this man.
Plus, she needed a date for the wedding. How better to get to know a person than by spending time with him under the scrutiny of her large and meddlesome family?
Now, if she could just work up the nerve to ask him.
Chapter Eight
“So, whendid you know you were a horticulturalist?” she asked, once her eyes became accustomed to the hazy light inside the Quonset-shaped building that had obviously served multiple purposes over the years. One faded and rusted sign used to patch a hole in the tin siding said Mel’s Garage.
He’d tossed a bunch of empty boxes into the back of his truck and moved the vehicle to the long, rectangular greenhouse, pulling partway into one of the open bays. She noticed that only some of the space was used. One area appeared to serve as a storage area for someone’s junk. She was pretty sure the stuff, which included a dust-covered motorcycle circa the 1970s, didn’t belong to David.
“I’m not one. I grow cactus. That’s it.”
And quite well , she noticed. Special lights were suspended over trays of loose, porous-looking soil. Juvenile plants, incrementally ranked by height, were situated beneath roughly framed skylights made of clear plastic. Larger pots containing grayish green mounds with inch-long spikes lined the front of the building, taking advantage of the direct sun.
“Why cactus?” she asked, using her teeth to extract an almost-invisible sticker from her thumb. She’d accidentallybrushed against an innocent-looking plant with thick blondish foliage—which had turned out to be needle-sharp barbs.
“I find them interesting. You’ve got to admire a plant that can not only survive but bloom and thrive in some of the harshest climates on the planet.”
She heard passion behind that rather eloquent statement. And something else, too. Sadness? She didn’t ask. Instead, she said, “I have to admit, I’ve never thought of cacti as beautiful. Mom’s always grown flowers outdoors, and she has orchids and violets and green plants indoors, but no cactus.”
He put on a leather apron that tied around the neck and waist, a pair of clear goggles and gloves that reached almost to his elbows. “Understandable. They’re not for everybody, but in the past few years, there’s been a lot of interest in plants that don’t need a lot of water—or maintenance.”
“Makes sense. And the combinations you’ve put together on the curbs are really beautiful. Simple yet eloquent.”
David looked at her and tried to decide if she was buttering him up for some reason or actually meant what she said. Her smile seemed sincere. But she had an agenda, too, he decided.
He turned back to his workbench where he’d assembled his delivery. Squaring his hips to the waist-high trestle-type table that he’d constructed of used lumber, he reached around the first box that he and Liz had assembled and pulled it in to better distribute the weight. The tailgate of his truck was down. All he had to do was carry each of the boxes six or seven steps to the truck. No problem. He’d hauled heavier loads.
But two of the boxes he was using today were larger than usual. He’d driven to several convenience stores trying to find the right size, but had finally given up and taken what was available.
“Icould take one end. I’m stronger than I look.”
He decided to try the first one on his own. As he lowered the box to the bed of the truck with a soft “Umph,” he felt a muscle in his low back complain. He stretched to push the box all the way to the front then went back for another. “I’m curious about these prophecies of your mother’s. How come yours was a two-part prophecy? Have any of the others come to pass?”
“Well, yes, actually. Grace was told she’d marry a prince, but first she had to save him,” she said, ignoring the first part of his question. “Or something like that.”
“Your sister is marrying a prince?”
“Um…well, in Grace’s opinion, he’s practically
Plus, she needed a date for the wedding. How better to get to know a person than by spending time with him under the scrutiny of her large and meddlesome family?
Now, if she could just work up the nerve to ask him.
Chapter Eight
“So, whendid you know you were a horticulturalist?” she asked, once her eyes became accustomed to the hazy light inside the Quonset-shaped building that had obviously served multiple purposes over the years. One faded and rusted sign used to patch a hole in the tin siding said Mel’s Garage.
He’d tossed a bunch of empty boxes into the back of his truck and moved the vehicle to the long, rectangular greenhouse, pulling partway into one of the open bays. She noticed that only some of the space was used. One area appeared to serve as a storage area for someone’s junk. She was pretty sure the stuff, which included a dust-covered motorcycle circa the 1970s, didn’t belong to David.
“I’m not one. I grow cactus. That’s it.”
And quite well , she noticed. Special lights were suspended over trays of loose, porous-looking soil. Juvenile plants, incrementally ranked by height, were situated beneath roughly framed skylights made of clear plastic. Larger pots containing grayish green mounds with inch-long spikes lined the front of the building, taking advantage of the direct sun.
“Why cactus?” she asked, using her teeth to extract an almost-invisible sticker from her thumb. She’d accidentallybrushed against an innocent-looking plant with thick blondish foliage—which had turned out to be needle-sharp barbs.
“I find them interesting. You’ve got to admire a plant that can not only survive but bloom and thrive in some of the harshest climates on the planet.”
She heard passion behind that rather eloquent statement. And something else, too. Sadness? She didn’t ask. Instead, she said, “I have to admit, I’ve never thought of cacti as beautiful. Mom’s always grown flowers outdoors, and she has orchids and violets and green plants indoors, but no cactus.”
He put on a leather apron that tied around the neck and waist, a pair of clear goggles and gloves that reached almost to his elbows. “Understandable. They’re not for everybody, but in the past few years, there’s been a lot of interest in plants that don’t need a lot of water—or maintenance.”
“Makes sense. And the combinations you’ve put together on the curbs are really beautiful. Simple yet eloquent.”
David looked at her and tried to decide if she was buttering him up for some reason or actually meant what she said. Her smile seemed sincere. But she had an agenda, too, he decided.
He turned back to his workbench where he’d assembled his delivery. Squaring his hips to the waist-high trestle-type table that he’d constructed of used lumber, he reached around the first box that he and Liz had assembled and pulled it in to better distribute the weight. The tailgate of his truck was down. All he had to do was carry each of the boxes six or seven steps to the truck. No problem. He’d hauled heavier loads.
But two of the boxes he was using today were larger than usual. He’d driven to several convenience stores trying to find the right size, but had finally given up and taken what was available.
“Icould take one end. I’m stronger than I look.”
He decided to try the first one on his own. As he lowered the box to the bed of the truck with a soft “Umph,” he felt a muscle in his low back complain. He stretched to push the box all the way to the front then went back for another. “I’m curious about these prophecies of your mother’s. How come yours was a two-part prophecy? Have any of the others come to pass?”
“Well, yes, actually. Grace was told she’d marry a prince, but first she had to save him,” she said, ignoring the first part of his question. “Or something like that.”
“Your sister is marrying a prince?”
“Um…well, in Grace’s opinion, he’s practically
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