Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,65
of her mouth like a cat who was just shy of swallowing a bird.
The workroom was quiet and empty, though trimmings and remnants of wire and floral foam lay scattered across the surface of a table in front of one of the empty stools—Tess’s, no doubt. So back I went, through the swinging double doors that led to our greenhouse.
A wall of humidity hit me, curling around me like loving fingers, drawing me into the cheerful space. Built in the 1800s, the greenhouse spanned the back of six buildings—the shop, our house, and the four properties we’d once owned. The basement of the shop was our storage, packed with generations of antiques that sat unassuming next to hay and mulch and fertilizer. And in the greenhouse itself, long rows ran the length, touting box after box of flowers. Seeds were cultivated in the back and moved into the main greenhouse when their season arrived, the old harvest making way for the new. Currently, a section had been tilled and replanted with spring flowers, the rest full of our year-round crop. Dahlias and gardenias, lilies and pink astilbe. Daisies and marigolds and, this time of year, ranunculus. And of course, bed after bed of roses.
In the big center aisle, I found Kash in front of a wheelbarrow mounded with soil, a shovel in his hands and his T-shirt hanging out of his back pocket.
I filed shirtless brothers under things I didn’t miss about living at home. All of them were towering beasts who were addicted to working out, though each for their own reasons. For instance, Kash’s rolling, brutish muscles came from hauling dirt and shoveling. For funsies, he moved thirty-pound bags of fertilizer from one side of storage to the other. Marcus worked out because he was a little bit of a control freak, so disciplined, I was certain he just enjoyed managing difficult things in his life just as much as he wasn’t happy unless he was living up to an unreasonable standard. Jett did it because it made him feel good to master himself and stay healthy. Luke was just vain.
Kash caught sight of me and dumped the load in his shovel, smiling brightly within the frame of his black beard. His big, dirty hand raked through his hair, which was forever just a little too long, even when he’d just had it cut. The dark locks curled gently around his ears and nape and seemed to always be on the verge of falling into his face.
He leaned on the handle. “Hey, Lane. What are you doing here?”
At the surprise in his voice, I was a tiny bit offended.
“Can’t a girl just come home and pick a few flowers?”
One of his dark brows rose.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m meeting Mom here. We’re going to put together a few bouquets.”
“Look at you, hanging out with Mom.”
“I hang out with Mom,” I defended.
“By yourself.”
“You’re awfully close to convincing me to leave.”
A deep chuckle. “It’s good to see you around here. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the greenhouse.”
“Too long. Every time I walk in, I can’t remember why I stayed away.”
He folded his arms on the handle and planted a boot on the flat of the spade. “How was your party last night?”
“Don’t ask.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
Briefly, I told him what had gone down, from Wickham to Jett and Georgie. Except for the specifics between me and Darcy. I kept that to myself for fear I’d actually combust if I so much as mentioned him.
Luke had walked up—who was also shirtless, his skin peppered with sawdust to match the dusting of dirt on Kash. Unlike Kash and his unruly mane, Luke’s hair was cropped and his jaw clean-shaven. His lips seemed to be in a constant state of smirk. Sometimes, I wondered if he’d end up wrinkled just on that one side, and I shamelessly hoped he would.
Both of them were wide-eyed as they heard about Georgie, and at such an intensity and with eyes that blue, it was almost unnerving.
“I can’t believe that asshole squared up to Jett,” Luke shot, his lips bent in a rare frown. “What is he, the sex police?”
I gave him a look and folded my arms, considering my teenage years. “Brandon Ellis.”
“Listen, Brandon Ellis deserved a bloody nose for kissing you. I’ll die on that hill.”
“He’s not wrong,” Kash added. “You weren’t the only girl he was kissing.”
“What if it’d been me in that dark hallway last night?”