she knew if she had a valid reason to become all thumbs and blushes.
She leaned against her desk, crossing one pink-polished foot over the other in a pose she hoped looked nonchalant. “How did your program go?” At least, her voice didn’t betray her, sounding level and nurse-competent. After years of doing the presentation, no doubt Marc had it down. His support of the community was a trait she loved about him.
Loved about him? She swallowed a gulp. OMG! Once again, impersonating a girl in middle school! She blinked, steeling herself not to react to the fracas in her brain.
He returned her gaze with an easy, white-toothed smile. “Fine.” He clapped his hands together. “Great bunch this year. Makes my job a lot easier.”
Diane stared for a moment, her head a jumble of incongruent thoughts. Then her addled brain cleared. Of course, by job, he meant his presentation, not running Stafford Farms, and, a bunch of students— not bananas. She bobbed her head for him to continue.
“How about you?” He dipped his chin toward her. “How are you doing?”
Was there a note beyond casual consideration in his voice? She glanced away, giddiness in her throat.
Until she remembered Evelyn took one look at her today, and saw burnt toast. She tipped her head in what she hoped was a perky manner, ignoring the answering pinch in her back. “I’m doing fine, thank you.”
“Looks like you need some new flowers for your office.” He faced the planter on the wide windowsill.
Mortified that this man oversaw an entire nursery, and she couldn’t even manage one pot of begonias, she strode over to the planter for no reason other than guilt. Glancing down, one hand bracing her spine, she noted that, thanks to Evelyn, the plants now looked merely sickly, not sickly and neglected. “I do. In fact,” she ad libbed, “I’m taking the planter home today so I can replant it.”
“Why don’t I take it? Tell me what plants you want and we’ll do it up for you.”
“Oh, ah—” Diane started to refuse his help, but she had to admit, she wasn’t carrying that planter any distance today, not with the way her back was acting up.
“It’s almost May,” Marc mused, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Isn’t that when you like pansies?”
Her heart made a little flip. He’d noticed that? “I-I do like pansies.” Her lips spread into a smile. “You wouldn’t mind taking the planter?”
“Not at all.”
“Great then,” she said. “That would be great.” Now I’ll just flutter my eyelashes, she thought.
She huffed out a breath. Standing by and doing nothing went totally against her grain. She pivoted and gripped the planter, but before she could even think about heaving it upward, her back muscles seized in a torso-long rip.
The edges of her world turned black. “OOooWOOO!” The inhuman noise that sprung from her mouth filled the confines of the large office.
Marc stepped close. ”Diane! What is it?”
“Wolves!” Leila’s son burst out from across the room. “Cantyoutellwolves?”
Marc whipped around to face the cot.
Diane inhaled a sharp, labored breath, her hands now gripping the planter for support.
Marc spun back her way. “Stop it!” He placed his own hands on either side of hers, holding the pot in place. “Don’t lift. I’ve got it.”
“I’m not lifting it right now, believe me.” Diane managed. “My back. A spasm.”
She gritted her teeth. Jack-knifed over the planter, she stared at her bedraggled begonias and focused on yoga breathing. Into the pain, then out; blow the tension away.
“Where’s it bothering you?” Behind her now, one hand steady on her waist, Marc began to rub his knuckles down her spine.
Effervescence flowed from his touch. They’d never been this physically close. He’d never touched her before.
The spasm released an infinitesimal amount.
“My son gets muscle cramps.”
She grimaced, aware he couldn’t see her expression. Here she was, unglued by
She leaned against her desk, crossing one pink-polished foot over the other in a pose she hoped looked nonchalant. “How did your program go?” At least, her voice didn’t betray her, sounding level and nurse-competent. After years of doing the presentation, no doubt Marc had it down. His support of the community was a trait she loved about him.
Loved about him? She swallowed a gulp. OMG! Once again, impersonating a girl in middle school! She blinked, steeling herself not to react to the fracas in her brain.
He returned her gaze with an easy, white-toothed smile. “Fine.” He clapped his hands together. “Great bunch this year. Makes my job a lot easier.”
Diane stared for a moment, her head a jumble of incongruent thoughts. Then her addled brain cleared. Of course, by job, he meant his presentation, not running Stafford Farms, and, a bunch of students— not bananas. She bobbed her head for him to continue.
“How about you?” He dipped his chin toward her. “How are you doing?”
Was there a note beyond casual consideration in his voice? She glanced away, giddiness in her throat.
Until she remembered Evelyn took one look at her today, and saw burnt toast. She tipped her head in what she hoped was a perky manner, ignoring the answering pinch in her back. “I’m doing fine, thank you.”
“Looks like you need some new flowers for your office.” He faced the planter on the wide windowsill.
Mortified that this man oversaw an entire nursery, and she couldn’t even manage one pot of begonias, she strode over to the planter for no reason other than guilt. Glancing down, one hand bracing her spine, she noted that, thanks to Evelyn, the plants now looked merely sickly, not sickly and neglected. “I do. In fact,” she ad libbed, “I’m taking the planter home today so I can replant it.”
“Why don’t I take it? Tell me what plants you want and we’ll do it up for you.”
“Oh, ah—” Diane started to refuse his help, but she had to admit, she wasn’t carrying that planter any distance today, not with the way her back was acting up.
“It’s almost May,” Marc mused, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Isn’t that when you like pansies?”
Her heart made a little flip. He’d noticed that? “I-I do like pansies.” Her lips spread into a smile. “You wouldn’t mind taking the planter?”
“Not at all.”
“Great then,” she said. “That would be great.” Now I’ll just flutter my eyelashes, she thought.
She huffed out a breath. Standing by and doing nothing went totally against her grain. She pivoted and gripped the planter, but before she could even think about heaving it upward, her back muscles seized in a torso-long rip.
The edges of her world turned black. “OOooWOOO!” The inhuman noise that sprung from her mouth filled the confines of the large office.
Marc stepped close. ”Diane! What is it?”
“Wolves!” Leila’s son burst out from across the room. “Cantyoutellwolves?”
Marc whipped around to face the cot.
Diane inhaled a sharp, labored breath, her hands now gripping the planter for support.
Marc spun back her way. “Stop it!” He placed his own hands on either side of hers, holding the pot in place. “Don’t lift. I’ve got it.”
“I’m not lifting it right now, believe me.” Diane managed. “My back. A spasm.”
She gritted her teeth. Jack-knifed over the planter, she stared at her bedraggled begonias and focused on yoga breathing. Into the pain, then out; blow the tension away.
“Where’s it bothering you?” Behind her now, one hand steady on her waist, Marc began to rub his knuckles down her spine.
Effervescence flowed from his touch. They’d never been this physically close. He’d never touched her before.
The spasm released an infinitesimal amount.
“My son gets muscle cramps.”
She grimaced, aware he couldn’t see her expression. Here she was, unglued by
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