Chapter 2 #2
“Touché.” She planted both hands on her waist. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
His pulse gave an altogether unnecessary leap at the word pleasure. It was only a turn of phrase. Had nothing to do with him.
“Seems I owe you an apology.”
One brow rose. “Now, why would you think that?”
So she wasn’t going to make this easy. The knowledge pleased him, showed him she was ready for some verbal sparring. That he could do, in spades.
“It appears I might have carried our little contest a step too far.”
“There’s no question of that,” she said bluntly. “May I ask why you did it?”
Fair question. Trouble was, he wasn’t entirely certain himself.
He’d always kept a tight grip on his feelings where Cecelia was concerned.
Admire her? Certainly. Flirt a little? Couldn’t be helped.
Lose his head over something as mundane as seeing her?
Absolutely not. That is, until he’d spotted her at the smoker, bouncing up and down beside a hand-wringing Theo, cheeks pink with excitement and wearing a ridiculous fake mustache.
He’d laughed out loud.
And something inside him had broken loose.
Perhaps it had been the crowd shouting his name.
Maybe getting punched in the head had rattled whatever good sense he still possessed.
No matter the reason, he’d wanted her to notice him.
He’d wanted to be Drew Sutton: Worth Looking At.
Worth Cheering for. Worth…no. Best not wander any farther down that road.
“Saw your fancy mustache,” he drawled. “Figured I’d better come up with something equally memorable.”
“So you did see me.”
“Guilty.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “You were showing off.”
He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be much of a showman if I didn’t.”
She studied him for a long moment, humming thoughtfully. “I’ll accept your apology, but—”
“Don’t tell me you’re calling the whole thing off,” he interrupted, growing almost giddy at the way his taunt made her shoulders square and her eyes gleam. “Scared it’ll be my name on the placard by the winning cactus dahlia when it’s your life’s work?”
“Drew.” She looked at him as though he'd tried to crossbreed a tomato with a thistle. “It’s precisely because dahlias are my life’s work that I was going to offer you the chance to back down.”
“Never,” he declared.
“Then it’s agreed. The battle continues.”
“All right.” He shrugged as if she hadn’t made his day. One thing, however, still didn’t make sense. “If you’re so eager to compete, then why did you disappear?”
She shot him an affronted look. “I was busy escorting Mother to Tacoma after her maid caught a cold. She was ready to cancel her duties for the Women’s Hospital Association, so I stepped in.” She sniffed. “Funny how the newspapers didn’t find that worth printing.”
“Wouldn’t fit the story they’re selling,” he pointed out.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning if folks saw you being charitable instead of trying to flatten me, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Doubtful, but thank you. Besides, I had plenty of time to think while I was away. You wouldn’t believe the earful I got the day after the fight. Even the milkman had an opinion.”
“Brawling with a bruiser like myself won’t do your reputation any favors,” he allowed.
“I’ve been brawling with you for years,” she said with a huff. “The only difference is that someone decided to inhale my flower before a contingent of journalists and gossip-mongers!”
“I got carried away. Your fault, incidentally, for attending the smoker in the first place.”
She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “The point is that I know what Seattle is saying: a crazed spinster challenged a local favorite prizefighter to a flower contest. Now everyone wants to see what happens next, and I don’t blame them.
From the outside, it does sound rather entertaining.
” She met his gaze head-on. “I’ve weighed the pros and cons, Drew, and I’ve decided it’s my own opinion that matters most. What I want, more than anything else, is to show the world what I can do.
If I also happen to defeat you along the way, so the better. ”
“Cecelia, you are a wonder,” he said before he could stop himself. Color stole into her freckled cheeks, and she was so goddamn beautiful he had to tear his gaze away before he did something foolish like drop to his knees and beg her to love him.
His attention landed on the garden, though garden seemed far too ordinary a word for what she had created.
It was as if a forest glade had wandered willingly into the city.
A flowering dogwood spread its branches overhead, shading the towering plumes of creamy goat’s beard and swaths of ferns below.
Clumps of orange tiger lilies flared through the greenery like little torches, their bold color softened by the quiet stream winding past weathered logs and moss-covered stones.
It felt like Cecelia somehow. Untamed at first glance, yet thoughtful upon closer inspection.
“You and your garden both,” he finished.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes soft as she viewed her creation. “This is our sanctuary.”
“I can see why.”
The silence stretched, and Drew was unsure how to break it. He sank to his haunches and inspected the bell-shaped Purple penstemon nodding beside the path, which, he realized with some surprise, was a wide, straight line of crushed gravel, the only unnatural element to her woodland garden.
“Drew,” she said thoughtfully.
He glanced up, startled to see vulnerability flash across her face. Cecelia, who was always smirking, always ready to snipe back, looked hesitant. Ah, hell. She looked like she was about to break his heart. He straightened. Braced himself.
“Yes?”
“I appreciate the apology,” she said, “though it wasn’t the one I’d hoped for.”
“What should I apologize for, then?” he asked cautiously. “I didn’t let the goat in the church grounds—”
She waved an impatient hand. “The goat didn’t know I was there to spy on your display, not steal its food.”
“I see,” he murmured.
He most certainly did not see. If she wasn’t angry about falling from his ladder and being left stranded overnight, what could he have done? He sifted through his memory. “Perhaps sending you a clipping of my victory was ill-timed, considering you were bedridden.”
“No. Not that either.”
“Then what?”
The corners of her mouth pinched into a tiny, almost embarrassed smile. She cradled a nearby foxglove, one of the last of the season, its crimson petals startling against her soil-stained gloves.
“I had hoped you would write me after the accident,” she said after a moment. “I was alone for a long time, you see.”
Oh.
Oh hell.
“I—” He swallowed. “I didn’t realize you’d want to hear from me.”
“Don’t friends write to each other when they have an accident?”
“They do,” he said automatically. Then the words caught up with him.
The city thought they were rivals. Cecelia thought they were friends.
And he…he'd been in love with her so long that writing while she recovered had felt selfish.
Like finding an excuse to wedge himself into her life where he didn't belong.
Guilt lodged beneath his ribs like a stone.
“I am sorry,” he said. “If I'd known, I'd have written more often.”
“It's in the past now,” she said with a wistful sigh. “Though...I suppose you could make it up to me.”
Now, his puffed-up ear might have taken one blow too many over the years, but it still worked well enough to catch the note of calculation tucked beneath the sweetness.
“Cecelia Townsend...” He rocked back on his heels and narrowed his eyes. “Did you just guilt me into agreeing to whatever it is you want?”
“Sure did,” she said, the wind whistling through the gap in her teeth.
Wily woman.
“Well, go on, then. Let me have it.”
She gave up all pretense and faced him directly. “We play into the gossip.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You don't get to start a spectacle and then wander off to your own engagements while I endure the commentary,” she continued, her gaze daring him to defy her. “The only way I’m continuing this farce is if we do it together.”
More time with her? A dangerous suggestion. She had no idea what an evening in her company could do to a fellow already hanging by a thread. But was he willing to give up even a single moment at her side? Hell no.
“It’s a deal.”
“Good.” Triumph glowed in her smile. “Now, did you receive an invitation to a garden party this Saturday at the Edgewoods’?”
“I did, oddly enough. And a slew of others from people I wouldn’t have thought knew I existed.”
“That’s what happens when you start the scandal of the summer—everyone is eager to play host to the next scene.
Case in point: I also received an invitation to the garden party.
” She leaned in so close he could see the flecks of green in her eyes.
“You raised the stakes, Drew. You made us a pair. Now you have to behave like one.”
From her smug smile, he gathered she meant this to be punishment for his sins. But an afternoon spent in Cecelia’s company? As her escort? That was no punishment. Hell, it just might be his dream come true.
“Sounds awful,” he remembered to say.
“Doesn’t it?” she said cheerfully.
She clearly wanted his reluctance. He would give it to her. “And if I decline?
She smiled, baring her teeth. “Then I’ll burn down your greenhouse.”
“Guess I’d better go buy a new suit.”
“Wear whatever you like.”
Oh? That sounded suspiciously like a challenge. She'd seen him muddy, bruised, and dressed for flower shows. She'd never seen him dressed to impress. A slow grin spread across his face. If Cecelia Townsend wanted a spectacle…well.
He knew how to put on a show.