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“So ye don’t regret leavin’ there, takin’ on a lower position?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I only e’er planned to stay there for a few years. ’Sides, ye can’t beat livin’ on the Mount. I be sure ye understand that.”
“More than anyone.” She drew a deep breath, pushing her courage forth to finally ask him her question. “Did ye enjoy spendin’ time with me last night?”
But as his eyes finally found hers, she was shocked to discover sorrow within his gaze. What on earth had caused such a feeling?
He must not have wished for this emotion to be seen, however, for he cleared his throat and placed a strained smile on his lips. “At any rate, I be ’appy so long as I can work with flowers.”
Was she imagining things, or did he seem to be avoiding a certain topic, as well?
She stared down at the primroses again. At this rate, she’d honestly rather speak of anything else than what she’d been about to ask him. She wasn’t certain she could handle the rejection she feared.
“Do ye enjoy workin’ with flowers or plants more?”
He seemed to think for a moment. “I enjoy ’em all, but I s’pose I be partial to flowers.”
Silence returned.
Was this how others felt when speaking with her about any other topic than books? How terrible if that was true. She felt as if she were attempting to pull up a thousand-year-old tree with roots secured around the very granite of the Mount.
And it didn’t help that creating entertaining questions was about as foreign to her as breathing water.
“Do ye ’ave a favorite flower?” she asked, praying her questions didn’t sound as terribly awkward as she feared.
“I quite like azaleas.”
“Oh, I do, as well. They’ve a lovely scent.”
“Be they you’re favorite? I take it ye ’ave a list.”
Relief filled her to see that familiar spark in his eye. Grinning, she nodded. “I do. But me favorite ain’t azaleas.”
His gaze dropped, then traveled back to her face, the light within his eyes brighter than ever before. “I’d wager I could guess your favorite.”
She raised a challenging brow to hide her delight in August finally seeming to wake up. Whatever stupor he’d appeared to have been in before had finally faded away. Perhaps he had merely been tired. They’d had a late night, after all.
“’Ow do ye plan on doin’ that?” she asked.
“By askin’ ye a few simple questions.”
She nodded without hesitation. “Go on, then.”
“Very well.” He brought his fingers to his chin, seeming to forget the mud that had been on them before that had now transferred to the bottom of his jaw. Only he could make mud on one’s face appealing. Could she reach forward and wipe it away? No, that would most definitely be too forward. “My first question be, what be your third favorite color?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Third?”
“I assume ye ’ave a list o’ favorite colors, too.”
“’Course,” she replied. “But why me third?”
“If ye’d refrain from questionin’ me process, please.”
That teasing look in his dark eyes made her want to bottle it up and throw in into the night’s sky so she could stare at it all night long with the stars and the moon.
“Very well. Me third favorite color be white.”
He nodded, mulling over her answer.
