6. Mike
Chapter six
Mike
I spot Paul the moment I turn the corner into the town square.
He’s standing too close to Becky, his body angled toward her in a way that immediately puts me on edge. Her arms are crossed defensively, her expression tight, but she’s holding her ground. That alone tells me she’s stronger than she realizes.
Still, the sight of him hovering near her sends a protective fire through me. Without thinking, I stride toward them, closing the distance in seconds.
“Paul,” I say evenly, my voice low but firm. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”
He turns, his eyes narrowing as they land on me. “Mike,” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Actually, it does,” I reply, stepping between him and Becky. Her small hand brushes against my arm as I move, and it’s enough to make me stand a little taller. “You’ve had your say. Now, leave her alone.”
Paul scoffs, his gaze flicking between us. “This is cute,” he sneers. “You're playing knight in shining armor. But we both know Becky doesn’t need you to fight her battles.”
“Maybe not,” I admit, my jaw tightening. “But she doesn’t have to deal with you either. So, unless you want me to call the sheriff, I suggest you back off.”
Paul’s jaw works as he glares at me, but after a tense moment, he takes a step back. “This isn’t over,” he mutters before stalking off, his shoulders stiff with frustration.
The tension in my chest eases as I turn back to Becky. She’s staring at the ground, her cheeks flushed, but when she looks up, there’s a flicker of gratitude in her eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly, keeping my voice steady. “What was that all about?”
Becky nods, but her shoulders sag as she exhales. “I’m fine. Thank you for stepping in.”
“It’s what I’m here for,” I say, offering her a small smile.
She explains that she just ran into him and was taken by surprise. Her lips curve upward slightly, and the sight makes my chest tighten in a way I don’t fully understand.
After dinner, Becky and I find ourselves sitting on the porch swing at the ranch, the quiet hum of crickets filling the space between us. She’s cradling B., her fingers absentmindedly stroking the kitten’s soft fur as she speaks.
“This fake relationship,” she starts, her voice hesitant, “it has to look real. If it doesn’t, Paul will never believe it.”
Leaning back against the swing’s frame, I nod. “I agree. But it’s not just about looking real—it has to feel real. At least to the people watching.”
She glances at me, her brows knitting together. “How do we do that?”
“Boundaries,” I say simply. “We set clear boundaries. What we’re comfortable with, what we’re not. And we stick to them.”
Becky’s lips press into a thoughtful line before she nods. “Okay. That makes sense.”
As we talk, the tension between us shifts, growing heavier but not uncomfortable. It’s a strange mix of honesty and uncertainty, like we’re balancing on the edge of something neither of us is ready to name.
***
The next morning, Becky joins me for a walk through the community gardens of the botanical gardens. My mom has invited me to bring Becky to tea at the Botanical garden gazebo. Becky offered to help out in the gardens. She lights up as we pass rows of blooming flowers, her excitement bubbling over as she stops to admire each one.
When we reach a bench near the center of the garden, Becky pauses, her gaze catching on the plaque attached to it. She leans closer to read the inscription, her expression softening as the words sink in.
“For Julia Thorn, who taught us to find beauty in every bloom. With love, Mike and Lulu.”
“This is beautiful,” she murmurs, turning to me. “You did this for your mom?”
A lump forms in my throat. “She loves this place. She always says it feels like a little piece of heaven on earth.” I didn't tell Becky that I had given a sizable donation to the gardens and they gave the bench as a thank you.
Becky’s smile is warm, her eyes shining with something I can’t quite place. “She must be so proud of you. Of both of you.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected. Clearing my throat, I shrug it off. “Thanks.” My mother had a close call with her health a few years ago. Feeling we might lose her, made Lulu and I appreciate all that she’s done for us.
It approaches afternoon as Becky and I wrap up our tour of the gardens.
“There was so much to see,” Becky says enthusiastically. “Those bonsai are so old and it must take a lot of patience.”
“Not for me I’m afraid. I don’t have that kind of patience,” I joke. “I’m more of a quick action guy myself.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” she chides. “If it wasn’t for your quick action, I might have gotten hurt in the fire.”
My heart feels tight. In retrospect, Becky’s safety had meant more to me than just my job.
“It’s tea time at the gazebo,” I distract Becky. My mom is at the Master Gardener meeting and I was tasked to take Becky there for tea.
“Let’s go,” Becky beams. “I hope they have Jasmine tea.” I can’t help but smile at her excitement.
Beyond the gardens is a glass-walled conservatory, a blend of rustic elegance and timeless charm. Sunlight streams through the arched windows, illuminating rows of potted orchids, ferns, and tropical palms that line the perimeter. Inside, the air is warm, tinged with the scent of jasmine and citrus.
When we arrive at the designated space , my mom is in her element, leading Becky through the rows of carefully cultivated plants and explaining how each one is grown. Becky listens intently, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes it all in.
A small indoor tea room sits at the center of the conservatory, a cozy yet refined space where guests can enjoy fresh tea while gazing out at the lush greenery.
They’ve invited me to join them but really, I’d feel like quite out of place without Becky here Becky glances over at me, giving me a soft, knowing smile. Something in my heart shifts.
The round wooden tables are covered with delicate lace runners, each set with antique porcelain teacups, silver spoons, and tiny vases filled with fresh-cut blooms from the garden.
“This is incredible,” she says, running her fingers gently over the petals of a vibrant orchid. “I’ve worked with flowers for years, but seeing them like this… it’s magical.”
My mom stirs her tea slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “This garden has been part of our family tradition for years. It’s where I used to bring Lulu and Mike when they were kids. And now, I get to share it with you.”
My mom beams, clearly thrilled to have someone who shares her passion. “You’re welcome here anytime, Becky. I’m happy you offered to volunteer at the butterfly garden.”
“I’m happy to fill my time doing something useful,” Becky says, her smile genuine. I am so happy that they have a lot in common.
A few hours later, I stop by to see my mom and pick up Becky. She’s helping to plant the butterfly garden. I stop by to drop off some tools for my mom, but when I step into the indoor butterfly enclosure, the sight in front of me stops me in my tracks.
Becky is crouched near a patch of blooming milkweed, her hands gently cradling a tiny caterpillar. Her hair glows in the sunlight streaming through the glass ceiling, and her laughter rings out softly as a butterfly flutters past her.
For a moment, I can’t move. She looks so at peace, so full of light, that it takes my breath away.
“Mike?” she says, looking up and catching me staring.
I clear my throat, stepping closer. “Just looking for my mom.”
“She’s over by the greenhouse,” Becky says, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans.
We’re close now, close enough that I can see the faint smudge of dirt on her cheek and the way her eyes sparkle in the sunlight. The air between us feels charged, and before I realize what’s happening, I lean in slightly.
So does she.
The space between us disappears, and for a heartbeat, I think we’re going to kiss. But then the sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the moment, and we both step back, flustered.
The sound of someone clearing their throat comes again, louder this time. Becky and I turn in unison to see my mom standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“Mike,” she says, her tone as light as the teasing glint in her eyes. “I didn’t expect to find you here. Becky, you’re doing a wonderful job with the butterfly garden.”
Becky quickly steps back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as her cheeks flush. “Thank you, Mrs. Thorn,” she says, her voice a little higher than usual.
“Mom,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to recover from the moment.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” my mom says, though her smirk says otherwise. “But I could use some help in the greenhouse when you’re done here, Mike.”
“Sure,” I say quickly, eager for an escape.
My mom nods and walks off, leaving me and Becky standing in awkward silence. She glances at me, her eyes wide with lingering tension, and for a moment, I consider saying something to break it.
But what would I say? That I almost kissed her? That for a second, I forgot this whole thing was fake?
Before I can sort through the jumble of thoughts in my head, Becky smiles nervously and bends down to pick up her tools. “I should probably get back to work,” she says, avoiding my gaze.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a step back. “Let me know when you’re done here.”
As I walk away, my heart still racing, one thought keeps echoing in my mind: That wasn’t part of the plan.
But for the life of me, I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.