“Not good?” I ask picking up mine and taking a long sip. “This one is delicious. You want it instead?”
“I’m good. Thank you.” She motions toward the muffin as she picks it up and takes a small bite. “So I know I owe you an explanation and an apology.” She nervously looks up from the muffin at me. “I didn’t mean to just blow you off. It was incredibly rude and I’m sorry.”
“If you didn’t want to go out with me again, that’s okay, Leigh. I’m not a controlling asshole.” She looks at me, shaking her head slightly. “Even if the sex was . . .”
“Yeah, it was . . .” She blushes. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go out again. I did—I do. I just had a bit of an issue flare up and needed to focus on myself. I know that’s not an excuse for not even texting back, but . . .” Her voice quivers and I can see that whatever she’s going through, it’s serious.
“Hey . . .” I stand up and walk around the island to where she’s standing, pulling her in for a hug. “Whatever it is, you’re going to be okay. We’ll get through this.”
We’ll get through this?
I rub her back. I have no idea what came over me, but seeing her standing here, hurting, makes me want to destroy whoever did this to her.
“Why are you being so nice?” She laughs, wiping away a stray tear as she steps out of my embrace, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Who says I can’t be nice?”
“Just a little out of character is all.”
“I’m sorry, Leigh.” She looks up at me. “You’re right. I’ve been a dick to you and I’ve been selfish.” I reach a hand up and brush her hair behind one ear. “You deserve so much better.” I lean my head down, my lips coming to rest against hers. “Let me be that man for you, Leigh,” I whisper against her lips between kisses. I cup her face with my hands, pressing my forehead against hers.
“Grant,” she steps back again. “I just—” She shakes her head.
“Hey, look at me.” I tilt her face upward. “You don’t have to tell me anything or agree to anything. Just let me be a friend. Let me be here for you.”
She nods her head slowly. “Be a friend then and let me eat my muffin and then maybe help me build a community garden at my place this Saturday?”
I step back, even biting my tongue and not saying what’s on the tip of it . . . as long as you let me eat your muffin after. Be a friend, Grant, a friend.
“So Saturday?” I confirm as I take a bite of my muffin.
“Only if you want to.” She shrugs and a hint of her smile appears on her lips.
“I would love to help you plant a community garden.”
Giddy isn’t a word I’ve ever used to describe my mood, but today . . . I’m fucking giddy. When I pull into Leigh’s apartment complex, she’s waving at me from the side of the building.
“Fuck me,” I mutter as I take her in. She looks more and more tempting every time I see her. She’s wearing a white crop top beneath a pair of denim overall shorts that cling to her hips. Her hair is piled in a messy knot on her head and she has a red bandana as a headband.
“You bring any more of those muffins?” She plants a hand on her hip as she holds out a pair of gloves to me.
“Is that why you invited me?” I smile, handing her a bag from Bean & Bun while I take the gloves.
“Well, duh.” She digs into the bag and pulls out a blueberry muffin, taking a huge bite. I watch as she licks a stray crumb off her plump lips, a small moan slipping past them.
“And here I thought it was my charm.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Better put those gloves on. Don’t want you to mess up those delicate doctor hands.” She nods toward the pair she just handed me.
“Delicate? They still managed to get you screa—”
“Ooookay, time for work,” she cuts me off, showing me to the raised beds that have been built in the common area.
“So what made you want to do this?” I ask, grabbing a bag of soil and a rake.
“Well, I was talking to Denise, who manages the building, and she told me that a few years ago, they put the beds in but no one was willing to tend to them. I love gardening. It’s a stress reliever and it provides some beauty.”
I try to focus on spreading the soil, but my attention is pulled to Leigh as she stretches across the bed to grab the tray of flowers. I can see straight down her top and memories of her firm tits in my hands send a bolt of electricity straight to my groin.
“What about you? Your parents have a garden?” She looks up at me as she says it, and it snaps me back to reality. I grab a trowel and begin digging holes for her to pot the flowers.
“Growing up, we had one back in Illinois—a veggie garden, actually, because the soil there is like black gold. And my mom planted a garden in memory of my father at her house in Denver.”
I see her stop working out of the corner of my eye and she reaches forward, placing her hand on mine. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” I look up at her, and the expression on her face is genuine and it tugs at my heart. I want to fall for this woman more than anything, but I’m not ready.
“It’s okay. He passed almost five years ago now. He was . . .” I shake my head thinking about Gerald Rossi, my idol growing up. He was the perfect example of what a father and husband should be and he was my best friend. “A professor. Taught linguistics at the University of Denver.”
Neither of us says more on the matter. We focus on planting the flowers Leigh had put in one bed, and the vegetables in the other.
“You think we should do four tomato plants or five?” she asks, looking down at the small leftover space in the corner. I take the moment to look at the sweat that’s beading on her forehead. She lifts a gloved hand and wipes it away, which smears dirt across her face.
“I’d go with another bell pepper plant since tomatoes produce more per plant. And you have a little . . .” I point to her head.
“What?” She lifts her hand again and wipes at her cheek, adding another streak of dirt, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Here, let me.” I remove my glove and step closer to her. “You’ve got a little dirt.” I try to wipe it off but it’s dried. “Just a second.” I reach down and grab the hose that’s coiled by my foot. I pinch the handle a little too hard, and water shoots out with more force than I expected and it sprays her leg.
“Hey!” She jumps away.
“I’m so sorry,” I laugh as I turn back to her.
I rub my wet fingers over her face, removing the dirt this time, but instead of stepping away, I let my hand linger. A few small tendrils of her sweaty hair cling to her neck.
I don’t even bother trying to hide what’s going through my head. I dip my face into the crook of her neck, inhaling before placing my lips against her warm, sweaty skin. I hesitate, waiting for her to rebuff me. Instead her hands are suddenly on my chest, her small hands fisting my shirt.
I pepper more kisses on her skin, letting my tongue snake out to lick the saltiness.
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper, but she doesn’t.