Chapter 23
Felicity leaned on her pitchfork and wiped her forehead on her sleeve as she surveyed the garden behind the old church building.
It was too warm for March already. “I think we should plant more vegetables and things out here for the restaurant. There’s so much space, and you could use it in your marketing. ”
“If it wouldn’t be too much work.” He reached and brushed a hand over her shoulder. “Spider.”
She did an ungraceful twist to make sure he’d gotten it off.
“What are those?” He pointed to her newly constructed trellis above the small rows of disturbed ground.
“Sugar snap peas. It was the first thing I ever planted as a kid. It’s lucky to plant them on St. Patrick’s Day.”
“Speaking of which.” He grinned and reached over and pinched her.
“Hey.” Her green sweatshirt was on the ground. “I’m Irish—I’m not supposed to get pinched even if I’m not wearing green.”
“I don’t buy into those rules.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You sure you want to get on my bad side?”
“I think I can handle it.”
She grabbed the hose, and he wasn’t fast enough.
“Real mature.” He gestured to his drenched crotch.
“Did little Nicky have an accident?”
An odd shadow crossed Nic’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. His eyes narrowed, mouth quirking with mischief. “You are so going to regret this, darlin’.”
“Pretty sure you’re going to be the one regretting pinching an Irish ginger.”
He snatched the hose and got her back as good as she gave.
When the sun was going down and both were shivering, he threw her over his shoulder. Before taking a step forward, his voice went serious. “This okay?”
“Yes.” And then he was running with her in a fireman’s carry, and she was laughing through chattering teeth and blue lips.
Just as they made it to the bottom of the metal steps to her apartment, vibration hit her at a very sensitive spot. A spot that didn’t need any more activation whenever Nic was around.
He set her down and slid his phone out of the inside pocket of his barn coat. “I’ve got to head out—especially since I’ve got to go home and change for some reason.”
“Want to come in and get dry first?”
“Nah, I’ll survive. It’s just three blocks.”
It was Tuesday. Of course it was.
“Would you … would you want to come over later?” The invitation had popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. The implication of what she was asking hung between them.
“I’m … I’m going to be out pretty late, probably.” Was he avoiding eye contact with her? “Are we still on to plant all the shrubs tomorrow morning? Courtney and Thea were going to come help too. Figured more hands would be good. I know you wanted to have them established before the Easter thing.”
“Sure. Sounds great. See you then. Have a good night. Bye-bye.” The word great came out with a tone better suited to the word awful, but the hurried additions of the overly enthusiastic sentences afterward were what sealed the deal on the humiliating exchange.
She was halfway up the metal stairs when the sound of her name made her stop.
“What, Nic?”
“I’m figuring some stuff out right now. We’re so close to doing everything we can to beat Bruce and keep your aunt’s shop from getting fucked over by his stupid parking garage, keeping Bruce from taking over the courtyard. This year’s been a lot, and I don’t—”
“Want to make any mistakes. I get it. I really do.”
Once the back door was closed behind her, she sank down onto the ground. It had been weeks since she and Nic had unpacked her boxes, but it still surprised her whenever she came home that she didn’t have to navigate a maze through the kitchen.
Back in late February, flowers had started appearing on her kitchen table at regular intervals. Nic said it was because the florist for the restaurant always brought an extra vase, and he did not want it to go to waste.
Did his Tuesday-night woman get flowers too?
The thought brought on another fit of shivering. She wiped up the puddle from under her ass and headed to the shower.
As she showered, she went through her Ms.
Move, meals, mess, medications, meditate, make, moment.
She had done her PT exercises every day this week.
She was eating at regular intervals. The mess was taken care of.
She had remembered to refill her medications.
She had tried meditating but still couldn’t figure it out.
Making the world a better place was going decently well.
The classes at the assisted living home had grown in size, and the greenhouse was lush.
The plaza was unrecognizable from where it was six months ago.
Yet she felt strange.
In moments like these, sometimes it felt like she was tallying her life on a balance sheet. Was she doing enough? Was she being too much of a burden to the people around her? Was she trying hard enough to be worthy of this opportunity her aunt left her?
Unfortunately, M was the letter in the alphabet right before N. So now, when she thought of Ms, she thought of Ns. Specifically one N. And occasionally, that N’s D.
God, at this rate, she would never be able to eat that tomato alphabet soup he had left her last week without being massively horny after.
She wrapped herself in a towel and headed into bed.
She had finished the Viking book last night, and thank god she hadn’t read it before Halloween. Nic in his Viking sea captain attire would have been even more irresistible. Luckily, that book was a stand-alone.
Now she had moved on to the one with a beautiful gold-embossed cover. The first in the Stolen Rebellion series. Unfortunately, this story also had a male love interest who was tall, blond-ish, and scruffy with green eyes.
Felicity let herself fall into the story in a way she hadn’t in over three years.
Dragons were slain. The masked thief rescued the prince from certain doom.
She held him captive, hoping to leverage him in exchange for her mother who had been captured by the tyrant king.
The twists and turns of the story led to steamy scenes playing out in Felicity’s mind.
She cried at the ending, partially because she had stayed up until two thirty in the morning despite knowing the shrub delivery was supposed to come first thing, and partially because the story ended on a cliff-hanger involving a supposed death and potential betrayal.
The next book in the series wasn’t out until the summer.
She fell asleep, wondering if Nic was still at the Tuesday-night woman’s house.
And wishing she could kidnap him like the sexy lady thief in the story.
But instead of dreaming about anything good, she dreamed she was failing a class on how to make alphabet letter–shaped pancakes on a stainless steel skillet.
Her subconscious was a cruel, heartless bitch.