He broke the hold. “I really should get back to work.” He took a step away.
“Why are you here? You don’t seem like a...” Elise realized she was putting her foot in her mouth. “I mean... Your English. It’s so good, but I mean...”
“It’s all right. I understand. At home in Mexico, I teach Spanish to English people. I need to speak the language well.”
“And you know about plants, right?”
“I do. I studied botany. My brother thinks it’s a useless subject to know.”
“My family feels that too! My degree is in Fine Arts. Try to get a job in that!” They smiled at each other.
“I don’t mean to be an elitist, but if you have a degree and a job, why are you here?” She raised her hand to indicate the garden. “Doing this?”
“I must reveal my secret. I got into trouble at home and my big brother rescued me. Got me out of the country and gave me a job.”
“Oh. Trouble as in drugs?”
“I wish. Then I’d be rich. Maybe dead, but rich.”
Elise laughed.
“I’m sure you have other things to do than listen to a gardener’s life story.”
“No, I can’t say that I do. My husband wants me to cook some exotic dishes for his clients. But all of them just want beef. And lots of it. So no, I don’t really have anything else to do. What kind of flowers are those?”
“Peonies. Paeonia california. And those over there are Paeonia corsica.”
“Wow. I’m impressed. And based on my little garden here, I think your degree is quite useful.”
“Thank you. I was hoping you’d like it.”
His eyes really were extraordinary. “I should have studied domestic management.”
“And I wish I’d learned how to get a wheelbarrow loaded with a hundred-and-fifty-pound dogwood up a hill. First time I tried it, the thing fell out twice.”
“And you picked it up and put it back in?”
“You can bet Diego wasn’t going to help me. He—”
“Alejandro!” It was Diego—and his tone was a command.
“My brother wants me to get back to work. I have to go.”
She frantically searched for something to say that would ensure that they’d talk again. “If I take Spanish lessons, will you help me?”
He was walking backward. “Yes. Most of my clients were women. Bored wives of rich men. Like your friend Tara. They were the problem.”
“Oh, I see. And she’s not my friend.” Her head came up. “I guess I’m like them.” She couldn’t keep the deflation out of her voice.
“You are far away from being like any of them.” The way he said it was so nice that she smiled.
“Alejandro!” Diego bellowed.
“I’m in trouble now. To ma?nana.”
Smiling, she watched him walk away until he was out of sight.
Chapter Eight