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“Nice to meet you, Beau. The garden is beautiful, by the way.”
He beams and dimples show on his cheeks.
I practically swoon. My insides churn, and my body flushes as my attraction for him overrides my senses.
“Thanks,” he says. “It’s my passion project. My brothers tried to help, but in the end, I took over. Now they’re not allowed to so much as water a petal without my permission.”
“You do all of thisyourself?” I gesture to the expanse of greenery around me.
“Notall,” he corrects himself, the smile never leaving his face. “I have a team of people I work with. But you’ll catch me here a lot.”
He’s changed clothes since this morning. He’s in a faded grey sweatshirt with the emblem of a college I don’t recognize. His hands are in his sweatshirt pockets, and his expression darkens as his eyes fall to my lips.
I’m surprised he’s not looking at my scar.
I turn back and gesture at the gazebo. “This is stunning.”
His smile falters, and a shadow crosses his features. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It was custom built. Designed by the same person who created our dining table.”
“Wow,” I murmur. “You guys worked with some incredibly talented people.”
“Yeah. We did.”
I turn back to face him, and there’s an unreadable expression on his face, which he quickly replaces with a soft smile. “I was going to harvest some of our vegetables. Do you want to help?”
“Do you normally ask guests to garden with you?” I tease, and he chuckles.
I’d pull a grocery store’s worth of produce if it meant I could stay in his presence.
“Nah. You’re the first one I’ve asked.”
“Oh,” I flush, unable to stop beaming. “Well, then. I’d love to.”
* * *
Beingwith Beau is as simple as breathing. His presence relieves the tension in my body, and the longer I spend with him, the more relaxed I am.
It confuses me.
Why would he bother to spend time with me, let alone flirt with me?
I’m aBeta.
It doesn’t make any sense.
Still, I’ll take what I can get.
He leads me further down the path, and I spot a greenhouse, its garden beds visible from the outside.
“This is where we grow our produce,” he says, leading me inside. Lights hang from the ceilings, shining on row after row of leaves. Beau grabs a wicker basket from a tower of them in the corner and hands it to me.
Our hands touch for the briefest moment, his long fingers grazing mine, and a flutter starts in my lower belly.
A million thoughts race through my mind, most of them dirty.
I ignore them.
Vegetables, Harper.
