on it.
Newlyweds, he figured, with an odd mix of envy and disgust.
Was he going to ever be that much in love? Scary thought. One he immediately dismissed.
He concentrated on his surroundings. He was amazed by all the color and beauty. Someone, probably a group of someones, worked damn hard here. It was a wonderful haven, with the wind blowing lightly, the sound of the surf providing mother nature's music.
The gardens couldn't be the doing of Alexi—she had what his family had always called a "black thumb," killing even the most hardy of houseplants when they'd been young.
And somehow he couldn't imagine the elegant and sophisticated Tara getting dirt beneath her carefully manicured nails and sullying her clothes.
Definitely not her style.
"That's the way," came a sweet, coaxing female voice from the other side of a bush.
Zach stopped in surprise. He recognized that voice.
"That's the way I like to see it."
He'd have known it was Hannah even if her voice hadn't registered right away because his pulse all but stopped, then sped up like a locomotive.
"Come on baby, there you go."
Zach rounded the corner, not sure what he expected to find, but tense and battle-ready—which if he'd stopped to think about, would have made him laugh.
He had no claim on her.
But the sight before him was an even bigger surprise than her words.
She was on her hands and knees, her face streaked down one side, her hands covered to her wrists in soil.
She was talking to the daisies.
Startled at his abrupt appearance, Hannah sat back on her heels and blinked at him before smiling self-consciously. "Hello."
"Do you always talk to the plants?"
"My plants like to be talked to."
"You did all this?"
She seemed startled by the question, and she relaxed, making him realize she'd been tense enough to shatter.
Because of him? Undoubtedly.
Distance, he reminded himself. She'd managed to find it, he needed to do the same.
"I love to grow things," she said. "It's beautiful out here."
And so are you.
"Thank you." She rose gracefully to her feet, her long, bare legs as streaked with dirt as the rest of her.
He stared at them so long he nearly didn't realize she was walking away from him. "Wait!"
When she did, he was at a loss as to what to say. "Last night … that was beautiful, too."
"Oh, Zach…" Something vulnerable and haunting crossed her features.
"Is it that awful?" he asked quietly. "The remembering?"
"The opposite." A wry smile crossed her face. "It's just that I thought it best if … well." Drawing a deep breath, she sent him a sad smile. "Be safe, Zach."
"Are you saying goodbye then?"
Her silence was his answer, and he felt his own spear of hurt. "I should tell you, I can't seem to walk away."
"Me, either," she whispered. "I just don't know what to say. You … just standing there, you make my knees weak. I'm feeling so out of my element."
"Just about everything you've done since I saw you again has made my knees weak. And if it helps, I'm also way out of my element." Because he had to, he pulled her close.
She gasped and tried to pull away. "I'll get you filthy!"
"Dirt, strawberry pie, it's all the same to me." He streaked his hands down her back, and at the connection she stopped fighting him and slid her arms around his neck.
"This is a very bad idea," she said, even as she hugged him tighter.
"Definitely." Burying his face in her hair, he held her close, and all the feelings he'd been fighting struggled to the surface.
Heat. Hunger. Desire.
Yearning.
Her fingers wound themselves in his hair, and she let out a long sigh. "Somehow when you're not right in front of me I can tell myself I'm imagining all this … this stuff I feel right now."
"Me, too."
"What are we doing, Zach?"
"I haven't a clue. I just know I feel so alive when I'm with you."
She lifted her head and looked at him.
"I like it," he whispered. "Feeling alive. And I think I make you feel the same way."
"You do, but you're going away. I have to
Newlyweds, he figured, with an odd mix of envy and disgust.
Was he going to ever be that much in love? Scary thought. One he immediately dismissed.
He concentrated on his surroundings. He was amazed by all the color and beauty. Someone, probably a group of someones, worked damn hard here. It was a wonderful haven, with the wind blowing lightly, the sound of the surf providing mother nature's music.
The gardens couldn't be the doing of Alexi—she had what his family had always called a "black thumb," killing even the most hardy of houseplants when they'd been young.
And somehow he couldn't imagine the elegant and sophisticated Tara getting dirt beneath her carefully manicured nails and sullying her clothes.
Definitely not her style.
"That's the way," came a sweet, coaxing female voice from the other side of a bush.
Zach stopped in surprise. He recognized that voice.
"That's the way I like to see it."
He'd have known it was Hannah even if her voice hadn't registered right away because his pulse all but stopped, then sped up like a locomotive.
"Come on baby, there you go."
Zach rounded the corner, not sure what he expected to find, but tense and battle-ready—which if he'd stopped to think about, would have made him laugh.
He had no claim on her.
But the sight before him was an even bigger surprise than her words.
She was on her hands and knees, her face streaked down one side, her hands covered to her wrists in soil.
She was talking to the daisies.
Startled at his abrupt appearance, Hannah sat back on her heels and blinked at him before smiling self-consciously. "Hello."
"Do you always talk to the plants?"
"My plants like to be talked to."
"You did all this?"
She seemed startled by the question, and she relaxed, making him realize she'd been tense enough to shatter.
Because of him? Undoubtedly.
Distance, he reminded himself. She'd managed to find it, he needed to do the same.
"I love to grow things," she said. "It's beautiful out here."
And so are you.
"Thank you." She rose gracefully to her feet, her long, bare legs as streaked with dirt as the rest of her.
He stared at them so long he nearly didn't realize she was walking away from him. "Wait!"
When she did, he was at a loss as to what to say. "Last night … that was beautiful, too."
"Oh, Zach…" Something vulnerable and haunting crossed her features.
"Is it that awful?" he asked quietly. "The remembering?"
"The opposite." A wry smile crossed her face. "It's just that I thought it best if … well." Drawing a deep breath, she sent him a sad smile. "Be safe, Zach."
"Are you saying goodbye then?"
Her silence was his answer, and he felt his own spear of hurt. "I should tell you, I can't seem to walk away."
"Me, either," she whispered. "I just don't know what to say. You … just standing there, you make my knees weak. I'm feeling so out of my element."
"Just about everything you've done since I saw you again has made my knees weak. And if it helps, I'm also way out of my element." Because he had to, he pulled her close.
She gasped and tried to pull away. "I'll get you filthy!"
"Dirt, strawberry pie, it's all the same to me." He streaked his hands down her back, and at the connection she stopped fighting him and slid her arms around his neck.
"This is a very bad idea," she said, even as she hugged him tighter.
"Definitely." Burying his face in her hair, he held her close, and all the feelings he'd been fighting struggled to the surface.
Heat. Hunger. Desire.
Yearning.
Her fingers wound themselves in his hair, and she let out a long sigh. "Somehow when you're not right in front of me I can tell myself I'm imagining all this … this stuff I feel right now."
"Me, too."
"What are we doing, Zach?"
"I haven't a clue. I just know I feel so alive when I'm with you."
She lifted her head and looked at him.
"I like it," he whispered. "Feeling alive. And I think I make you feel the same way."
"You do, but you're going away. I have to
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