HALF AN HOUR LATER, to the rear of Mitch’s apartment, a mass of string and pea canes mark the layout for water supply, drainage, and power cables.
“Here?” I prop my latest cane upright on the ‘lawn’, actually a bramble patch cut, slashed and macheted down to ground level.
Mitch angles her hand. “A bit to the left. Otherwise, the fountain will be too close to the tree.”
Fountain?
Nice idea though...
My phone bleeps. Incoming message. As I read it, “Um, you’ll have to excuse me for a while, Mitch. Charlotte wants me.”
Her mouth twitches. “Of course.”
Walking away, I keep the smile off my face, but can’t help the way the heat blooms inside at Charlotte’s message: a single word.
Now.
I know what that means.
Can it really be that accurate?
I don’t know, but I’m not about to argue. I
