The greenhouse was north of the city, an almost thirty-minute drive. By the time I arrived, my coffee was cold, my palms were sweaty, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to wring Jacob’s neck or kiss him until we couldn’t breathe.
The greenhouse was one of a dozen on the property, each one about twenty feet apart. The area seemed deserted; there were only two other cars in the parking lot.
I found him trimming hyacinths. The sweet smell of them wafted to me; he hadn’t heard me come inside.
“Why didn’t you tell me your shop was in trouble?” I said to the back of his head.
He stilled, his shoulders stiffening. I drank in the line of his back, the wave of his hair. It had grown since I’d last seen him, enough that it brushed his collar. But when he stood up and turned toward me and I saw his fa
