Jonquils for Jax (Blueberry Lane 3 - The Rousseaus #1) - Katy Regnery Page 0,3
for what his eyes had lost, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he heard a slight accent in the pronunciation of her full name. French. And like every other good Cajun boy, he could still pick it out with ease, no matter how many years it had been since he’d been home.
“So, who’s callin’ you Jaxy?”
“Just a—none of your business.”
“Fair ’nough,” he said, returning to his work.
He used a spade to dig another hole about three inches from the one he’d just filled, smoothing the inside with his gloved hand before standing up and rounding the bench where she was sitting. He leaned down, picked up another seedling from the crate, and walked back around her without saying a word.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said in a tight voice.
“I wasn’t askin’,” he said softly, pulling the small heap of soil over the lavender and brushing off its tough petals.
“My mother sat me next to him. At my brother’s wedding.”
Sister of the groom? He looked up. Well, that explained the accent. She was one of the Rousseaus from the ostentatiously named Le Chateau two doors down.
“Félicitations,” he offered reflexively, the word sounding rusty to his ears.
“M-Merci,” she answered, her voice surprised. After a moment she asked, “Parlez-vous français?”
“Not much anymore,” he said, picking up the spade and digging another small hole.
“You’re not French from France,” she said, a superior sniff in her tone.
“Got that right, Duchess,” he said, stepping around the bench again to take another lavender seedling. But this time he stopped in front of her, looking down and squinting to make her out as best he could. Dark hair. Long neck. Big tits. Small waist. Stupid shoes.
Duchesse Rousseau.
“Don’t you have a weddin’ to attend?” he asked.
“Jaaaaaa-xy! I never banged a Holl’wood c’lebrity. C’mon. Where t’fuck are you?”
She sucked in an audible breath, and Gardener snapped his head up to look into the blank of darkness. He couldn’t see anything, but he wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes. Never did like it much when a grown man cursed at alady…even if sheis brassy, bossy, and uptight.
“Real winner you got there,” he said dryly, getting back to work.
“I don’t ‘got’ him. I told you, he’s not my boyfriend,” she said, standing up in a huff. She tottered for a moment before regaining her balance, and Gardener rolled his eyes. Fashion over function. Ridiculous.
“Right,” he said, squatting down beside the herb bed. When he looked over his shoulder a moment later, she was still standing there, looking in the direction of the asshole who was beckoning her oh-so-sweetly. Shaking his head with annoyance, he stood up and wiped his gloved hands on the thighs of his jeans. “Want me to walk you back to your party?”
“Absolutely not,” she scoffed, looking away from him before clearing her throat and raising her chin. “I don’t even know you.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, feeling like an idiot for suggesting it and starting to wish she’d just go already and leave him the hell alone.
“Well,” she said, her voice uncertain. “I guess I’ll go now.”
He didn’t answer. He planted the next damned seedling and covered it with soil.
“It was nice…” He assumed she didn’t finish with “to meet you” because, one, it hadn’t been all that nice, and two, they hadn’t actually met.
“Good-bye,” she muttered.
He looked up to see her pick up her skirt and walk into the darkness, something pulling at his heart as her lithe body disappeared into the void. Should he go after her? Shadow her from a distance until he knew she was safe? He growled softly with irritation, standing up and looking around.
Blackness. Sheer blackness but for the shimmery light of the white flowers in a semicircle around him and a dim patio light, off to the far right, on the front porch of the small studio apartment where he was staying.
Even if he wanted to follow her, it wasn’t an option. He lived in a world of shadows, and though his eyes bothered him a lot less at night, he didn’t see any better.
Sighing, he turned back to his work. He still had ten more lavender seedlings to plant before mulching and watering the bed and cleaning up. Another hour of work at least.
“Jax! Where the fuck you hidin’?” The voice was a good bit closer now.
“Merde,” Gardener grumbled, the curse word coming easily, though he hadn’t uttered it in years. She was wandering around somewhere in the darkness on stilts, trying to avoid this drunken asshole. Dumb girl. Foolish girl. Girl