The sad edge of his words makes me wonder whether my previous assumption was correct and, once again, my mouth moves too fast. “Don’t you have a good relationship with your mother?”
Nathan’s lips move into a bitter smile. “As adults, we get along fairly well. But I didn’t have much of a relationship with her growing up. At least, not once I went to study at St. James. There, I had more engaging conversations with the aforementioned gardener than with anyone in my family. Perhaps my aunt is an exception.”
My previous guilt returns, but it isn’t a little twitch anymore. It’s now literally twisting my guts in a painful way. I called Nathan arrogant because he invited me to spend a day with him when we met, but the one who really acted presumptuously was me. I had assumed that even his most upsetting experiences must’ve been nothing but nuisances compared to the issues I had to deal with, because he’s rich.
Apparently I was wrong. Very wrong.
I study his face. Though his jaw is still set in the same resentful smirk, his eyes hide a profound sorrow. Something he’s probably not even aware of. Seeing his expression, I’m suddenly sure that Nathan didn’t have a better life than I did. True, I’ve never known my father, but I had a wonderful mother. I’ve known real parental love. Abuelita still loves me with that kind of unconditional affection.
A wish to redeem myself invades me. I capture his gaze and smile. “You said you’re good with gardening, huh? You know, your help could be useful, after all. I’d love to finish everything before my grandmother gets home.” I don’t care if any of our prying neighbors sees me inviting Nathan in, or his car in our doorway. They can think what they want.
“Really?” His face lights up.
I glance at my watch. “Yes. I have only three hours left. So what do you say? Feel like getting dirty with me?”
His mouth moves into a coy grin. “I’d love to get dirty with you. I thought you’d never ask.”
As he repeats my foolishly chosen words, their not-so-subtle double-meaning dawns on me. To avoid the embarrassment getting the best of me, I quickly pivot toward garden. “Then let’s go. A forest of begonias is waiting for us.”
Chapter 11
(Nathan)
“So, Mr. Green Thumb, according to your expertise, where shall we start?”
Eva blinks at me, and as our glances cross, her lips curl up. Her smile is different now than before. It’s more symmetrical, more heartfelt.
A giddy sensation spreads in my chest, and I’m not entirely sure it’s for the right reason. But instead of stopping to worry about it, I focus on the task at hand. I need to live up to my self-advertised reputation as a gardener. “We need a location where the soil drains well. If there are still water puddles after a hard rain, your begonias won’t like it. They love half-shade and just the right amount of water.”
Eva’s hand flies to her chest, her fingers opening like a fan. “Wow, okay, I guess you weren’t kidding when you praised your gardening skills. You are good.” Her tone is half-joking, half-abashed but without any hint of mocking.
Her movement draws my attention to her perfectly sculpted collarbones, appetizingly framed by her white T-shirt’s heart-shaped neckline. “Of course I didn’t,” I reply, trying to keep my eyes from dipping. “I’m not sure if I should be offended that you doubted me or flattered by your unexpected compliment.”
Eva winks. “The latter, please. I honestly meant it as praise.”
She turns from me and saunters to a small, dingy shed.
Though the distance she has to walk is only a few feet—their entire garden is probably as big as the walk-in closet in my condo—it gives me enough time to appreciate how delightfully slender her waist looks in her light-blue jeans.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Eva has fabulously lean legs. She’s a dancer, after all. But my eyes still widen as my gaze glides along her long thighs. A peculiar manly warmth fills my belly, and my head conjures fantasies I probably shouldn’t contemplate at all.
Gaining Eva’s interest is supposed to be a means to an end. But if I’m honest, there’s already a shift in my motivation. It’s pretty minor yet, but if I let my mind wander unchecked, I could move off track rapidly, and that would have disastrous consequences.
So when Eva pivots to me, forcing me to look up, I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time. She carries two small spades and hands one of them to me. “Here, this should do the job. Let’s start with the red seedlings. What do you think?”
“It’s more efficient if we make the holes first, so that the flowers come out in one straight line and are well-spaced. The leaves and stems of begonias store lots of water, which makes them subject to mildew if they’re crowded together.”
“Seriously?” Eva narrows her eyes. “Is this something you actually knew?”
For a second, I ponder lying just to impress Eva, but then I remember my aunt’s advice and admit, “No, this last bit I heard from Cathy when I paid for the flowers.”
My honesty earns me another appreciative grin, which makes me want to prove my worth to her even more. I quickly drop to my knees, not caring that my pants will get dirty. It’s a small price to pay to spend time with Eva and make her smile.
Eva follows my example, then sits back on her heels. “You first. You’re the boss.”
The way these last words tingle on her tongue doesn’t help tame my already erratic heartbeat. I squeeze my shovel, hoping to channel my inner havoc into digging a perfect first hole. After a few efficient movements, it’s ready. “Huh, I’m happy Old Sam’s teachings weren’t completely wasted on me,” I murmur, satisfied.
Eva points her spade at the ground, but the place she
