Aria’s chin lifted so she could keep my gaze.
And the stray lock of hair was mine. One sweep around the shell of her ear and Aria’s breath hitched.
“Aunt Aria! I’m ready for another plant!”
She jerked.
I stepped away as August rounded the corner of the truck, his arms outstretched.
“Great. Good job.” She smiled at him and kept her gaze anywhere other than me. Then she found the smallest pot she could within reach and loaded it into her nephew’s grip.
I ran a hand over my beard and willed my body to cool. Get it together, Brody. What was wrong with me today?
Aria was off-limits. A hard no. Why couldn’t I seem to grasp that concept? Maybe because I didn’t like the word no, even when I issued it myself.
I put my head down and went to work unloading the truck. The sooner I got away from Aria, the better. She’d be busy unpacking today, and I could get some space. Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she smelled like a dream.
But she was carrying my child.
That was where this relationship had to end.
It only took an hour to empty the moving truck. While Aria, Clara and August went to return it to the local drop-off, I locked myself in my office, where I spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening.
This was the only way it would work. Aria had her half of the house. I had mine. Not wanting to risk an encounter, I had Ron deliver dinner to my desk. Not that it mattered. He informed me that Aria had gone to Clara’s.
When night fell and darkness came, I finally ventured out of my office at close to midnight for some fresh air. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, then slipped outside. The light from Aria’s bedroom was off. The blue glow from the pool lit up the patio.
I padded, barefoot, to one of the chairs, hoping to spend a quiet moment looking at the stars. But that plan went to hell with a splash of water.
“Do you always work so late on a Saturday?” Aria was seated at the edge of the pool. She’d rolled up her own jeans to her knees. Her feet and calves dangled in the warm water.
“I didn’t see you.”
“Obviously.” She laughed. “Are you done avoiding me?”
“I wasn’t—” Shit. “Yes.”
She patted the concrete space at her side. “I won’t bite.”
I opened my mouth to correct her, because she most definitely did bite. I’d had the mark to prove it for two days after the wedding. But I caught myself and blocked out all memories of that night.
“Brody. Sit down.”
I unglued my feet and crossed to the pool, bending to cuff my own jeans before putting my feet in the water beside hers.
Aria kicked her legs and wiggled her toes, then leaned back, using her arms as a brace, as she looked up at the sky.
Diamonds studded the endless night. The white haze of the Milky Way threaded through the stars’ glowing beams.
“I used to climb on top of the delivery van at the junkyard and look up at the stars. It’s better than TV, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do.” I leaned back too, taking my first deep breath. “What kind of delivery van?”
“It wasn’t entirely different than the one I drove down here, though the one at the junkyard hadn’t worked in years. It had gotten into an accident. The front end was all smashed and crumpled. But the box had a fairly solid floor. There were a few jagged tears and holes from the accident, but we found some plastic to cover them up. It let the sunshine in and kept the rain out. And the rodents.”
I grimaced. It physically pained me to think of Aria and Clara living with mice and rats. When I’d been fifteen, I’d lived at a private school in New Hampshire. My biggest fear hadn’t been vermin or scrounging up enough money to buy a loaf of bread. I’d concerned myself with more trivial matters, like teenaged girls and acne.
“I don’t like that you had to go through that.”
“Me neither,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t that bad. I learned how to grow plants there. Clara made us these little bedrolls and shelves out of yellowed and torn books she bought for a dime at the thrift store. It became home.”
And now my home was her home. “Thank you, Aria.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it deserves to be said more than once.”
“You’re welcome.” She pressed a hand to her belly. The gray sweater she was wearing was loose and had been draped over her midsection earlier. But now that she was leaning back, I could see the faintest swell to her belly.
That was my baby in there. Mine.
“Think we’ll survive this?” she asked. “Living together. Having a baby.”
I took in her profile, studying the tip of her nose and the pout of her lips. Yeah, we’d survive it. If I could find a way to keep from screwing it up. Namely, by dragging her back to my bed.
Survive it?
“I hope so.”
Chapter Ten
Aria
Welcome Floral.
The letters etched in gold on the door’s glass panel smiled at me as Brody twisted the key in the lock and we stepped inside. Above our heads, a bronze bell shaped like a lily of the valley bloom dinged.
“First impression?” Brody asked quietly.
“Not bad, Carmichael. Not bad.”
The air, infused with a clean floral fragrance, wrapped me in a warm hug as the door closed behind us. The humid air plumped my dry skin. The greenery and bright colors were like taking in a long-lost friend.
I’d bought this place.
Welcome Floral.
This was mine. Or would be one day after a string of payments to Brody.
“You really like it?” he asked at my side. There was a wary look on his face, like he was scared I’d hate it and call this entire thing off.
But I wasn’t a quitter.
And Welcome Floral was my dream come true.
“It’s charming.”
The garden gnomes beside a large potted hosta had smiles and pink cheeks. One winked at me. Another showed me his butt cheeks. The glass display case was filled with arrangements and bouquets. I preferred clean, tight bundles to wild sprays and billowing greens, but while they weren’t exactly my style, they were tasteful and bright and balanced.
An old window with foggy glass panes and a chipped frame hung above the display table to my right. A rusty bicycle dangled above the table to my left. Tin cans surrounded table legs. An antique chair held a bouquet of peach roses. The walkways were narrow and curved, forming a maze through the shop.
Shabby chic. That was the only way to describe the eclectic style. It was cute. Maybe a little cluttered, but as I’d told Brody, charming.
He checked his watch. “Marty should be here any minute.”
“Okay.” My nerves spiked.
Marty was the manager here. He’d worked for the previous owners for years, and during the negotiations, they’d asked Brody to keep him on.
“This is your business,” he reminded me for the third time today. “You can do whatever you want.”
Meaning I was free to let Marty go if we didn’t get along.
But I wanted us to get along. I’d need an experienced manager when this baby came. And from what Brody had told me, Marty was not only experienced, he was affordable. This meeting had to go well.