Page 86 of Intermission

“You have a problem with that?” I purse my lips and scowl... but then laugh. “No, I’m kidding. She’s not named after anything, really. When she was a puppy, ‘Janey’ just seemed to fit her personality.”

“Ah.” Noah jumps up and pulls a handful of the little white flowers from where they grow. He bows, offering the bouquet to me.

“Perhaps my lady would accept this small token, with my apologies for failing to appreciate the tedious literature of which she is so enamored, even though she did not name her canine companion after said literary heroine.”

“Excellent highbrow accent, Mr. Spencer. And because your accent is so excellent, I shall choose to ignore that you referred toJane Eyreas torture.” I take the flowers. “Apology accepted. Except...” I bite my lip. “I, uh, don’t think you’re supposed to pick flowers in a nature preserve.”

“Oops.” Noah’s eyes widen. “I forgot about that.”

“You’re such a rebel, you lawbreaker, you. Not to mention thatgiving a girl flowers is usually considered romantic, and we’re not doing that sort of thing anymore.”

“Right again. Forgive my lapse.”

“Done.” I lift the bouquet and examine the stems. “It looks like you got a few of them by the roots, so maybe we can replant those. These,” I say, sorting the flowers and tossing the bad ones into the stream, “are goners. I’m not sure how Dutchman’s breeches are seeded, but let’s just pretend they’re going to circle-of-life it and become a new patch further downstream, shall we?”

“I shall hope for that outcome. In the meantime, how shall I express my gratitude for your help in hiding the evidence of my careless misdeed?”

I love that he’s kept the accent, so I match it with the one developed during hours spent watchingMasterpieceon PBS. “I believe any young man who unlawfully picks wildflowers must have his good name protected by a quick-thinking young lady of his acquaintance.”

“By all means.” Noah doffs an imaginary top hat. “Proceed.”

I move to the bank and look at the muddy clay. “Er, this could get messy.” I drop the accent.

“Let me. I’m the one who broke the law, after all. You can’t see it, but my hands are already dirty. Just like Lady MacBeth’s, except with pollen instead of blood.”

“I must have missed the memo. I didn’t realize it was classical literature day.”

“You started it.”

“No, I started with Dutchman’s breeches. Botany, not books.” I set the flowers in Noah’s open hand. “You’re the one who mentionedJane Eyreand then adopted the accent and put on that dashing cravat and top hat.”

“I’m so absent-minded. I don’t even remember tying my cravat on this morning. But I’m gratified you find it dashing.”

“Indeed.”

Noah grins, adjusts the imaginary cravat at his neck, and then digs around in the dirt, placing the fragile stems back into the earth and then gently patting the mud back in place.

“Hey,” he reaches toward a nearby cluster of undisturbedDutchman’s breeches. “Look back here!” He pushes the flowers to one side—carefully this time. “Check it out. It’s a little cave!” He reaches forward.

“Stop! You don’t know what’s in there!” I yank him back. “There could be a snake or a black widow spider or a rat or something.”

“You’re right. Hang on.” He rinses his hands in the stream, dries them on his jeans, and then pulls out his phone. “Flashlight app.”

He angles the light toward the hole in the bank. “There are a couple of webs, but...”

I shudder when he ignores the fact that something alive made those webs at some point and sticks his hand inside the miniature cave.

“Seems to be critter-free. I guess the creepy crawlies got tired of living in the Dutchman’s pocket.”

“The what?”

“Oh, come on. This little miniature cave is in back of the Dutchman’s breeches, right? Therefore, itmustbe his pocket.”

“You’re weird.”

“My mom would say clever.”

“Because she’s your mom, and your mom is nice.”