Page 3 of Bloom (Dating a Demigod #4)
“It has been in my family for generations. I was raised in the fields, and every important life lesson I’ve been taught has been on that land. Now it’s under my care because my father and grandfather have passed on. It’s all I have left of them, and I can’t lose it.”
“I’m not going to let that happen. We will get this figured out.”
“So, how do you know so much about this stuff? Did you go to school for it?”
Timber shook his head. “I guess you could call it a family tradition for me as well. My mother taught me how to care for plants from seeds to blooms. She explained how we are intertwined with the earth; how if we treat it right, it will provide us with nourishment and beauty.”
“The flowers around your porch were absolutely beautiful.”
Timber gave a smile that put the petals to shame. “Thank you.”
“So besides gardening, what are you into?”
“Nothing too exciting; I live a pretty simple life. I love watching classic movies, and reading as much as possible.”
“Do you like reading the classics as well?”
“Um…not so much.” Timber turned his attention to the window, and when a slight shade of pink covered his cheeks, an ornery smile crossed mine.
“You read smut, don’t you?”
“A little,” he admitted, his blush deepening. I snorted a laugh and he quickly added, “But it’s not just for the smut! I love the romance of two people finding their perfect match in one another and getting their happily ever after.”
“Sure you do, horndog,” I chuckled, and his cheeks brightened even more and guilt settled in my gut.
“I’m just teasing.” I reached over to rub his knee, making his shoulders relax, though his blush didn’t disappear.
Why would it disappear? A stranger is groping him in his truck!
I did not want to move my hand, but I never wanted to make him uncomfortable, so I begrudgingly placed it back on the steering wheel.
“Honestly, those are probably the types of books I’d read if I had the time,” I offered.
“Hell, I’d love to experience a real-life romance novel, but I’ve been busier than ever trying to keep my crops alive.
Since the harvest has been leaner, I’ve had to let go of most of my farmhands and do nearly everything myself. ”
“I admire your work ethic, but you’ve got to take a little time to relax,” Timber countered with concern in his voice. “There’s got to be something you enjoy to turn your brain off for a while.”
As pathetic as it was, I had to search my mind for an answer. “I love music.”
“Me too,” Timber beamed. “What kind?”
“Oh, I’ll listen to anything, though my favorite to play is probably country.” Timber’s jaw dropped open and I hoped to continue to impress him by adding, “I play the guitar. My grandpa taught me when I was young, and I’ve kept at it.”
“That’s amazing.” My heart swelled at the compliment. “I’d love to hear you play sometime.” It was as if every sweet word from his lips spoke directly to my soul.
“If I tell you something, do you promise not to make fun of me?”
“I swear,” he answered seriously.
“When my crops started dying, I even took my guitar outside and played for them, hoping it would help.” Unfortunately, the desperate act did nothing.
“I’d never make fun of that; it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.
” I felt guilty all over again for teasing him about his book preferences.
I owed him a chuckle at my expense. “Besides, some research suggests that singing to plants really does help them grow because of the sound vibrations.”
“Oh, I didn’t say anything about singing. My singing sounds like someone stepped on a cat’s tail.”
Timber shook his head. “I don’t believe it for a minute.”
“Don’t make me prove it to you.” Without a word, he pressed the radio’s power button, and turned up the volume until an upbeat country tune filled the cab of the truck. “Okay, but I warned you.”
I opened my mouth and the most godawful, grating noise joined in on the song.
I wish I were exaggerating my terrible singing voice to make him laugh, but I really was just that bad.
But Timber didn’t laugh or make a disgusted face; he just watched and listened with a gentle smile, as if he was actually enjoying the massacre.
“Okay, I embarrassed myself; now it’s your turn.
” I pointed to him as a signal to sing, but when he began, it was a much different experience.
Timber’s voice was honey smooth as he perfectly matched every pitch in the song.
It was luxurious but familiar. Goosebumps rose along my arms, as if every tiny hair in my skin was reaching out to get closer to him.
When the song ended, Timber pressed the button once more, making the air so quiet around us, I could hear my heart racing. Stating the obvious, I told him, “You’re incredible.”
“Thank you,” he replied with a sweet smile. “Maybe we can collaborate sometime.”
“Absolutely.” I could think of nothing better than making sweet music with Timber. The thought danced around my mind, distracting me from my problem, until I turned onto my property and the sad reality hit me all over again.