The baron was an indecisive man, Waverly realized—at least, when it came to plants. She hadn't observed how he acted around the rest of his staff to be completely certain, but that was the impression he gave off.

But now, watching him stare at the flowers of a young rhododendron, she wondered if there was something more to his reticence. A memory from childhood, perhaps? She didn't know anything about his personal life, except his father was dead and he didn't have a wife or girlfriend. Maybe his father died in a garden like in the Netflix show Bridgerton or there was some other traumatic experience associated with flowers?

No, if that was the case, he wouldn't have wanted one in the first place. And he clearly wasn't afraid of plants.

Maybe he was just used to people making decisions for him. That tracked with the nobility.

And rich kids, in general.

Waverly walked around the small selection of rhododendrons, admiring their pink and deep mauve flowers. "Do you like it?" she asked cautiously, steeling herself for yet another indecisive answer.

Baron Francis's eyes met hers. Waverly froze, caught up in the blue of his gaze. They were simply the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen and she never once thought of anything on a man as "beautiful".

Oh, boy, she thought, drawing back. Don't go there. Nope.

Thankfully, the baron's attention shifted to the blossoms, breaking eye contact. "I do," he said, nodding with approval. "They are lovely."

Waverly breathed a sigh of relief. "Excellent." She gently touched a branch, extending her senses; the rhododendron responded, letting her know it was healthy and strong. Smiling, Waverly picked up the pot. "I think four should suffice, one for each section. They'll grow five to seven feet tall and almost twice that wide once they're mature." In her vision for the garden, she had the rhododendrons sitting in the four corners with flowers packed in all around. It wouldn't be that much to start, but in a few years—and with a little help from her small magic—they'd fill in and look positively magnificent.

"That big?"

"Yup." Waverly replied with a grin. She set the last pot on the cart, dusted off her hands, and grabbed the handle, ready to move on to the next section.

"That looks heavy," the baron remarked, eying the cart. "Would you like me to push?"

Well, that was unexpected. "Sure," she replied, stepping aside. If he wanted to push, go right ahead. She wasn't going to say "no" just because he was a baron and her employer.

"Where to?"

Waverly glanced around and pointed. "Ah—there. Camellias." The baron dutifully wheeled the cart in the appropriate direction. Waverly squatted down beside a sapling and touched its glossy, serrated leaves. "Now, these and the magnolias over there will mature at around sixty feet—or," she flipped over the tag, "twenty meters tall. I wouldn't recommend putting them in the main garden because they'll completely overshadow everything in ten to fifteen years, but if you like them, I'd suggest lining the driveway or creating a grove."

Baron Francis squatted down by one of the saplings and looked at the tag. "These look similar," he said, nodding at the rhododendrons.

Both flowers had a rosy pink hue, but rhododendrons bloomed in clusters whereas camellias did not. But Waverly knew from experience to keep things simple. "Then how about magnolias?" she suggested, going over and grabbing a pot to place down beside the camellia. "See the way the flower is star-shaped in comparison to both the rhododendron and camellia?" She ran a fingertip over the edge of one blossom, pointing out the white petals and red center.

The baron's brow furrowed in thought. "It is quite elegant," he observed, cupping a flower between his fingers. "But I think I'll hold off on planting additional trees until I decide what I want to do with the rest of the land."

Waverly nodded. "Fair enough." She stood up and looked around. "Is there anything else here that you want to check out or shall we move on to the flowers?"

"We can move on."

Their next stop was the roses. They weren't on the list from Sandringham, but who didn't love roses? Her grandparents had a magnificent peach-colored Floribunda bush that they uprooted from their home in Brighton and planted in their new backyard. A cutting from the original bush had been given to Waverly's parents upon their wedding and continued to thrive in their garden in Agawam.

Waverly meandered around the pots while Baron Francis waited nearby with the cart. She had no real preference when it came to roses, but whatever she picked had to be hardy and a good producer. "Pernetiana, Pink Fairy, Gene Boerner, Pink Flamingo," she murmured, stopping to read each tag, "Queen Mary ..."

"Queen Mary?"

Waverly paused and straightened, looking up at the baron. He had this rather strange look on his face as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Are you all right?" she asked, carefully picking her way across the sea of roses. "You look ..." She gestured helplessly at his expression.

The baron blinked, then coughed into his fist. "I, uh, I haven't heard that name in a long time," he admitted, brushing back his hair with quick, nervous flicks of his fingers. "My, uh, mother—she liked those roses." As he spoke, the shock faded into what Waverly could only describe as sadness.

Maybe she was wrong, she thought, coming to a stop in front of Baron Francis. Maybe it wasn't noble indifference, but a memory, that was causing him to be indecisive. "Is she gone, too?" she asked carefully.

Slowly, the baron nodded.

Poor guy, Waverly thought. He couldn't be that much older than her. To have lost both parents at such a young age? Well, it was unimaginable what he might be going through. "I'm sorry," Waverly told him sincerely. "We can move on if these make you uncomfortable." She reached for the cart, but the baron placed a staying hand on the handle, right next to hers.

"No. I'd like some of those, please. As many as you think will work in the garden."

Waverly paused and looked up at him. "The Queen Mary roses?"

"Yes."

A slow smile spread across her face. Now they were getting somewhere. "We can do that."

They ended up getting eight Queen Mary rose bushes—four white, four pale pink. The cart sagged somewhat, but the baron pushed it as easily as if it were empty. Waverly had to make a concerted effort to not stare at his arms as he maneuvered the cart through the nursery.

Once they moved on from the roses, the baron suddenly became interested in everything Waverly had to show him. He listened as she described her vision and showed him the flowers, ornamental ferns, and grasses that she had described earlier and even made suggestions himself.

In all, they were at the nursery until noon and made a dozen trips to the cashier. They ended up walking out with not only the rhododendrons and Queen Mary roses, but snowdrops, daffodils, bluebells, English lavender, hollyhocks, wisterias, dahlias, peonies, hibiscus, and cosmos, along with several varieties of Pampas grass and ferns. The baron spent so much money that the nursery's very grateful owner collected half a dozen employees to help load everything onto the truck.

Exhausted and sweaty, but pleased with their progress, Waverly slid onto the truck's ragged seat and started the engine, cranking on the shoddy AC. She turned her head and grinned as the baron hopped inside. "Well, I think we made quite a bit of progress today, huh?"

"I agree," he replied with a small smile.

"Is the AC too much?" she asked, turning the dial all the way to the right and angling the vents. Warm air blew across her face, curling the strands of hair that escaped her high ponytail. "I can turn it down." Please don't make me turn it down, she silently pleaded.

Baron Francis chuckled softly. "No, it's fine."

For a man who had pushed a cart for four straight hours under an increasingly-warm sun, he looked remarkably fresh. Not a bead of sweat on that aristocratic brow.

Waverly eyed him. "I apologize for getting personal, but how are you not sweating? Tell me your secret, please."

"Then it wouldn't be a secret now, would it?" he replied with a smile, one that made Waverly think dangerous thoughts.

Hot damn, Waverly cursed, reaching over to fiddle with the vents. Now she needed the AC for another reason.

After Emil's betrayal, Waverly hadn't wanted to jump right back into the dating scene. Despite what Nana—and her mother—thought, she figured she'd give herself a year or two and just enjoy being alone. Recharge her relationship batteries, if you will.

Being set up with Aidan and having that encounter with Dean didn't make her feel any better about men. But here she was, sitting in a questionable rented moving truck with an honest-to-God English baron—a man who had classically handsome looks and arms that did strange and wonderful things to her brain.

Thankfully, her stomach took the opportunity to rumble and interrupt her ruminations. "Are you hungry?" she asked, putting the truck in reverse and checking the mirrors. "Because I sure am." Hungry for food, hungry for—

Stop it, she chastised herself firmly. The air couldn't get cold faster.

Baron Francis checked his watch. "Is it that late already? Hm, well, yes, I could go for lunch."

"Cool. We can stop at a drive-through on the way back. I'll buy since you already spent a ton of money today." Honestly, it was the highest transaction she'd ever seen in all her years in horticulture.

He cocked his head. "Are you certain? I don't mind paying."

"No, I insist."

"Very well," he replied, pulling on his seatbelt.

God, she almost preferred him when he was aloof and indifferent. Now he was turning into someone she not only found physically attractive but personality-wise as well.

Slowly, carefully, Waverly began to back the truck up as a welcome blast of cold air shot through the vents. Finally.