Page 13 of Guarded by My Gargoyle

“Does she?” she asked, smiling at her son with the softness she seemed to reserve specifically for him.

“Dot says it isn’t proper flying. She says it’s mostly falling with style.”

Maris’s smile widened until her whole face lit up, and he immediately wanted to see it again. He wanted to be the one who put it there.

“You know what, Toby? I think Dot might be right.”

Toby nodded, then looked up at him with his head tilted to one side. “Is that what yours is?”

“No,” he said solemnly. “Mine is proper flying.”

Toby nodded, satisfied, and went back to helping with the tape. When they were done, Garrick walked them to the truck. Toby climbed in while Maris put the clipboard on the dash and stood for a moment with her hand on the door.

“I’ll have numbers for you by Thursday,” she said.

“I’m free Thursday. You can bring them by anytime.”

She nodded and got in, and he shut the door for her because it stuck and because he wanted to.

“Goodbye, Mr. Garrick,” Toby said politely, leaning out the window.

“Goodbye, Toby. I’m glad you came to visit.”

Maris looked as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she simply started the engine. The truck shuddered to life with a noise like a dying dragon. He stayed on the drive and watched them turn the corner and disappear. He didn’t realize until after they were out of sight that he had one hand raised in farewell.

Then he stood there for another ten minutes with the scent of green growing things and warm skin lingering in the air around him and a deep, primitive satisfaction settling in his chest.

He went back inside and made himself a sandwich and ate it standing at the kitchen window overlooking the neglected garden and the wall beyond. He didn’t think about the contract or the budget or the scheduling logistics. He thought about the curve of her smile and the look on her face when she talked about dirt and plants, and he thought about the small boy who had looked at him without any fear at all.

CHAPTER 5

The following afternoon, Maris pushed open the door to the River Café and found Sylvie already seated in a corner booth with a plate of lemon cake and an expectant look.

“Well?” Sylvie demanded before Maris even sat down.

“It’s big,” she said, shrugging out of her jacket. “And neglected. But it has some very good bones, and there’s some amazing plant material. I found a Madame Alfred Carrière that’s at least fifty years old.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about the garden. I’m talking about him. Garrick. What’s he like?”

“Also big,” she said.

Sylvie snorted but before she could continue the cross-examination, Rona whizzed by and dropped off a plate of hushpuppies and a pitcher of iced tea.

“This’ll keep you going until the catfish is done,” the blue-skinned waitress said cheerfully. Rona was also the owner of the café and famous for knowing exactly what anyone in town wanted to eat at any given time. Maris never even bothered looking at a menu anymore.

“Thanks, Rona.”

“No problem, hon.”

Rona rushed off again, heading for the outside deck overhanging the river, and Maris looked back to find Sylvie giving her an exasperated look.

“Big? That’s all you got? What does he smell like?”

“I have no idea,” she said with immense dignity. She was lying. She knew exactly what he smelled like—an oddly appealing mineral scent with just a hint of smokiness, like a wood fire in a stone fireplace on a cold night.

“You’re going to need an assistant,” Flora announced, suddenly appearing next to the booth. Maris had noticed her when she walked in, huddled in another booth with her best friend Gladys, a pleasant older woman in a cardigan, pearls, and a witch’s hat. She had pretended not to see them, but she should have known it was useless.

“I don’t need an assistant. I can manage.”