She’s right, but when I look back up at the images, instead of feeling better, I feel worse. I’m almost overwhelmed with the memories as they flood in…
Chapter Six
VERONICA
Three Years Ago—Bellvue Farm
“Come here,” Spencer says seductively as he reaches out for me. “I want to show you something, Bomb.”
I place my hand in his as he holds the screen door open for me. I walk through and we descend down the front steps of the old farmhouse and start walking across the grass. We’ve only been dating a week, and even though I’ve been at his house almost every day, we’ve never been back in the shop.
But that’s where he takes me now, and it’s got my stomach all twisted up. Not because I’m nervous or anything. It’s because I’m half a step behind him, so every few paces, his head turns and he flashes me this oh so f**king sexy grin. It even comes with a twinkle.
A few paces on he does it again, like he’s a boy with a secret. And while I might not know exactly what that secret is, I do know what it’s about. Sex.
Because Spencer f**king Shrike is nothing but sex. One hundred percent sex, one hundred percent of the time.
“Are you nervous, Bombshell?”
“No,” I lie.
He chuckles as we reach the shop door. “Maybe you should be?” He stops here and pulls my face to his, his lips gently caressing mine for a second, then his tongue takes over and I almost melt right there in the driveway. I even have a flash of concern that I’ll fall and skin my knees on the gravel.
But then his strong arms wrap me up and hold me steady as he whispers in my ear. “I want to show you something, OK?”
I nod, because I lose all control around him. I’d agree to just about anything.
“You ready?”
“Yes,” I whisper back.
He smiles and opens the door, waving me in.
I look around expectantly, waiting for something to happen, or at the very least for something to be different. But it looks the same as it did last week. Bikes. Some complete, like the Blackbird. Some in process, like the knockoff of the Blackbird he’s building as his first custom Shrike Bike.
It smells like a garage, like all garages smell. It smells like home to me, because my gramps, my dad, and all my brothers are bike mechanics as well as tattoo artists.
Spencer closes the door quietly and then tugs me off towards a dark hallway off to the left. “This way, Bomb. I’ve got a surprise.”
My stomach flips again. “What kind of surprise?” I ask, more curious than afraid. But I am a little bit afraid. It’s dark in this hallway.
He stops at a door. “You’ll see, baby.” And then he takes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door, opening it wide enough for me to step through.
And I see the very last thing I ever expected to see.
On the far side of this drab prefabricated shop building is… something breathtakingly beautiful. A large glass-walled atrium filled with trees and plants, the air sweet with well-cultivated earth, young trees, and sunlight.
I walk forward into the room. “What’s this?” I ask, astonished, twirling in place for a moment, trying to get a three-sixty view of the place. “It’s like a greenhouse.”
“It is a greenhouse. Only… a fancy kind. I told you this was my gran’s place until I inherited it.” Spencer stops to take a deep breath. “My gran was a botanist before she married my gramps. He died a long time ago, left her a bunch of money. They lived down in Denver, in the house I grew up in. And after he died my gran came up here to the farm and dedicated her life to plants.”
When he looks back at me I’m smiling as I picture this. Our relationship is so new, I have no history on him yet. I know he’s the heir to Shrike Bikes. I know he was in some trouble last spring and he got kicked out of the University of Denver, that’s why he transferred up to CSU as a senior. I know he’s hot. He’s a bit on the controlling caveman side, and he’s a spectacular lover.
I look up at the dome ceiling and I’m blown.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he asks, as he leads me to the center of the atrium, right underneath the geometric panes of glass that allow the sunlight to filter through and cover the ground in amazing patterns.
“What’s weird?” I ask, only half able to pay attention to his words.
“Dedicating your life to plants.”
This makes me look at him. “Is it? She must’ve loved plants, though, right? Like you love bikes and I love…” His eyes search mine for a few seconds and I’m suddenly completely off balance. I want to say art, but my mind says you.
He drops my hand and reaches out to touch the leaf on a nearby sapling. There are no fully mature trees in here, it’s far too small to house them. But there are plenty of young trees. Some almost as tall as the ceiling, which would be about twenty feet if I guess correctly. And one tree that is bigger than the rest, right in the center of the place, surrounded by the most perfect sea of grass I’ve ever seen.
“Aesculus glabra,” he says in a whisper.
I smile. Because seriously—Latin? This man is nothing but surprises. “What’s that mean?” I ask, mimicking his low voice.
“Ohio Buckeye.” He chuckles.
I study the trees more closely now, looking to see if they’re all the same. “They’re all buckeyes?” He nods. They have buckeye trees outside the student center on campus. That’s how I even know about these trees. “This one is too big to be in here,” I say as my eyes find the tallest tree and then travel all the way up to the ceiling where the branches are reaching for the sun. “What happens when it outgrows this room?”