Rose Gardner's Florist (The Providence Street Shops #2) - Bonnie Dee Page 0,29

grew up was poignant, but it was the reader who brought the tale to vivid life. With a book in his hands, any stiltedness disappeared. William Carmody portrayed the characters, his voice lightening to a tenor for Peter’s and Wendy’s voices, and dropping into his natural bass timbre as the narrator.

Rose drifted on the waves of his voice, as secure and content as if in a boat she knew could not possibly capsize. His cadence carried her along, weaving an enthralling spell. No adult in her recollection had ever told fairytales to her as a child. What a wonder to relax and be transported to a nursery somewhere in London, eavesdropping on a flying lesson that used happy thoughts as fuel. The impossible became possible, and Rose mentally cheered as Wendy and her brothers took to the air.

In addition to her childlike delight in the story, Rose felt the physical response of a mature woman listening to the sensual voice of a man. William’s spectacles rested low on the bridge of his nose, his hazel eyes more brown than green in this light. The sharp angles of his face begged to be touched. She imagined the feeling of smoothly shaven skin stretched over hard bone underneath her exploring fingertips. She also imagined his deep voice murmuring endearments in her ear as his hands caressed her body.

Just as her fantasy grew too excruciating to bear, Carmody ended the chapter and closed the book.

“Oh no! You can’t stop there,” she exclaimed. “I want to see Neverland.”

He took a long swallow of his lemonade, nearly emptying the glass. “You may read the rest for yourself.”

“Not the same. I am enjoying your acting. You paint such a clear picture.”

“Mr. Barrie’s words.”

“You have a lovely reading voice,” Rose complimented. “When I visit again, perhaps you might read another chapter. But I suppose we ought to get to work now, making a list of supplies for the project.”

“I’ve ordered soil which will be delivered soon. Now I must place orders for the plants from nurseries I’ve researched.”

“But you’ve only just seen my plan. Are there no additions or changes you wish to make?”

“Miss Gardener, I have implicit faith in your vision, and I’m eager to begin.”

“We needn’t wait for builders to tear down the old planting tables. With those out of the way, it will be easier to envision our garden. I mean… your garden,” she corrected.

“It is such rough labor. Your hands…”

“I have done hard work all my life. It does not bother me. So, shall we get to work?”

Chapter Ten

From the moment Miss Gardener stepped into the conservatory, Will scarcely heard the details of her proposal. She glowed with animation and inspiring enthusiasm, and he desired her with a fierceness brand new to him. As she came to a conclusion, he nodded and offered an appropriate comment while corralling his wild longing in a secure paddock.

Once he’d gotten his feelings penned, he became a better listener, enjoying their talk about books and their importance to children. He would have read himself hoarse if Rose demanded it, but he was equally glad to put Pan’s adventures aside and join her in tearing out the old planting tables.

Using a hammer, he applied brute force to knocking boards apart. Rose carried the pieces through the outer door to pile them behind the garden shed. When Will straightened to relieve pain in his lower back, he noticed Rose watching him with a curious expression. Was it admiration? No, he must be imagining her interest. Nevertheless, he posed a bit, drawing back the hammer to deliver a blow that made the wood crack.

“Let me have a go. Looks like fun.”

He surrendered the hammer to her and watched with delight as she knocked out a table leg.

“Bloody ’ell but that feels good!” Rose immediately clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carmody. That was rude.”

“Do not apologize. I appreciate your enthusiasm. And, we are to be friends, might we address each other by our given names? Please call me Will.”

She smiled as she passed him the hammer. “Then you must call me Rose…Will.”

For a moment they both stood, grasping the handle of the tool, warm and a bit slippery from perspiration. When Rose looked at him, Will fell into the cool blue pools of her eyes.

“I—” Any thought he might have formed blew away. He could only lock gazes with this woman who with equal ease made delicate bouquets and wielded a hammer as if it were a