Because of Audrey

At last, in peace and quiet, she entered the greenhouse.

“Hey, kids, Mama’s here,” she said, aware of how odd she sounded and not caring a whit. Life was made to be grasped with both hands and lived to the fullest. If she happened to live hers strangely, so be it. As soon as she’d graduated from high school, she’d decided to embrace her individuality, and embrace it she had. With gusto.

She’d been different from others back then, but even her punk gear had been a conformation of sorts. She’d decided she hadn’t wanted to belong to any group, despite how rebellious punk might have looked. Then, in college, she’d figured out who she really was—big, bold and generous in body, mind and spirit—and hadn’t looked back.

She cruised the aisles, giving a soft caress here, offering a gentle word there.

She greeted every plant by name.

“You’re strange, you know that?”

At the voice behind her, Audrey spun around.

Gray stood in the open doorway of the greenhouse, and her body betrayed her, tingling with the fire he never failed to ignite in her.

None of that. You are not allowed to let this man affect you.

But he did.

Irritated by her susceptibility to him, she demanded, “Close the door,” her tone implying, preferably with you outside. “The interior is climate-controlled for my plants.”

With a hint of a mocking smile that suggested he knew exactly where she wanted him but didn’t care, he stepped inside before he shut the door.

Darn. Go away. Leave me alone.

This morning was the first time she’d seen him since his return to town. Before that, it had been a number of years.

He looked too good with the morning’s sunlight glinting through the greenhouse roof onto his golden hair. Everything about him was perfect, from his straight nose, to the even tone of his tanned skin, to his strong jaw, to his perfect, dazzling teeth.

She’d forgotten how handsome he was, how with a shot of lightning he awakened latent slumberous juices in her and set them flowing like sap running in springtime. As always, she pulled her unruly attraction under control. Gray didn’t need her love—yes, she had truly loved the fun, exciting and loyal little friend that he’d been—and she didn’t need his not-so-subtle and undeserved derision. Sad that he’d probably never figured out the source of his disdain for her.

She leaned against one of the counters and crossed her arms.

Keep it light. Keep it normal.

“What have you been doing with your life?” she asked, even though she knew everything about him. She’d collected tidbits here and there, and had kept them in the scrapbook of her memory. He was her enemy now, though, so no sense letting him know that she cared.

He stepped farther down the aisle, coming ever closer. “Starting and running a business.”

“Successful?” she asked, even though she knew. Oh, how she knew, and how proud she was of him. Her former friend had done well for himself.

“Of course.” Funny that he didn’t sound arrogant, but rather matter-of-fact and perhaps puzzled that anyone would think an endeavor of his wouldn’t be successful. Or maybe it was just a casual arrogance.

“What kind of business?”

“Importing computer parts for the government.”

With a glance, she checked out his suit. Why on earth was he wearing one at eight in the morning? A simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt would have sufficed. Did he even own jeans?

His rumpled tie, the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, the hair that sported rills where it looked as though he’d run his fingers through it impatiently, scorned his casual arrogance. Maybe Gray wasn’t as together as he’d like her to believe. But if not, why not?

“The business is lucrative, I take it?” she asked. The suit looked like it cost big bucks.

He nodded. Of course. Gray would make a success of anything he touched. Golden boy. His surface confidence nearly unnerved her. Nearly, but not quite. She’d seen him at his worst, naked, both literally and figuratively. She knew he put his pants on one leg at a time, just like any other man. She knew exactly how vulnerable Grayson Turner could be.

He glanced around the greenhouse, his gaze seeming to linger on the timeworn corners of the old place. Humid streaks trailed the inside of the glass walls. So what if it looked bad? She would fix it all when she had money. “So,” he asked, “what’s so important in here that you locked yourself to the door?”

“My life.” She decided she might as well come clean and let him see exactly how kooky she was. “These—” she swept an arm wide to encompass the tables of seedlings and plants she nurtured like vulnerable infants “—are my babies.”

He quirked one eyebrow. “Babies?”

Her natural defiance kicked in, and she lifted her chin and nodded.

“This is what you do for a living?” he asked. “I thought you did something with rocks.”

“I did. I was a geologist for thirteen years. I decided to come home to open a floral shop.”

“Why? Geology would probably pay more than the income from a flower shop in a small town.”

“After all these years, there’s still a glass ceiling for women in certain industries.”

His swift glance down her body spoke of things he wouldn’t express overtly. Again, his disdain. “Did you dress like that on the job?”

“I expressed my individuality.” She’d been defiant at work, yes, but she’d done a hell of a good job. “I paid a price for it. I worked for thirteen years at something that should only ever have been an avocation. Collecting rocks was a hobby and should have stayed that way, but I made enough to do what I really want to do.” At least, barely.

She gestured toward her fledgling plants in this greenhouse, and the two as-yet-unfilled greenhouses beyond the windows. “I earned what I own here. I paid good money for it. I scrimped and saved and nickeled and dimed. For years I did what I had to do. Now, I’m doing what I want to do. Flowers are my passion.”

But for the occasional self-indulgence, like the vintage Chanel suit she wore today, she’d scraped by and had put the rest into savings and investment accounts.

Through the years, she’d even sewn her own clothes. Still did.

She shot him a look, uncertain whether the sound he’d just made was a snort or a clearing of his throat. Either way, she wasn’t so naive that she didn’t know judgment when she heard it. “There’s more to life than the bottom line. Money isn’t everything, Gray.”

“No? You’re a romantic, Audrey. Everyone needs something to live on.”

“True, but how much is necessary and how much overkill? Why is it no longer okay for businesses to believe that making millions is enough? Everyone wants to be the next computer geek gazillionaire, at any cost. People no longer matter, only more and more money. Insane, unreasonable amounts of money.”

“Is that what you see is wrong with the world these days?” She thought she detected a glint of admiration in his eyes. Or maybe not. His mouth had a cynical cast to it. Surprise, surprise. Their philosophies, after all, directly opposed each other.

“One of many things.”

She couldn’t fix the world, but she could control her small corner of it. “I want to spread joy with my flower arrangements. I want to spend the rest of my life doing something I enjoy. I can make this business work.”

He nodded, cataloguing that information, but why?

His fingers drummed against his thighs, as though nervous energy hummed through his body needing an escape. “Do you dress like that when you go on dates?”

Dates? “What does that have to do with anything?” She did, but it was none of his business. She’d had her share of boyfriends, most of them good men. She’d just never considered one a keeper. “My boyfriends have never complained about my clothes.”