Chapter 35 #2
He let go of my hand and crouched down, his fingers brushing the nearest vine. “These are the third batch.”
I watched him. His fingers brushed the leaves, gentle, like they might break if he pressed too hard. His gaze moved over the small red fruit. There was something soft in his face. Something proud. Something that looked like he couldn’t quite believe he’d made this.
“I wanted to show you,” he said, looking up at me. “When they were ready. I wanted you to see.”
I looked at the tomatoes again. At Cassian, kneeling in the dirt beside them. At this thing he had grown from nothing—tended and waited for, lost and started again.
I crouched down beside him. “They’re beautiful.”
He smiled. The sun caught the edges of his hair, lighting the side of his face. He looked absurdly pleased that I was there to see it.
He took my hand, fingers lacing through mine, and pulled me up with him. “It’s yours.” His voice was giddy, almost breathless.
I blinked. “What?”
He gestured at the whole section, the whole row of plants he’d been tending for months. “I’m responsible for this. All of it. This is for you.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile. Cassian was looking at me like I was the reason those tomatoes had grown at all. It was absurd. It was earnest. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me.
I squeezed his hand and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.” He smiled against my skin. “But remember to count the tomatoes. I don’t trust Mrs. Garcia. What if she steals them?”
A thoughtful look passed over his face. “Good suggestion.”
We spent more time in the garden after that. He counted the tomatoes while I walked the rows, touching leaves, brushing soil, looking at every part of that section. Cassian did this. He was the reason for this. These plants, this life, this quiet corner of something growing—he had made it.
The second I stepped inside, Naija appeared in front of me, dragging a guy, a glass in her hand. She pressed it into my palm. “Drink it.”
I took a sip. The cocktail. Perfect. Exactly as I remembered.
I looked at her, surprised.
She spoke before I could ask. “This is my cousin. He’s cooking today, so I asked him to make the cocktail. I also sent you the recipe.”
My brows rose. “He finally gave you the recipe?”
“He forgot how much blackmailing material I have in my pocket.” She smiled, sharp and sweet. “Like in middle school—”
“Hi!” The guy stepped forward, hand extended, cutting her off before she could finish. “I’m Danny. You must be Alessia. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I moved to shift my glass to shake his hand, but Cassian was there before I could, his hand closing around Danny’s in a firm, easy grip.
“I’m Cassian.”
I looked at him, amused. He didn’t look at me. Just kept shaking Danny’s hand, his expression perfectly pleasant, perfectly neutral.
Danny’s eyes flickered between us. “Right.” He pulled his hand back, already retreating. “I’m gonna go. Check the kitchen. Things to do.”
Naija watched him go, then looked at me. “I’m gonna go find Felicity.” She was gone before I could respond.
I turned to Cassian, one eyebrow raised. “What was that?”
He looked at me, all innocence. “You had a glass in your hand. How would you have shaken his hand?” He tilted his head. “What was that about the recipe, anyway?”
I told him about the cocktail. The drink that had been perfect, the one Naija promised she’d get for me. The one I thought I’d never taste again.
When I finished, Cassian’s brow furrowed. “I could have made it for you. I wouldn’t need a recipe.”
“Cassian.” I touched his arm. “You don’t even drink.”
He looked down at where my hand rested, then back at my face. “I still would have.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like the fact that he didn’t drink was irrelevant. Like the point was simply that I had wanted something, and he would have found a way to give it to me.
I shook my head at him, something warm and ridiculous blooming in my chest. “Go wait for me on the balcony.”
His eyes lit up with interest, the momentary seriousness replaced by something lighter. “You’re asking me to be alone with you on a balcony?” He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Are we doing something scandalous?”
My lips curved. I leaned in, lowering my voice to match his. “There are no cameras out there. If you fell, no one would know if someone pushed you or if you just… stumbled.”
He pressed a hand to his chest, his eyes wide. “We’re in public, ma’am. You can’t just seduce me like that.”
I laughed, bright and easy. “Just go.” I turned him, my hands on his shoulders, and gave him a gentle push toward the balcony doors.
His laughter followed me all the way to the kitchen.
When I came back, I found him leaning against the balcony railing, already turned toward the door, waiting.
He smiled when he saw me. Then his gaze dropped to my hands, and his brow furrowed in confusion.
I stepped up beside him and placed the plate in his hands.
His eyes stayed on the cake. “What—what is this?”
“I made it.” A nervous breath escaped me. His eyes snapped up to mine. “I made sure the sugar level was almost nonexistent.”
His gaze dropped back to the cake, and when he spoke, his voice was soft. “You really do want to kill me.”
A laugh startled out of me. “What?”
He nodded, dead serious, his thumb tracing the edge of the plate. “That’s your plan. That’s been your plan all along. You’re trying to kill me by doing things like this.”