Page 65 of Home Grown Talent
“See you both soon!” Aaron called over his shoulder. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
A few moments later came the sound of the front door closing, then silence.
Mason looked at Owen, taking in his closed-off expression. “Hey,” he said, drawing Owen’s attention, “where did you go?”
Owen blinked. “Go?”
“It’s like you checked out for a moment.” He cocked his head, considering. “You didn’t like what Lewis said?”
Owen sighed, visibly coming back to himself. “I know he’s trying to be helpful,” he said, “but… I’ve spent years building up my business and about six weeks on this TV stuff. And this is what he’s proud of?”
“I’m sure he’s proud of you for lots of things.”
“Yeah, maybe. He’s certainly more interested in Weekend Wellness than he’s ever been in my gardening business, though.” He gestured around him. “Or this house, or my garden. Both of which are things I’m really proud of having, even if they aren’t as fancy as Lewis’s.”
Mason studied his face. The earnestness and hurt in Owen’s pale blue eyes felt like a dart piercing his chest. A sudden, unexpected pain. That had to be Mason recognising something of his own experience in Owen’s, though. Nothing more profound than the sense of connection you sometimes felt when you found a fellow traveller.
Carefully, Mason said, “I understand. The only interest Frieda and Kurt ever took in my chef training was when I got them freebies in restaurants, but as soon as Frankie offered me the chance to model…” He shrugged. “In their minds it was a no-brainer that I’d take up the offer, even though I loved—still love—to cook. Fame and fortune, I suppose.”
“There’s more to life than fame and bloody fortune.” Owen’s expression had softened, though, and he looked more like himself as he lifted a hand to stroke the back of his fingers against Mason’s cheek.
Smiling, Mason took his hand, turned it over and pressed a kiss to Owen’s knuckles. And, despite the swell of arousal that was never far from the surface when he was around Owen, Mason heard himself saying, “Will you show me around your garden?”
Owen huffed a soft laugh. “You don’t need to—”
“I want to.” He threaded their fingers together. “I want to know about the things that are important to you.”
And so, he found himself outside in the chilly spring morning, letting Owen show him around his small but meticulously nurtured square of garden.
“It smells so green,” Mason marvelled as Owen led him down the artfully designed stone path that wound through the planting beds, somehow making the garden feel far bigger than it could possibly be.
A brick wall ran along the back of the garden, the well-trained stems of a plant growing along a section of trellis. “This is an Albertine rose,” Owen explained. “It’ll be beautiful in June, absolutely covered in soft pink flowers that smell amazing…”
He went on, describing the plants growing happily in their beds, explaining what he was going to plant as soon as he had time. “Tomatoes here,” he said, gesturing to another spot on the wall. “Plenty of sun, there. And this is a raspberry bush.”
“Ooh.” Mason’s interest was piqued. “What kind of tomatoes?”
“I’ve tried a few over the years, but my favourites are Astro Ibrido. They’re a plum tomato, and really flavourful. Quite sweet.” He laughed. “I usually end up dropping off bags of them with the neighbours, though. There’s only so many cheese-and-tomato sandwiches a man can eat.”
“Oh my God!” Mason faked outrage. “Do not give them away. Or at least give some to me. I’ll make you the best chicken cacciatore you’ve ever eaten. Ooh, and pan con tomate for breakfast.”
Owen seemed to like that idea, because he grinned widely. “Okay, you’re on.”
“Do you grow any other fruit and veg? I love cooking with fresh produce. Most of the stuff you buy in shops is so flavourless, and I never have time to go to proper markets anymore.”
“Strawberries will be ripe in July.” He nodded to where several hanging pots cascaded artfully down the tall fence, short leafy stems peeking over the tops. “Beans, courgettes. They’re easy, though, but my secret project…” He laughed, clearly self-conscious. “It’s just for fun, but I’m attempting to grow pineapples in here.”
“Pineapples!” Mason exclaimed, astonished.
“Yes, come see.”
Owen led Mason to a small greenhouse tucked into the back corner of the garden.
“It can take up to three years for the plants to develop fruit, and I only planted these last summer, so they definitely won’t fruit this year. They’re growing well, though, and looking pretty healthy. See? I propagated them using the topknots of pineapples I bought at the supermarket.”
“No way! That’s brilliant.” Mason examined the plants that did indeed look like the tops of large pineapples in pots. He pulled out his phone. “Mind if I post a pic?”
“Of a pineapple plant?”