Page 28 of Hers By Summer’s End

The next half hour flew by, full of slow steps and endless pauses to admire an ornate lamppost here or ponder a vendor’s pitch there. At last, the carriage rumbled off, and Cecelia and Drew were finally alone. They showed their day passes to the attendants at the Main Entrance, then crossed beneath the middle arch. Once they were inside the fairgrounds, Drew turned to her.

“The fireworks won’t begin for at least an hour. What should we do in the meantime? Play some concessions on the Pay Streak?”

She shook her head. “I’d rather not give the crowd cause to pit us against one another. Today has been lovely, and I’d prefer to spend the remaining part with you in peace.”

He ducked his head in a show of uncharacteristic shyness. “I’d enjoy that, too.”

“Besides, you haven’t yet shown me your part in all this.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile widened. “That’s an oversight I can fix.”

They drifted down the fairground paths without hurry, letting the stream of fairgoers carry them along. The day's heat still clung to the walkways, but the evening breeze, carrying scents of nearby gardenias and roasted peanuts, cooled her cheeks. Around them, the fair continued in a great, happy murmur of laughter, distant music, and the occasional delighted shriek from one of the attractions. Yet walking beside Drew, she felt strangely removed from it all, as if they were the only ones that existed.

“We’re here,” he said when they reached the Court of Honor.

She turned in a slow circle. This wasn’t her first time visiting the court, nor her first time inspecting Drew’s contribution to the fair’s proliferation of plants. She had studied every border bed, every plant, every clever bit of color with the critical eye of a fierce competitor, searching for flaws she could later exploit. Now, she looked with wonder.

The ivory buildings surrounding the court glowed pale honey in the evening light. Thousands of leafy rhododendrons formed lush borders beneath the grand architecture, their deep green foliage softening the harsh lines. At the foot of each bed, a riot of cactus dahlias in soft pastels and vibrant jewel tones lifted their starry flowerheads toward the sky.

“I wish you could have seen the rhododendrons when they were in bloom,” he said, rubbing his chest as he peered around him. “Or the foxgloves. They were⁠—”

“Magnificent.” He glanced at her, surprise brightening his face. She gave a rueful little shake of her head. “I can give a compliment.”

“It’s just so unusual,” he teased.

She chuckled. “I know, but it shouldn’t be. Your work here is truly breathtaking.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “The Olmstead brothers’ landscaping plan gets the credit.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She pressed his arm, waiting until he looked at her. “That’s not to say their plan won’t—or hasn’t already—transform the world of landscaping. But I’m talking about the work you did. You spent more than a year growing thousands upon thousands of plants. Now you roam the grounds every day, noticing what needs trimming, which spaces need filling, which plants need a little more care.” She gestured toward the court. “You’re the reason people pause to admire.”

“I…” He swallowed, a flush rising to his cheeks. “Thank you.”

“I can’t imagine accomplishing something on such a grand scale,” she admitted. “It is truly awe-inspiring, and I’m so proud of you.” She nudged his arm gently. “Take the compliment.”

“I suppose I’m not used to them,” he admitted. “Most people only want to talk about boxing.”

“You’re so much more than boxing, sweetheart.”

He looked at her with such naked hope and longing and trepidation that a physical ache swept through her. All she wanted was to step closer, to tuck herself against his side and assure him, over and over again, that there were no limits to what he could do.

He sucked in a long, slow breath. “My Ma used to say the same thing.”

“A wise woman,” she said promptly.

“She’s the one who got me into flowers, you know.” When she shook her head, he teased, “Good thing that fact wasn’t in Mrs. Edgewood’s game.”

A retort rose to her lips, but she paused. Considered. A familiar path lay ahead of them, and she could follow it as they always had before. It would be all too easy to trade tenderness for teasing, vulnerability for wit. They could laugh and flirt and pretend it was enough. For one heartbeat, she almost did.

But she didn't want that anymore. She wanted the unknown. She wanted to know Drew—not the boxer whose victories appeared in the newspapers, not the gardener whose flowers drew crowds, not even the charming man who could make an entire room laugh with a well-timed quip. She wanted to know him.

“Will you tell me about her?” she asked.

For a heartbeat, he simply stared at her, as though he hadn’t expected the question. Then his mouth curved, slow and almost boyish. “I’d love to.”

He led her toward a vacant bench on the path and waited while she settled herself before sitting beside her. He left a proper inch between them, but the warmth of his shoulder seemed to reach across the space anyway.

“Ma worked in the restaurant at the Belmont Hotel for years,” he began. “She was always irritated when they threw out the flowers at the end of the day. Said it was a waste.” His smile turned distant and fond. “She’d bring home whatever she could rescue. Taught me how to keep them alive.”