All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,22
see the rot in the French door frames.
“But you were right, it has great bones. This could be a very special house—once you’ve poured the equivalent of the GDP into it.”
He laughed, then glanced around, his expression wryly self-aware. “Don’t I know it.”
He crossed the room to inspect the fireplace, crouching to peer under the mantel. His jeans stretched tightly across his thighs, revealing powerful muscles. Mel caught herself looking and glanced away, frowning.
“I might go check out the garden,” she said.
“Sure. Take your time. I want to take some notes, start to get my head around the size of the renovation.”
She crossed to the French doors and tried the handle. It gave beneath her fingers and she stepped out onto a paved patio area. Her shoulders dropped a notch the moment she felt fresh air on her face and she headed for the garden proper, feeling like a dog that had been let off its leash.
Her memories of the garden had blurred over the years, like slightly out-of-focus family snapshots, and she discovered it again as she walked. The herb garden, with its box-hedge border grown wild and woolly, and its pavers obscured by weeds; the lily pond, complete with bridge, and the water beneath a tangle of weeds. The rose garden, with its arbors and unkempt rows of roses.
She found the orchard where she’d remembered it, in the far southeast corner of the property. The trees had all grown enormously, and Mel guessed they hadn’t been pruned in years. Long grass grew between them, and there was evidence of some sort of fungus on the peach trees. Sadness swept over her as she remembered how beautiful this place had once been, how much pride Brian and Grace had taken in maintaining a certain standard. It must have burned to let things slip this much as their aging bodies failed them. And now they’d had to give up their precious garden altogether.
She’d been exploring the orchard, making mental notes for her own more humble project for nearly twenty minutes, before it occurred to her that Flynn might be waiting for her at the house.
She started navigating her way through the garden, her stride long and urgent. Panic fluttered in her chest. He’d be angry with her for keeping him waiting and wasting his time. He’d be wondering why he’d bothered asking her to come, regretting his impulsive invitation. She’d be lucky if he hadn’t simply driven off and left her to find her own way home.
She was aiming for the side patio entrance when she spotted Flynn leaning against the low stone wall near the rose garden. He lifted a hand in greeting and she altered her trajectory and joined him at the wall.
“I’m so sorry. I lost track of time,” she said. “I was trying to work out what sort of fruit trees you’ve got down there and I guess I just got carried away—”
“Relax. I only got here myself. I’ve been exploring the outbuildings.”
He said it easily, with a shrug of his shoulder, and it took a moment for it to sink in that he meant it.
He isn’t Owen. You don’t have to answer to anyone anymore.
Sudden, hot tears pushed at the back of her eyes. She recognized the reaction for what it was—a hangover from her marriage, a mental shortcut her mind had slipped into out of habit—but the last thing she wanted to do was bawl like a baby in front of Flynn.
She ducked her head, letting her hair fall over her face, and did her damnedest to stop the tears from falling.
“So have you successfully ripped off all the best design elements from my orchard?”
“Absolutely.” Her voice sounded a little thick and she cleared her throat. She used the excuse of pushing her hair behind her ear to wipe a tear from her cheek. Then she took a deep breath, blinked a few more times and forced herself to make eye contact with him.
Like a normal person.
“You said outbuildings, plural. So there’s more than the garage?”
His gaze swept over her face. She tensed, but when he spoke his tone was even and utterly casual.
“Yep. There’s a little dark building I suspect was once a dairy. And way over in the north corner there’s a rusting monster of a shed, filled with enough old garden tools to start my own kibbutz.”
“Really? I wonder if Brian and Grace realize they left them behind?”
“I’m going to talk to Spencer about it later, but I suspect they figured