Chapter 3Charlie had been expecting some sort of answer along those lines, given the dirt-scuffed trousers and the fact that the gardener had been holding a trowel when the skies opened. He was also trying not to think about the fact that his gardener—his? since when?—was maybe the most attractive person he’d ever met.
Not attractive in the way Aaron had been, not that polished calculated up-to-the-minute sleekness. No, this was the opposite: shaggy and wild and tantalizing, lean angles and high cheekbones and tempting hair, the rough edges of a beard, the grey-streaked black waves that a hair tie was failing to contain. Some water-drops still twinkled in the strands.
Aaron would’ve been horrified. Charlie couldn’t look away. Like art, like a bit of forest, tall and rough and deep-rooted
