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Both in and out of the bedroom.
I look at my watch. Quarter to six. It's time to drag my little gardener into the shower to prepare for our weekly Thursday evening date night out.
I walk out the oversized French doors that lead to the stone patio. “There you are.”
My heartbeat wants to simultaneously slow down and speed up at the sight of her. Slow down because I’ve found her safe and sound. But speed up because my blood rushes whenever I look at her sweet face.
Fiona kneels on the plush pink gardening mat I’ve bought her, demanding the staff bring it out for each of her weeding sessions. And that she use it. I’ll not stand aside and watch as she wears out her joints.
She looks up at me, smiling. “The garden is so lush here. I’d have thought my veggies would be half the size they grow on the island, but they’re even bigger here in Glasgow!”
“Here at my house,” I correct her.
“Your house!” she laughs. “As if the address has anything to do with it!”
“Everything grows better with me around.” Giving my crotch a naughty cupping, I look at her and laugh. “Bigger, too!”
“Stop that,” she says, blushing, always so modest. But I see the smile she tries to hide. Lifting her hand to hide her mouth, she giggles. “Lord, you are bad, aren’t you?”
“Just bad enough to make you blush, my girl.”
“Stop it.” Gripping the leafy green top of a carrot, she plucks it from the raised garden bed I’d had built for her ages ago. “Anyway, as I’ve said, the veggies are massive. Take a look!”
She holds up an enormous carrot for my inspection.
“They’d better be,” I say. “Otherwise, Thomson’s Landscaping and Gardening will be hearing from me.”
Instead of ordering the modestly priced topsoil she’d requested, yes, I’d splurged on the very best earth for her garden. Never did I think I’d be so happy paying through the nose for cow shit, but I smiled as I signed the purchase form, knowing how happy her garden makes her.
I didn’t want her worrying her pretty ginger head over the price; she’d have told me to keep with the topsoil.
“Callum Burnes.” She eyes me with suspicion. “Have you done something to my soil?”
I sit down beside her where she kneels, my ass resting on a crate, my knees bent. Reaching out, I brush the dirt from her face with the backs of my knuckles. “You’ve got a bit of that good soil on your face. Just there.”
She grabs my hand in hers. “Tell me. Did you sprinkle a little magic in my beds?”
“I may have tampered with your garden a wee bit,” I confess. “I upgraded your soil a wee bit.”
“Thank you,” she says with a smile. Her smile quickly fades. “But I don’t like you tampering without telling me, Callum.”
“Why not?” I laugh. “Anytime I’ve tampered in your life in the past, it always worked out in your favor.”
She narrows her gaze, studying my face. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
But she presses on. “What time have you tampered with my life besides bringing me here?”
“Never! I haven’t—tampered.”
She puts a gentle hand on my knee, applying light pressure, her eyes demanding an answer. “Remember when you agreed to my terms? That I would stay and get to know you better, and you said, no secrets between us?”
“Aye.” That’s the exact point that has me feeling so guilty right now.
“If I’m to be your wife, I’ll have no secrets between us.” Her voice is soft, clear, but firm.
I’ve landed myself in a heap of manure. Haven’t I? I brush the soil from my fingers, running a hand over my beard.
