“Every day?”
I shifted on my feet. “Most days, yes. He doesn’t always stop by for a visit.”
Candace’s glossy pink lips suppressed a smile. “I’m assuming you built that multi-level cat mansion out there on the back porch.”
I hesitated and her grin erupted. “Well, yeah. But it’s only for bad weather, and I read you should never put out soft pet beds for feral cats in winter. So there’s hay instead to keep him warm.”
“Riiiiiight. No name. Not your cat. Got it.”
I ignored her teasing and tried to distract her. “Want to see the garden before it gets dark?”
“Yes,” she replied enthusiastically.
I had a couple pairs of shoes lined up on the entryway rug for when I went outside. Candace slipped her feet into a pair of my oversized clogs without asking, and another little dart whistled straight into my chest.
The damn cat followed her out and meandered over to its water bowl.
Candace’s borrowed shoes thumped across the wooden decking until she reached the top step. Then I waited as she stopped and stared.
My throat was tight with anticipation, and I couldn’t say why—couldn’t put a name to it—but I felt helpless and raw. She was seeing the most important parts of me, I realized. The things I kept private, kept for myself, in my home—my sanctuary.
I stepped up beside her and tried to see my garden through new eyes. The planter boxes now held autumn vegetables: leafy collards, beets, vibrant butternut squash, pumpkins, and more. Some were ready for harvesting, while others, like the bok choy and cabbage, would need another few weeks.
Candace’s head turned toward the back corner of the yard where the greenhouse stood. I’d built it two summers ago. It wasn’t very big, but it suited my purposes. I had some small projects in there, but mostly it was where I started everything from seed, giving plants a safe place to take root.
Then her head swiveled to the other corner, where the rope hammock hung between two sturdy tree trunks and the stone circle of my fire pit sat. I had a couple of chairs over there as well, and wood stacked against the fence line for burning. It might be chilly later, but we could have a fire after dinner if Candace wanted. I envisioned her socked feet propped up in my lap while she sipped another cider. The amber flames glowing across her skin. My jacket draped across her shoulders.
Yeah, maybe a fire was a good idea.
Eventually, Candace turned and met my gaze. I saw a mixture of wonder and quiet disbelief on her pretty face. “This is amazing, Mark.”
Pride burned warm in my chest.
I liked my home. I’d made it mine after Hannah left. But I hadn’t shown it to anyone else in a long time. I loved it, but I didn’t expect that others would too. However, it suddenly seemed important that Candace liked my house and my garden and my space. I wanted her here...for as long as I could have her.
“Will you show me your plants? What you have growing?”
“Sure.” I placed my beer bottle on the deck railing and reached for her hand, intending only to help her down the porch stairs in my unfamiliar and ill-fitting shoes, but when we reached solid ground, she kept her hand in mine.
I led her along and pointed out the vegetables in the various beds, explaining how I cycled them out and what would be there in the spring and summer months. I showed her where I had different berry bushes and a small patch of asparagus near the porch lattice.
Then I led her over to the greenhouse, so she could see the lettuce seedlings and the herbs I grew in there year-round for cooking.
“Were those herbs for the steamed potatoes from in there?” Candace asked after she’d exited the small structure. There wasn’t enough room in there for the both of us to move around, and I’d wanted to give her space to explore.
I nodded. “Yeah. Italian parsley, basil, and oregano.”
“What do you do with all your produce?” she asked, her hand sweeping wide to encompass the backyard.
“I have a neighbor I share some with. In the summer months, I usually bring some to your family. Your mom makes pickles with the cucumbers. I have a friend who likes to bake, so he gets some of the zucchini and pumpkin harvest. Then I can a lot and donate to the food bank downtown what I can’t eat myself.”
Her hazel eyes brightened, and she took a step closer to me. “I would love to learn how to can.”
“I can show you,” I offered. “I make jams and jellies too.”
Candace shook her head in amusement and moved right into my space, her slender arms wrapping around my waist. “Jams and jellies. Mark Mercer, you are the perfect male specimen, I fear.”
I barely had time to wonder what to do with my hands before she pressed her lips against the underside of my jaw and then stepped away. Holding out her fingers, Candace said, “We better get inside. Don’t want that home-cooked dinner to get cold.”
