to meet the gardener of the adjoining property and once on his own to ask to borrow a double-male connector for the hose when he’d inadvertently stepped on theirs and broken it. He knew where the patio was and how to get around it. He walked confidently over the bright-green grass, taking his time when he saw a blur of brown (tree trunks) or gray (stone benches, large, landscaped boulders, or small outbuildings) in the distance and trying to remember its placement as he grew close enough to identify what it was. Finally, met with a five-foot-high wall-like structure of varying shades of green before him, he knew he’d reached the hedgerow that separated Westerly from Le Chateau. Looking up over the chin-high shrubbery, he could make out the yellowish stone of the adjoining estate mansion some distance away. The only problem? The hedgerow itself.
Hedgerows were, quite literally, rows of tangled hedges, sometimes four or five feet deep. Almost impossible to walk through, unless you were a squirrel or rabbit, they were a great choice for impassable natural beauty when property owners didn’t feel like opting for fences. Because the Rousseaus and Winslows were, as far as Gardener could tell, friendly neighbors and because Jax had obviously walked from Le Chateau to Westerly on Saturday night, there had to be a break in the hedgerow with an opening or gate. If he could find it, he could get through.
Raising his wrist to a few inches beneath his eyes, he looked at the time. Two fifty-five. Shit. This walk had taken a little longer than he thought. He looked up, hoping for an opening to magically appear, but the messy green blur of the barrier looked solid both right and left as far as his eyes could see.
“Fuck,” he muttered, starting to the left.
The thing that really frustrated Gard was that for anyone with halfway normal vision, the entrance would be clear. It was right here somewhere. And yet for him, it was elusive. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair, and it pissed him off to have been robbed of his independence, of his God-given right to see.
He poked his stick into the row and started running alongside it, hoping that he’d find the void and wouldn’t trip, but he got to the end of the row before realizing that left had been the wrong choice. Turning around as he murmured a string of curses, he switched his stick to the other hand and ran back down the row, jogging past the void, though luckily his stick pattered on the slats of a picket fence, telling him to back up.
Sweating and panting, he took several steps back and there it was: the cutout in the hedge with a little white gate almost hidden between the rows. Walking quickly through and fastening the gate behind him, he trudged across the green lawn toward the massive yellow structure, then bore to the left, able to make out the shape and color of a circular gravel driveway. Pausing by the corner of the house, he folded up his stick and tucked it into the duffel, then swiped his forearm over his sweaty face.
Forcing himself to walk in a way that looked leisurely, not frazzled, he made his way around the building, staring at the ground so he wouldn’t stumble. He stopped when he came to a set of stairs and ascended five steps that—presumably—led to the main entrance of the house.
Standing before the door, he looked for a bell, but finding none, he knocked and waited.
And waited.
Hmm. Nothing.
No sound of footsteps. No hot brunette. Nobody.
He knocked again, then pressed his ear to the window, hoping to hear the sound of her making her way to the door. Still nothing.
How late was he anyway? He held up his watch close to his eyes again. Three twelve. Shit. Did she think he’d stood her up? While he didn’t love the idea of teaching her, he wouldn’t want her to think he’d just flake out without a word either.
He knocked again, more forcefully this time, his frustration about the walk and the hedgerow and his general resentment about his lot in life making the knock sound more like a bang.
“Coming! Coming!”
His heart.
Oh Lord, his fucking heart nearly beat out of his goddamned chest at the sound of her voice.
He stood back from the door, wiping the relieved smile off his face and steeling his expression.
The door opened.
He smelled her before he saw her, before she came