Ladies' Night, Andrews, Kay [best time to read books .txt] 📗

no idea what all was involved in running a place like this,” Grace said, studying Wyatt’s strong, stubborn profile. “I’m amazed you’ve been able to keep it running after all these years.”

He turned and flashed her a rueful grin. “No more amazed than me. But it’s not like I really had a choice.”

Her hand crept across the bench seat and gave his forearm a squeeze. They rode along for several more minutes with nothing louder than the sound of the rain lightly falling and a breeze ruffling the bamboo until the path took a sharp left.

The bamboo hedge ended abruptly in a large field. Rows of flowers and young trees were laid out in straight lines. A tin-roofed shed was off to one side, under the shade of a large tree.

“This is my favorite place in the park,” Wyatt said. “My nursery.”

He pulled the golf cart up to the shed and jumped out. “We can hang out here ’til the rain stops.” A moment later he was back with a pair of rubber boots. “It’s pretty muddy,” he warned, handing them to her. “You might want to wear these.”

Grace slipped out of her sandals and plunged her feet into the boots, which were four sizes too big and reached nearly to her knees. She giggled as she climbed clumsily out of the cart, lumbering forward in the oversized boots.

Wyatt offered her his arm to steady her. There was a picnic bench under the tin-roofed shed, and now he turned, reached under the seat of the cart, and produced a paper bag, which he handed to her.

Grace looked inside and found a bottle of wine and two plastic cups. “It’s screw-top,” he said apologetically. “But the guy at the liquor store swears it’s good screw-top. You like red?”

“Sure,” Grace said.

“One other thing.” He picked up a can of insect repellent and sprayed his own neck, arms, and legs, and did the same for her.

Grace sat down on one side of the bench, and after a moment Wyatt sat beside her. He opened the bottle and poured a bit into the cup, handing it to her to sample.

“The guy at the liquor store was right. This is yummy.” She held out her cup and he filled it, then filled his own. They sat with their backs to the table, looking out over the fields, slowly sipping the ruby-colored wine.

“What all do you grow here?” Grace asked.

“Annuals for the flower beds out front and throughout the park, some perennials and shrubs. I’ve got some saplings going that I started from seeds or grafts from our existing trees,” Wyatt said. He nodded toward a row of palm trees at the far edge of the field. “I’ve had pretty good luck with the palm trees. Those are four years old.”

“Isn’t it a lot of trouble to grow all your own plants?” Grace asked. “Especially with everything else you have to do around the park?”

“It’s way cheaper than buying from wholesale nurseries, and anyway, I get a kick out of growing our own stock. It scratches my horticulture itch.”

“Very impressive,” Grace said, tapping her cup against his.

He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, then brought out a carefully folded sheet of paper. “I, uh, well, when I was thinking about you last night, after I got back home and couldn’t sleep, I, uh, drew something for you.”

She took the paper and unfolded it. “A landscape plan?” It was an elaborate pencil drawing of a garden, with hand-lettered botanical names. Looking closer, she saw “Mandevilla Manor” in neat block letters in the lower right corner of the paper.

“Some nights my mind won’t shut up,” he said apologetically. “I have to get up and draw. This isn’t anything fancy. Just some ideas.”

“I get like that, too,” Grace admitted. “I’ll wake up in the middle of the night with an idea for a recipe I’d like to develop or some crazy scheme for a house. Since I’ve been working over at Mandevilla, some nights I only sleep a few hours, I’m so stoked. I think that’s how creative people operate.”

“Callie always said it was how crazy people operate,” Wyatt said.

Grace was examining the sketch. “So … no more lawn?” She pointed to the tightly packed rows of shrubs he’d sketched for the front yard.

“Very little grass,” Wyatt said. “You could change that, if you wanted, but in Florida it takes so much in the way of water and chemicals to keep large chunks of grass healthy. I think it would look better to do these planting beds with native ornamentals, and maybe some seasonal annuals for color. Here,” he jabbed a finger, “I’d do a crushed-shell parking pad, and then extend it to a path that winds through the flowers right up to your front door.

“I didn’t have time to label everything, but since I know now that you like blue flowers, I’d give you lots of blues and purples, with whites and green and silver,” he said.

“If it were my house, it would be perfect,” Grace said, leaning over and giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll keep it. Maybe eventually I’ll have a house again, where I could plant something like this. Well, exactly like this.”

“Why couldn’t you just do it at Mandevilla Manor?” Wyatt asked.

“Arthur would never go for it,” Grace said. “I’m still trying to talk him into springing for central air so I can get rid of those hideous rusting window units.”

“It wouldn’t be all that expensive to install this plan,” Wyatt said. “Most of the plants I’ve drawn I grow right here in my nursery. The big cost would be in the gravel for the parking pad, the pavers, and the walkway. I get that all at wholesale cost.”

“And what about the installation?”

Wyatt grinned. “I know a guy. He works cheap. Or in your case, free.” He put his arm around her shoulders and drew Grace closer.

She returned her attention to the plan. “Whoa!” She placed her finger on an irregular shape