“Be right back.”
From my prison I watch him stroll into her trap.
My lips part.
Can’t jump out now.
Yes, I can.
Leaping from the Bronco, I follow him, spine straight and dignified.
Face, freaked.
Zoe stands beside Samantha with eyes far more innocent than my sister’s mischievous ones.
I strain to overhear him say, “Thanks, girls. She said she’d like one.”
“And you wanna give her what she wants,” smirks Sam.
He returns her challenge, smirking, too, “So far everything’s she’s wanted I’ve been down with.”
“Oh, really?!” Sammy cuts a glance to me as she hands over the chocolate bars. “You don’t say?”
I’m not speechless often.
Gage’s huge hand crushes their base, his grip unintentionally too much for fried fluff. “I hope you’re not using these donuts to win an invitation to join us.”
Sam blinks at him. “No.”
He smiles, “Good,” taking my hand with his free one, “Because you’re not invited.”
Zoe’s passive face brightens with a grin.
As we stroll away, I stick my tongue out at my sister.
She mouths a silent, “He’s perfect for you.”
So I flip her off.
God doesn’t mind.
I was born to be a brat.
By Grand design.
Chapter Twenty-Two
GAGE
Side-by-side we approach a large building at the far end of the gardens, our final destination.
“That’s one hell of a name.” I point to the sign, reading aloud, “Fuqua Conservatory and Orchid Center. I bet nobody remembers that.”
She agrees, “We always just say, Let’s go to the orchids.”
My gaze drops to a dark, still pond filled with enormous lily pads. “I’ve never been here.”
“To the gardens?” Lexi stops walking. “Wait, you never told me that.”
“No, I’ve come here before with my family. Once or twice when we were kids. But we walked the paths. Saw the woman plant-sculpture thing. We didn’t make it back this far.”
“This is my favorite part of the whole place.”
“Yeah? You like orchids?”
“It’s not just the orchids, it’s… you’ll see!”
We walk around to the entrance, and into a lobby with a few small aquariums Lexi doesn’t stop at.
I’m following her lead, and my wait to be impressed isn’t long as we walk into a huge room of hilly paths through trees, live quail running by our feet, birds tweeting unseen and frogs even louder than they are.
We take our time, read signs about the vegetation, but little of it sticks in my head. What will stick with me, though, is curtains of vines hanging in long strings from the ceiling. The rest of it gets forgotten because I’m too busy watching her happiness. She’s not the bouncy type. No, she glides.
Every stranger we come across, Lexi greets with a “Hi,” receiving in return a similar greeting. At first I’m quiet, just adding a nod. But her friendliness and easy confidence is infectious. Soon I’m joining in with my own, “How ya doin’?” to each solo visitor, couple, and group.
We leave this room and move across to the next — a tropical exhibit so green that any other color stands out like it’s lit up. The humidity is a thick blanket of heady scents, and when Lexi takes a deep breath to enjoy it, I do, too.
She smiles at me. “Isn’t this amazing?”
I answer by pulling her to me for a kiss under a living arch. Lexi rises on her tiptoes to respond. No heels today. Gotta say, I like how she feels in my arms. A lot.
“Excuse us,” comes a woman’s interruption.
We separate and see a smiling, older couple trying to politely get by. The man locks eyes with me as I say, “How ya doin’?”
“Doing well, thanks.”
Lexi nods, “Have a good day,” and means it.
We continue on, her a bit ahead of me. When no one’s around, I ask her, “You always greet everyone like that?”
“You’re doing it, too.”
“I just started.”
Over her shoulder she looks at me. “I noticed. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
I chuckle and shrug, not explaining that it felt weird at first, but yeah, now that I’m used to it…
By the time we leave this exhibit with Lexi announcing, “Now the orchids,” her hair is wavy from intense humidity. Georgia is wet enough in summertime. This was more than that. Rainforest worthy, and I quickly find out that the orchid room, with glass walls, heated misters watering hundreds of colorful flowers, is equal to it.
With hair curlier by the footstep, she points out orchids she loves, saying things like, “Oh, I’ve never seen that one before! Look!”
Midway through we duck sheaths of Spanish Moss, and turn around as a conservatory volunteer behind us announces, “These don’t have chiggers in them.”
Lexi’s cherry eyebrows rise. “Really?”
“Those are only outside in the real world. We don’t have them in the exhibit.”
“Huh,” I mumble, “Always wanted to touch these,” fingering the chaos of spindly strings.
Lexi’s pseudo-annoyed, “I wish someone had told me that earlier! I’ve been here how many times?!” makes our informative volunteer smile.
“I can always tell a local from how they react. Tourists touch it right away.”
Georgians know that Spanish Moss — cool as it looks — should never be touched. It houses tiny bugs that burrow under your skin and have to be burned out. With fire.
When your parents warn you about chiggers with an image like that, you listen.
Our curiosity satisfied, we start to move on, but the volunteer says, “I love your curly hair!”
Lexi blinks. Her hands fly to her head, eyes wide. “Oh no!” She turns to me. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“Oh,” the volunteer stammers, “I thought…” and hurries off.
A smirk pulls at my lips. “Why didn’t I tell you what?”
“That my hair went wild?”
I pull her in.
She fights me.
Finally gives up.
And for the first time today she looks insecure.
I touch her chin.
Tilt it.
Murmur, “I like it wild.”
“It’s a mess.”
“No, it isn’t, Cherry. You’re beautiful. And it makes no sense that an untamed woman like you tames anything other than me.”
She searches my eyes, lips parting to speak but my kiss doesn’t give her a chance. Lexi melts into me, pressing her body to
