Page 13 of Marrying the Gardener (The Bachelor Brothers #3)

My lungs burn, starved for air. “No.” I wet my lips, stare ahead, over housetops, at the darkening navy sky.

“No, Kaleb. You were perfect. He loved you. He’s already claimed you as a son.

His approval will help us a lot with my grandfather once he summons the family.

I don’t yet know exactly what he intends to do or what games he expects us to play each weekend he feels up to it.

I only know that my father told me to be ready not to embarrass him when the time comes.

” My hands close into fists at my sides.

“This whole evening gives me hope. It hurts. Of course it hurts. When someone who was supposed to love you chooses someone they barely know over you, that’s going to hurt.

But, soon, I won’t have to deal with it anymore.

I’ll be free.” Safe. Independent. Running my own companies, playing my own business, without anyone to tell me I’m too female for success.

The misogyny will be behind me, or at least under my control. The second a man in my corporation starts acting like the backend of a mule, he’s gone.

I’ll be free .

After a long while, Kaleb’s arms loosen, then he separates us and scrubs a hand over his eyes. “Sorry. I’m not thinking straight right now. I’m definitely buzzed.”

“You did fabulous for being mildly intoxicated.”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “I’m looking forward to sobering and enjoying our evening.”

“Our…evening?”

“When we get home.”

“Our ‘evening’ can’t take place in the car? During the hour drive back home?”

His head shakes. “’Fraid not. I don’t trust myself to kiss you while buzzed, and you still need practice.”

My eyes widen. “I have to go through that torture again?”

“No. You could stop now.” He coils a lock of my hair around his finger.

“Let me take care of you. You’re not interested in intimacy, so I doubt you’ll mind if I continue my work.

It makes good money, and your family has no power over stopping what I do to spite you.

I can keep you quite comfortable on a few jobs a month, and I bet I can even call in a favor to Viktor where keeping our home in Sunset safe from any irritated relatives is concerned.

I’ll garden for rent, sell my companionship for everything else, and you won’t ever have to kiss me again. ”

How…drunk is he? “I think I need to get you back home before you pass out on me.”

“I’m not drunk; I’m buzzed.”

I nudge him into the passenger seat. “You’re saying drunk words.” Closing the door on him, I head to the driver side, merge into the main lane, and continue up the road, toward home.

Before the peace of night can consume me, Kaleb asks, “How are my words drunk?”

“You, a practical stranger, are offering to take care of my living expenses for nothing in return. That’s drunk talk.”

“Not if I like you.”

“You don’t know me well enough to like me. The most you can like is how I look, yet you’ve built my not having to be intimate with you into this delusion.”

“What does intimacy have to do with liking you?”

Absolutely nothing. But it’s the only thing we’ve got right now.

There’s not an ounce of emotional depth between us.

So what is he even talking about? I cut a glance at him, find him resting his head against the window and eyeing me, very drunkenly.

My eyes roll back to the road. “Why don’t you take a nap, Kaleb? ”

“I want an answer to my question.”

I sigh. “You can’t possibly platonically like me enough at this point in our acquaintanceship to want to take care of me like you’re suggesting. That’s nonsense.”

“You’d do it for Crisis.”

What sorts of things did Crisis say about me while babying this man’s koi fish if he knows that I’d do anything for her? Huffing, I mutter, “That’s different. Crisis and I are soulmates, friends , people who actually know each other. You and I are business partners who have kissed.”

“We’re husband and wife.”

“Not really.”

“Also, when did I say I liked you platonically? What if I like you romantically?”

My grimace could win awards. “You’re not making sense, Kaleb. Please take a nap.”

“I like you romantically,” he states.

“You like me romantically,” I drawl, “yet you’re okay with not having intimacy in our relationship?”

He eyes me, weary. “Are you also aromantic, Rose-red?”

“Please stop diagnosing my sexuality. It is weird.”

“Can you blame me for trying to understand the woman I like better?” He swipes his hand down his face, holding his palm over his mouth as he fixes his attention outside, on the suburban roads transitioning into the interstate.

“If you’re asexual, I stop propositioning.

If you’re aromantic, I focus on friendship devoid of fluff.

If you’re not interested at all…” His voice fades, drifting away.

“If I’m not interested at all, what then?” I ask.

“Would begging change your mind?”

This poor guy. I thought he handled liquor pretty well, until now. Maybe it just needed a moment to marinate in his system before he went off his rocker. Or maybe talking about NASDAQ keeps him sober. “Sleep off the whiskey, Kaleb. We can talk more once you’re clear-headed.”

For a moment, I expect him to argue, but eventually, he closes his eyes, leaving me in a silence and peace broken only by the dread that tonight’s conference with my father was the first battle in a long war.

And I reached the end in tears.