Love Language (The Aristocrat Diaries 1)

I simply had no idea what to bloody well do with it.

It seemed like such a huge area when I looked at it in person. It was dauntingly large, and as I stood in the middle and looked up, spinning in a circle, I realised I was completely and utterly lost.

I was in over my head.

Over my head.

I paused, holding out one hand. Over my head. Could I have a pergola erected here? It would offer both shade to families with young children or the elderly and we could grow climbers up it. Was that an option?

Of course it was an option.

Everything was an option.

I sat cross-legged on the cold slabs and opened the grid paper. I’d already marked the area out with the measurements to scale, and that made it relatively easy for me to guess approximately where the pergola could go. Ideally, I wanted the posts of the pergola to come from the flowerbeds where the climbing plants could get enough nutrients, but I didn’t know if that was feasible.

If not, how did I make it so?

I tapped the end of my pencil against the pad of paper. Planters, maybe? But would they restrict access?

That was another thing. We strived to ensure the gardens were as accessible as possible for people who had mobility issues, whether that was including ramps with steps or adding extra benches. The last thing I wanted was to design a space that not everybody could access.

Hmm.

I was in a right pickle.

A huge clanging noise came from somewhere on the other side of the fence, and I started. What on Earth was that? Had the aliens finally found a landing place? Was it on top of one of our sheds?

What was going on?

I dropped the pad and pencil and went in search of answers. I didn’t have to look far to find the culprit.

“Bollocks to it!” Miles said, escaping out of the shed as a tower of plant pots fell from the shelf and almost hit him. “Bloody pots everywhere!”

I hesitated, hovering by the gate. Should I offer help? Did he need my help? Was I pushing my luck with conversation if I tried again today?

“Bloody hell!” He kicked a pot away from his foot, and I bit the side of my lip.

I was desperately trying not to laugh at him—he looked ridiculous batting away various plant pots, but there was something exceptionally funny about seeing him kick one away from his boot.

“Need a hand?” I asked after a moment.

He looked up at me. “You again.”

“Me again,” I replied brightly, doing my best to ignore his surliness. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear the ghastly noise of you being assaulted by what I thought was an alien invasion. Turned out it was plastic plant pots.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something before he changed his mind and held up his hand. “Did your aunt organise this shed?”

“Likely.”

“Does she know how to organise anything but utter chaos?”

“Unlikely,” I replied. “She is the embodiment of chaos, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“There are beings in other solar systems who have noticed,” he muttered, turning around and picking up a stack of pots that had fallen over. “What are you doing over here? You’re not usually this far away from the house.”

“I spoke to my father,” I said, shuffling. “We made a deal, and I’m trying to hold up my end and win. Do you need help?”

“No. The shed needs organising before anyone can do anything in it.” He brushed his hand over the top of his head, removing an errant cobweb from it. “What deal did you make?”

I quickly explained the conversation we’d had. “Problem is, I need to send my plan to my tutor within forty-eight hours, and I’m struggling with my vision.”

Miles grunted. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”

Oh.

Could he—

No. He wouldn’t help me, would he?

He tilted his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Could I run my idea past you? See if you think it works?”

“I have work to do.”

“I know, and if you don’t get it done, I’ll cover for you.” I meant it, too. “I promise. If I set you back, I’ll do whatever you want me to do to get you caught up.”

“After you’ve turned in your assignment.”

“Of course.”

“That doesn’t work for me.”

“Please? Five minutes?”

He was softening.

“I’ll leave you alone!” I promised. “Please? I’ll even tidy that shed. Sort all the pots out. Organise seeds. I’ll weed for you.”

His tongue wet his lips. “I’m not falling for that. You like weeding.”

Darn it. “But you don’t. Please? Just five minutes.”

Miles sighed, once again running his hand through his hair. “Five minutes. I’m timing you, and if anyone asks where I am, I’m blaming you.”

“Absolutely fair.” I waved for him to follow me to the area I was working on.