16. Astrid #3
And Everly is actually running Gardening Club right in my front yard.
She has about six people gathered around where she and Quinn are on their hands and knees working in my front flowerbeds as she explains what she’s doing.
Those six people have pruning shears and small spades, and one has a shovel and is digging a hole.
At first, I don’t know where to look or what to watch. But then Declan comes around the corner of the house.
I am ninety percent sure this man has never done a home renovation project—at least not one for which he put on work gloves and a tool belt—yet he has the air of the man in charge here. My mouth actually goes dry at the sight.
He stops when he sees me, our gazes clashing.
For a moment, he looks like he has no idea what to say or do. I feel the same. Considering my house is surrounded by nosy neighbors, gossipy citizens, and a good portion of my hockey team, with much of the exterior of my house torn apart, I suppose that’s a fair reaction.
Then I glance from side to side, find an empty chair, and take a seat, crossing my legs and accepting a glass of something that someone hands me.
His mouth doesn’t just quirk up at the corner in one of his little, satisfied, half-smiles. No. He full-on grins at me. And even across the yard, past more than a dozen people, my lower belly swoops and my nipples bead.
I bring the straw to my lips and take a long suck.
He gives me a lingering look, then turns and heads up the front porch steps.
“How’s the lemonade?”
I look to my right to see who I’m sitting next to and who handed me the glass.
Andi is grinning at me.
“Did you even realize that was lemonade you’re drinking?”
I didn’t, as a matter of fact. I laugh. I’m surprised to see her, but I’m not sure why. “What are you doing here?”
Andi has a small studio down on Main Street where she does her welding work.
She paints and sculpts and sketches more than she welds, though, and most of that work happens in a small building out behind her cottage.
But no one really knows what that looks like since she doesn’t invite people out to what she calls her swamp witch hut.
She’s trying to be a recluse since her husband cheated on her and left her in his hometown, but it’s not really working.
She won’t admit it, but she likes all of us, and she doesn’t have to work, having taken her ex for half of his considerable bank account and many of his investments—evidently, while he was a crappy husband, he was great at finances—so she always seems to be around when interesting things are happening in town.
“I was at Perks and Rec when this—” She gestures around my yard. “Happened. Of course, I had to stop by.”
She also sips lemonade, and I notice we're sitting next to a rolling cart covered with a cheerful yellow-and-white striped umbrella. The cart has a pitcher of lemonade, another that I assume is sweet tea, and one that is bright red, and I would say is fruit punch, but you never know around here. Behind the pitchers are several glass bottles, including vodka, rum, tequila, and a couple of others I can’t identify from here that people can use to add a twist to their drinks.
There’s a huge bucket of ice, some colorful straws, and even paper umbrellas.
I am sure it’s not Andi’s addition to the party, but I love that she positioned herself next to the drinks.
I watch as Nora happily passes out the pudding cups, and she and Sutton then settle in to take in the “show”.
“We finally got your front walk fixed,” a guy named Blake says to me.
He doesn’t even live near here.
“I didn’t realize my front walk was bothering you,” I tell him.
“Just noticed it a couple of times.”
“They’re here!” Suddenly, Beckett comes bounding down the front porch steps, leaps athletically over the square of wet pavement, and sprints to the curb.
Everyone turns to watch him as he greets the pickup truck pulling up at the curb. He converses with the driver for a moment, then helps him unload four cardboard boxes from the back of the truck, stacking them on the sidewalk.
Beckett faces the crowd. “Come and get ’em!” He rips open a box and holds up an item from inside.
It’s a purple T-shirt, the same purple as the Revelers hockey team's primary color, with the bright yellow words "Team Declan" printed across the front.
My eyes widen as the small crowd of people surges forward.
It only takes Beckett a few minutes to hand out a shirt to nearly everyone present. He also has buttons, and those, too, are gone in under ten minutes.
I notice no money changes hands.
My head is spinning with all of the activity.
Wes comes down the front walk with the men he actually employs following him a few minutes later.
“Okay, we’re wrapped up for the day,” he tells everyone. He smiles at me. “We’ll be back tomorrow to finish and clean up.”
I nod. I have no idea what else needs to be done.
Without fanfare, everyone starts packing up the food, drinks, chairs, and blankets.
I watch people load up their trucks and cars or start walking toward Main Street again.
Andi hugs me. “See you later.” Then she’s off.
Nora and Sutton load items into the Parks and Rec wagon that they did not arrive with and head toward City Hall with the small crowd.
The hockey players pile into pick-ups and drive off.
My neighbors all start toward their houses.
I’m so caught up in watching everyone disperse seemingly as quickly as they arrived that I don’t realize Declan is standing right behind me.
“Productive day.”
I turn to him, my gaze taking in all those muscles encased in dark gray cotton up close. I try to hide my reaction by propping a hand on my hip. “Is it going to be a regular thing that you just do things without asking first?”
His gaze is intense, almost hot. “Only things that need to be done immediately to keep you safe.”
That makes my heart trip. Dammit.
“In other things, I’ll definitely consult you,” he says. “For instance, I kept the porch and the door the same neutral color and style. Now you can paint it or decorate it however you want to.” He pauses. Then his voice drops slightly. “Consent is very important.”
Heat swirls through me. I wet my lips and need to change the topic before I just give him blanket consent for anything and everything forever.
“And you bought everyone Team Declan shirts?”
He isn’t the one who answers me, though.
“He definitely won a bunch of people over,” Marianne Wilson tells me, having overheard my comment and holding up her Team Declan shirt.
“By putting in new windows at my house?” I ask.
“That helped,” she agrees. “We love that he’s so protective of you. But we also heard about all the money he’s distributed. He gave Michelle twice as much as she asked for.”
“He gave Allan double too,” someone walking past says. I don’t see who because I’m staring at Declan.
“I think he gave everyone double.”
“That’s what I heard too. And he’s meeting with more people tomorrow.”
The voices continue around us as if Declan's not standing right here.
But I can’t look away from his face. He actually looks a little uncomfortable.
“You gave everyone double?” I ask softly.
He lifts a shoulder. “They needed more than they were asking for.”
I nod. That has actually been the case when I’ve met with people too.
When I first came up with the idea for Declan’s “foundation” where I spend my husband’s money on real people with real problems, people have been surprisingly careful.
No one has been greedy. No one has been crazy in their requests.
“That’s really kind of you,” I tell him.
A little crease forms between his eyebrows. “Is it? Or would it be ridiculous for me not to do it?”
My brows, on the other hand, arch. “It absolutely would be,” I agree. Because it would. “And you have people coming over again tomorrow?” I ask.
“If they need it, they might as well stop by. I don’t have anything going on.”
I laugh and look at the house. “You don’t?”
“Well, I won’t after this is finished. And I talked to a couple of people in the midst of all of this. It’s not like I was really vital to this project.”
The self-deprecation is entirely too attractive. My stomach and my nipples have been tight since I showed up here, and I’m acutely aware of both of them right now. Even more, I’m aware of the fact that my heart is pounding in my chest.
“Well, now they can walk up a new front path and not worry about falling through my front porch,” I say.
He grins. “But they’ll have to knock on the front door.”
I can’t help but laugh. Then I look at the door. And then I frown. “Does that have a keypad on it?”
He glances over, too. “That made the most sense. This way we don’t have to worry about keys floating around. I know you were going to make another one and hide it somewhere else.”
I just press my lips together. I won’t lie to him.
He clearly makes a note of that, arching a brow. “This way we can give people the code if they need it. Patty and Wilson can come and go. But if the neighbors decide to shout the code across the front yard, we can change it before the serial killers get inside.”
I just stare at him. My heart is racing now.
He realized that there are people who need to have access to the house.
And he came up with a solution. A really good solution.
One that will make people still feel welcome and included but will make him feel like everything is secure. Okay, one that will make things secure.
“Dammit, Declan,” I finally say. “I might actually have to say thank you for all of this.”
He grins. “Well, let’s not get crazy. I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”
Somehow, I pull my gaze away from his face and look around. And realize we’re standing in my front yard with no trace that a lawn party was going on just a few minutes ago, and damn, my front flower beds look really good.
“How are you gonna paint it?”
I turn to Wilson, who’s joined us on the front walk.
“Paint the porch?” I ask him.