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“You did?”
“Yes, when I was little, I was convinced I was one of the children from The Sound of Music. Every time it rained, I would sit by the window and pretend I was waiting out a thunderstorm in an Austrian villa somewhere.”
He laughed softly. “An Austrian villa?”
“I had a very active imagination.”
When I glanced over at him, his smile had deepened ever so slightly. Then we arrived at the conservatory. He opened a pair of glass doors. Warmth greeted us immediately. I stopped. Margaret and I had entered through a different set of doors earlier.
A small wrought-iron table stood just inside the entrance. On it rested a porcelain teapot on a silver tray, steam still curling from the spout.
Alexander followed my gaze. “I thought we might have some tea before we explored.”
He pulled out a chair for me, and I sat down. He took the seat across from me and poured a cup before handing it to me. My attention settled on his hands.
They were the sort of hands that made it impossible to believe Alexander Blackwood spent his life sitting behind conference tables. Large, capable, and masculine. They looked equally suited to drawing the smallest details in architectural plans and settling at a woman’s waist and drawing her close beneath stormy skies. The thought overstayed its welcome and I felt myself getting warm. I lifted my eyes and found Alexander watching me. I immediately returned my attention to the tea.
I took a sip before I realized what I was tasting.
“Chamomile.”
He nodded. “Your favorite, I believe.”
I stared at him. “How did you know that?”
He met my eyes. “I wanted your first day at Blackwood Hall to feel welcoming.” He glanced toward the teacup in my hands. “So I asked.”
The answer surprised me. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he had planned for my arrival. There was something unexpectedly intimate about the gesture. Beyond him, the conservatory came back into focus.
The conservatory rose several stories overhead beneath a vaulted glass ceiling. Soft daylight filtered in through the panes, scattering light across winding stone pathways and clusters of plants unlike anything I had expected to find in the middle of Manhattan.
“It’s beautiful,” I said softly.
“It was meant to be.”
I glanced over at him as his gaze traveled across the conservatory. “When Blackwood Hall was renovated, everyone focused on the laboratories, the residential suites, and the performance spaces. All those places are important, of course, but I thought we needed something else.”
“What?” I asked.
“A place that reminds us that important things take time. Nothing in here can be rushed. Not the orchids. Not the trees. Not even the soil they grow in. Sometimes the best thing you can do is give something the space to become, and trust that you’ll recognize it when it does,” Alexander said.
“That is such an important reminder. Most of my life has been spent trying to make things happen faster. Faster funding. Faster approvals. Faster results. Nature is much less interested in my timelines.”
Alexander looked straight into my eyes. “I suspected you would appreciate this.”
“Why?”
His gaze held mine a moment longer. “Because people who devote their lives to helping things grow tend to appreciate places that require patience.”
I placed my teacup back on the saucer. “Do you mind if I look around?”
“Please, do.”
The conservatory seemed to unfold in layers. Every turn revealed something new. A cluster of orchids suspended overhead, a reflecting pool hidden beneath broad green leaves, a flowering tree I couldn’t identify. Before long, I had forgotten I was being given a tour. When I glanced back, Alexander was walking beside me. He was close enough that I caught his scent, clean and understated, cedar softened by something warmer. He occasionally pointed out details I would have missed.
Eventually, he glanced at his watch. “I believe it is time for lunch. The Fellows’ Dining Room is just across the way.”
I had not made a single decision since eleven o’clock, and I had not missed it once. I followed him towards the doors.
