Gathering energy and inspiration.

Storm got it. Her parents never had. If she or her sisters hadn’t been actively doing something—sports, studying, chores, practicing piano, a list of tasks would be scrolled out to accomplish. ‘Lazing around,’ had not been tolerated.

Are the plants talking to you?

She thought he must be joking. Did other people think plants talked back?

Growing up, she’d lie in the grass in Grandma Millie’s garden or in a flower bed or under a tree and stare at something only she could see. Sing songs, write poetry. ‘Be crazy useless,’ her mother would scorn and glare at her father like it was his fault. She’d stopped before she was ten, leaving the communing with nature to Chloe.

She was about to text no, not ready to share her childhood imaginative fantasies, but maybe the plants did talk. She had to listen.

She walked through the grass to what she felt was the middle of the mosaic, closed her eyes and spread out her arms, feeling a little foolish, but why? She was alone, at her home, with acres of privacy.

She held her phone up high and took a selfie, trying to get an angle of herself, the mosaic, the dark, and the glow of the farmhouse behind her. She turned off the flash. Pleased with the result. She sent the picture to Chloe.

Her phone rang. So much for listening to the garden.

“I’m trying to listen to nature like you do,” she said, eyes still closed.

“Are you trying to keep me up all night?” Storm demanded. “You look like a witch. I was about to call it a night, and you look like you’re spell casting.”

“Storm.” Her eyes snapped open, and she bobbled her phone. “Sorry. I was texting Chloe, but I’m on the wrong thread.”

Gosh he looked handsome, his hair wet and slicked back; obviously he’d just taken a shower before bed. “And I don’t cast spells. That would be you pushing me to use that book.”

“Red hair. Black cat.”

“I’m not with a cat.”

“Yeah, you are. Behind you.”

As he spoke, something brushed across her ankles, and Jessica shrieked and threw up her hands, losing her phone.

Her heart leapt and her mouth dried even as she recognized one of the first stray cats Chloe had brought to the barn—an all-black, half-grown, scrawny kitten she’d called Midnight. Now large, healthy and sleekly gorgeous, he slunk toward her and curled around her ankle. Pepper watched a few feet away, just like Storm had said they would. At least if they were here, they weren’t digging at the plants in the barn.

“Jessica, Jessica,” Storm’s voice called out from somewhere in the tall grasses.

“I’m fine. Midnight startled me. Pepper’s here too,” she called out and looked around, hoping to see her phone’s glow. “Keep talking. I lost my phone.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” She crouched down at the edge of the mosaic where she’d stopped her careful excavation earlier. “I can’t see my phone, but I can hear you. Maybe sing your favorite country love song.”

Why had she asked him that?

“You definitely don’t want that.” Storm laughed, his voice a deep rumble on her left. She leaned forward onto her knees, a bit loath to stick her hands in the vegetation in the dark. There were brambles and thistle and nettles—a lot of it dead or dormant and choked with years of debris. “I’ll start the coyotes howling.”

“Go ahead. I like the symphony.”

“Sure you’re okay? I can come over.”

“Always the hero,” Jessica said, striving for an airy sarcasm that missed because she remembered how Storm had won the volunteer of the year award scholarship two years running—by a lot—in high school. He was a generally good guy, and she’d used him to cover up her embarrassed hurt and confusion and relief about Rustin leaving town and her absurdly inappropriate stupid brief crush never being discovered until she’d outted herself to Chloe before Christmas.

Storm was the good guy.

She needed a warning label.

“Tell me what you’re working on in the picture I saw on your computer.” She plunged her bare hands into the overgrown dead perennials. She fished through the death, finding the first hint of bulbs poking up, which thrilled her, while Storm detailed the grid pattern he had created for the nursery so they could plan and prioritize sections.

“Oh,” Jessica said, feeling the smooth rectangles of her phone, along with something stone.

“Found me?”

She smiled, but his question pinched a little. “I don’t think you needed to be found,” she admitted, brushing her phone screen off with the hem of her cardigan and blowing at jack at the bottom. “It’s me who got lost.”

Silence.

Too much too soon. But probably just too much. And she wanted to keep things from becoming weird.

Good luck.

“I found something,” she said reaching into the bushes. “I think it’s a statue.”

“Of what?”

“Not sure.” She ran her fingers over it. “Like a person. Maybe a saint.” She wrapped one hand around it and tested the weight.

She extricated it from the weeds. “Oh,” she breathed, awed. “Wow.”

“What?”

Jessica rose to her feet and put the two-foot figurine of an angel…or a fairy…unearthed by the storm and a black cat.

“There’s an inscription, I think.” She fumbled for her flashlight and read.

“There is magic still in the garden.”