Love Language (The Aristocrat Diaries 1)

Simp train, ticket for one.

Look. At. Those. Muscles.

All right, Gabriella. Settle your kettle, dear.

“How will he know?” I asked, mooching over to the slabs to have a look through them. I touched one that looked a lot like slate and a corner cracked off, falling to the ground and smashing.

I backed away from that.

Oopsie.

Miles choked back a laugh. “He grew up on a farm. What do you think he spent his life doing? Feeding chickens and shearing sheep? Farmers are jacks of all trades. He could build you a wall in his sleep if you asked him to.”

“Oh.”

Again with that.

God.

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“What makes sense?” Caleb joined us in the barn and looked around. “What do you need me for? Why are you here?” he asked Miles.

He nodded towards me. “She needs help.”

I smiled sheepishly. “Hi. Lots of it. Please. Thank you.”

Caleb chuckled. “What’s the problem?”

I explained it all to him, from beginning to end, including why I’d accidentally broken one of his slate slabs.

He laughed. A lot. “Yeah, you can. For the most part, as long as you stick to slabs that are the same depth, it won’t be too difficult. Why don’t you show me your plans?”

“Oh.”

I had to stop bloody saying that.

“My laptop is in my car, but the garden is on the other side of the public ones.” I tucked hair behind my ear. “Do you have a few?”

“Of course I do. Let’s go.”

We made a pitstop at my car for my laptop, and the three of us headed off for the garden. It took a solid half an hour for us to go through everything from the pergola to the plants to the flooring, and Caleb confirmed it would indeed be possible to lay it from the leftovers in the barn, as long as I was prepared to potentially have to buy a few extra pieces. I assured him I would set aside some money in my budget in case that happened, and after that, he left me and Miles alone so he could go back to animal duties.

“Feel better?” Miles asked me as we made our way back into the private area of the gardens after another pitstop, this time at the house so I could relieve myself of my things.

“I do, thank you.” I smiled at him. “I feel as though I can breathe a little now.”

He blew out a breath. “I don’t miss that feeling. My grandfather was a horticulturalist and helped me, but I always thought I was going to fail.”

“Really? You never mentioned it.”

“Well, like I said, I was trying not to be friends with you.” He glanced at me. “I should have known you were like a bad rash when it comes to things you want.”

“Did you just compare me to an illness?”

“Only your vigour. Not you personally.”

“They are one and the same, my good sir.” I sniffed. “I take offense to that.”

“Can’t call you a rash, can’t call you princess, can’t call you Your Ladyship… Anything I can call you besides your name?”

Your girlfriend.

Down, brain.

I forced a small laugh and shook my head. “Gabriella isn’t so bad. Gabi if you’re feeling fancy.”

“Gabi feels weird.”

“So I’m a rash and my name is weird?”

“This feels like a trap.”

“It most certainly is.”

He looked at me before he burst out laughing. “Your honesty is alarmingly refreshing. Do you always say whatever pops into your mind?”

“Not nearly as much as I should,” I mused. “I wish I could, though.”

“All right, what if I said you could?”

“Could what? Say whatever pops into my mind without having to stop myself?”

“Exactly that.” Miles reached for a gate, but I held up my hand.

“All right,” I replied. “But… not here.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s awfully forward of you.”

“Oh, be quiet!” I swatted his arm. “What if…”

No.

Could I show him?

“What if, what?”

“What if I told you,” I said softly. “That there’s a part of this garden you don’t know about?”

His brow wrinkled with a frown. “I’d tell you that you’re completely daft.”

“What if I insisted on it anyway?”

“I suppose I would humour you for my own amusement.”

I spun on my espadrilles and, clutching my hands in front of my stomach, peered back over my shoulder. “Then humour me, sir.”

“All right. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“Oh, honestly.”

He laughed, and I heard the crunch of gravel behind me as he followed me. “What is it you’re showing me?”

“A part of the garden you’ve never seen before. Did you not hear me?”

“Oh, you’re feisty when you don’t have to control yourself.”

“I’m always feisty. Aren’t you the one who pointed out that I have, and I quote, “Quite the temper?””

“That is likely to be one of the many things I’ve said about you, yes.”

I rolled my eyes and carried on, turning down a path towards the willow tree that largely obscured the entry to the secret garden. “Know where we are?”