What One Finds In Secret Garden #4
My gaze follows his, and I spare each animal and insect I can see a moment of contemplation.
My chest warms as I relive all the memories I have shared with them.
The day I found them. And for some, the days, weeks, months, and years we’ve shared.
I can’t deny that’s a large part of it. But beyond these animals and insects with names and histories, there are so many humans with similar stories who deserve to live as they do.
“I can’t face a world where they and people like Lila don’t exist. I don’t want to.”
He comes to stand before me. He lifts my hands and brings them up to his mouth.
The kiss he places on my knuckles is tender, the smallest of touches, yet maybe the most meaningful thing we’ve shared.
He doesn’t argue or try to prove why it must be another way.
He only nods once and says solemnly, “I understand.”
Not that I understand you or this, or why you’d think this way. It’s as if he’s saying all of those things, but it’s not with words. It’s the emotion in his eyes as he holds my gaze.
“Evil doesn’t exist here.”
“No. But it does exist.”
I can’t argue with that. I’ve seen it. I’ve fought against it. But I have to believe that it doesn’t overrule all of the good I see in the world.
“This is worth saving.”
He nods again and drops my hands to palm my cheeks. “It is.”
A grin tugs at my mouth. “Well, that’s one mystery solved.”
“One out of a countless number of others.”
I do roll my eyes this time as I pull away and get to work feeding the critters gathering at our feet.
As I work, I introduce Orán to each of my menagerie and witness firsthand that I’m not the only thing drawn to his presence.
Later, Lila joins us—not to work, but to settle into the rocking chair on the back patio, soaking in the sun as she reads one of the books from my cupboard.
A smile finds me as her voice drifts over, soft with wonder.
Every so often, I’ll glance back to see her rubbing a soothing hand over her belly.
I make a point of not staring, keeping my focus on the task at hand so I don’t give her any reason to stop.
When I turn back, Orán is attempting to coax the shyest of Talbert's brood from behind its mother, further warming my heart.
Deciding to give him a better chance of success, I go to the garden fence and lean over it to pluck a small carrot. Kneeling next to him, close enough that our shoulders brush, I grab his bound wrist. Then turn over his hand and lay the carrot inside.
“You might have better luck with this. She’s a picky eater.”
“What’s her name?”
“Hazel.”
“Hazel.” He smiles kindly and slowly offers the carrot. Willa, her mother, comes forward first, and Hazel, who is all but glued to her side, approaches as well. Only when her mother begins to eat does she dare take a nibble of Orán’s carrot.
The grin Orán gives me as the animals eat from his hand does foolish things to my heart—things I’m careful not to let show on my face. Because this… sharing space with a man who is beautiful, kind, and unexpectedly gentle… is something I could grow used to.
Something I might even welcome one day.
If only he were anything other than what he is.
For the rest of the morning, I let myself pretend otherwise. That he’s just a man I happened upon in my travels. That I’m not what I was raised to be. That we’re simply two people trying to survive—finding what small moments of peace we can while the world comes to an end.
And for a little while, lost in that quiet lie, everything feels right.
Afterward, when we’ve all had enough sun and the animals’ bellies hang heavy with food, we wander back toward the house.
I send Orán ahead, telling him he’s welcome to the snacks in the kitchen. He lingers in the doorway, waiting for me, but I shoo him inside with the excuse that I’d like to stay out a bit longer.
The truth is, Lila has been giving me knowing looks for the last hour, and it needs to stop.
So I drop into the chair beside her and tell her as much.
She leans over, her belly pressing into the chair arm. “It’s just cute, is all. I’ve never seen you like this, and I wasn’t sure how this would go, but you two…”
“What?”
“Compliment each other. And if you haven’t noticed, he’s kind of sweet on you. Watches you constantly.”
“Oh, stop.”
“It’s just.” She sits back, and a half smile graces her face. She holds up her hand to block out the sun from her eyes. “It gives me hope.”
She peers sideways at me and meets my eyes.
“That someday I’ll find my somebody, you know? Not just my parents—but my person too, now that you’ve found yours. Someone who won’t mind that this child isn’t his. Someone who loves me enough to do what Orán would do for you.”
My brow lifts slightly.
“That man,” she corrects herself with a small huff. “Sorry, Horseman—would protect you. He’s not going to lay a harmful hand on your pretty head.”
Her gaze lingers on mine as she says it, searching.
“I don’t know about that,” I murmur.
“Yeah, you do. You just need to work some things out. You’re halfway there already.”
I shake my head and let out a small laugh. “If only it were that easy.”
She nudges my shoulder. “We could use a little easy, yes?”
“On that, I agree.”
I reach over and take her hand, giving it a brief squeeze before tugging gently. “Come on. Let’s go feed the Horseman, so we have enough energy to clean out the stables. I’m going to need his help, since his horse is making most of the mess.”
Lila snorts as she pushes to her feet. “Well, big creatures tend to make big messes. Which brings up a rather important topic we haven’t discussed yet.”
I let her walk ahead of me as we head toward the back door. “And that is?”
She glances back over her shoulder, grin turning wicked. “That size matters.”
I sigh.
I lower my voice so immortal ears won’t overhear. “That is a conversation we will not be having anytime soon.”
She stops in the doorway and turns, wearing a look of righteous indignation. “Why the hell not?”
“Because…” The word stalls on my tongue.
Because I’m not certain I’ll be letting him into my bed again. Because speaking about it aloud—about him, about what it was like—feels far too intimate. Too revealing.
And because a part of me remembers it entirely too well.
“I’m not a child,” she says. “I mean, that’s obvious since I’m with child, and I didn’t get this way by plucking daisies.”
“It’s not that.” I shake my head, heat creeping into my cheeks despite the cool air drifting through the doorway. “It’s just…”
The words refuse to come. Some things feel different when they live quietly inside your own thoughts.
Speaking them aloud somehow makes them… real.
And I’m not ready for that. So I give her a stern look and scold, “I’m fairly certain the Horseman would object to being discussed like a breeding stallion.
” I step through the doorway. “And unless you plan on interrogating the Horseman directly, that subject is closed.”
I move past her and into the house.
She calls after me, “I’m not above an interrogation. Just sayin’.”
Then, under her breath, “Maybe he’ll be more forthcoming. I could at least be allowed to live vicariously through you two, since I won’t be having sex anytime soon.”
The thought of Orán discussing such things with her makes my stomach knot in a way I refuse to examine too closely.
God help him if he does because I can guarantee that’s one tale he won’t live to tell again.