Page 83 of Damaged Protector
“What do you think? Azaleas?” he asked me, crossing one arm over his waist and tapping his lips with an index finger as he took in the flowering plants and bushes.
“Hey, it’s your house. I’m just along for the ride.”
We wandered for an hour, weaving in and out of greenhouses that were arranged end-to-end in long rows. The place was massive. I found it difficult to avoid staring at Hawk. His dark beauty contrasted with the bright pops of color that were scattered on rustic wooden tables and shelves.
My movement stalled as we passed a display of large pots with flowers in a multitude of colors, a fond smile curving my lips. Hawk, realizing I was no longer following him, stopped and backtracked.
“You like dahlias?” he asked, impressing me with his instant recognition of the blooms.
“My dad used to get them for me. I told him once that I liked all the rows of petals, so he always bought them for me for birthdays or recitals.”
Hawk nodded and surveyed the selection in silence for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. “They’re perennials, so they’ll come back next year. Which colors do you like?”
“No!” I protested. “We don’t have to get these. I just…”
“Which colors?”
“I thought you wanted a flowering bush kind of thing.” Hawk crossed his arms over his chest and lifted an eyebrow at me in impatience. Resigned, I turned back to the flowers, instantly drawn to some buttery yellow ones with red tips. They were so vibrant. “What about those?”
He turned over the attached card and read the color. “Flame. I like it,” he intoned before flagging down a woman in a dark-green T-shirt with the name of the nursery imprinted on the front. “You have any of these in larger pots?”
She shook her head. “No, sorry. Just these, but you could replant them if you want. We have plenty of pots inside.”
“Sounds good.” When she walked away, he pointed out four of the flame-hued plants. “What about these? They’re all about the same size. We could put two in each.”
“That really sounds like a lot of work, Hawk. We could just get some azaleas or something. I don’t want to be any trouble.”
He pushed out a long-suffering sigh. “Would you stop yammering, Bee? And you’ve been trouble since the second I met you.” His half-smile told me he was kidding. Well, mostly.
I tilted my head and studied the plants. “I think those look good.”
He gathered them in his big arms. “Great. Let’s go pick out pots.”
Two hours later, we stepped back and checked out our work. We’d chosen two huge pots in a deep-purple color, which really made the gorgeous dahlias pop.
Hawk unwound the water hose from its reel and turned on the spigot attached to the house. “I’ll just give them a drink and then go for my run.”
Taking the sprayer from him, I said, “I’ll do this. You go ahead.”
“You sure?”
I depressed the handle and gave him a light spritz of water. “Go.”
He pulled his soaked shirt away from him and muttered something that contained the word trouble before heading into the house to put on his running shoes.
After giving the flowers a nice dose of water, I turned the sprayer to the bushes on either side, letting off the trigger when I heard a noise. Leaning my head forward, I listened, but didn’t hear anything else.
As soon as I started spraying again, I heard the noise once more. I laid the sprayer down and dropped to my knees, searching beneath the bush on the left. A pair of blue eyes stared back at me, wide and afraid.
“Well hello, baby,” I cooed, holding out my hand until the tiny white kitten crept cautiously forward. “Where did you come from?”
“Mew.”
“Where’s your mommy?”
“Mew.”
“You’re not much help, you know that?” The little one swatted at my finger before rubbing its cheek against it. I picked the cute baby up and turned it over to find that it was a girl. She was snowy white except for one chocolate-colored paw and matching brown fur on the tip of her tail.