My driving lesson went better than I expected, although I realized with some chagrin that it was mostly an exercise in amusement for Michael. We stuck to the dirt roads on the nursery property, and I was pleased that I managed not to crash into anything. However, I also found it nearly impossible to get the car into first gear.
“I can get from first to second and second to third,” I pointed out to Michael indignantly when he was doubled over with laughter after I stalled yet again.
“That’s great, but you can’t consistently get from a stand-still to first gear,” he answered, gasping still.
I made a face at him. “That’s why normal cars don’t have that extra pedal down there. Why would they make it so you have to let up on one while you press down on the other? I’m not that coordinated. I don’t think anyone is.”
“How do you explain the millions of people who successfully drive a standard transmission every day?”
“Freaks of nature,” I informed him loftily. “Anyway, I’m finished for today. It’s almost six. Shouldn’t we go help your mom with dinner?”
“She’s probably still in the greenhouse, but my dad might be starting up the grill. Let’s go see. Here, switch seats with me. I’d have you drive us down to the house, but we’d like to eat before midnight.”
I made another face at him that sent him into more shouts of laughter.
His father was indeed at the grill when we arrived at the house. Michael led me directly around to the back when he smelled the coals. Luke Sawyer was built very much like his son. His hair was blonder, and his eyes were brown, but he had the same charming smile that so captivated me in Michael. He was dressed in faded jean shorts, scruffy-looking sneakers and a t-shirt that had seen better days. He was poking at the coals in a large stainless steel tub with a thick, round stick as we approached.
“Something smells good,” Michael called.
His dad’s head jerked up in surprise, then his face relaxed into a smile.
“Hey,” he greeted us. He laid the stick across the tub, rubbed his hand across his shirt as though to wipe it off, and then extended it toward me. “I’m Luke Sawyer. You must be Tasmyn. I’m really happy to know you.”
I shook his hand and smiled, and he grinned at me in return. “Thanks, Mr. Sawyer—Luke. I’m glad to meet you, too. I had a wonderful time exploring your nursery today. It’s just awesome.”
His smile was sweet and mellow. “Thanks. We like it here, too. I hope you’ll feel welcome enough to come back anytime.” He poked his son in the ribs with his elbow. “You don’t even have to bring this one if you don’t want.”
Michael feigned offense. “Better watch it, you’ll lose your most dependable employee,” he threatened teasingly.
“Maybe we’ll trade up,” his father replied. “Tasmyn, what do you say? Are you interested in a job in horticulture? Might be cheaper to pay you than to feed him.”
I laughed. “If I learned anything today, it’s that Michael’s got it all over me when it comes to plants and trees. I am really impressed with his knowledge.”
Luke fairly beamed. “We raised them talking the talk and walking the walk. Michael has an affinity and talent for the growing end, like his mom and me. Lela takes more of an artistic bent—did you get to see the shop?”
“I did. It’s lovely.”
“And she does flower arranging, too. We’re very proud of both of our offspring,” Luke told me, hugging his son around the shoulders.
“Okay, enough of the sweet talk,” Michael laughed. “Are the coals ready? Can we bring out the meat?”
“I have strict instructions from your mom not to put Tasmyn to work. She told me that you’re to show her the house, get her something to drink and sit out on the deck until dinner is ready.”
“Oh, no,” I protested. “Really, I don’t mind helping at all.”
“Hey, when Marly gives me an order, I don’t second-guess it. Go show her around,” he told Michael. “I’ll see you out here when you’re done.”
The Sawyers’ home reminded me of the family themselves: Straightforward and welcoming. We went in through the back deck, entering a warm and open living room. The furniture was soft, in muted brown tones, with splashes of bright color coming from knit blankets and afghans tossed casually over the back of chairs and couches. The rounded coffee table in the center of the room was covered in magazines and books.
A hallway led off the living room, and Michael led me toward it. “This is my parents’ office,” he said, throwing open a door. “You can see their organizational styles are a little different.” One side of the room was neat, with hanging folders, a bulletin board and shelves. On the other side, the desk was covered with papers, magazines and pictures, spilling over onto the chair.
“Believe it or not, my dad is the organized one,” Michael chuckled. We moved down the hall, and Michael pointed out the bathroom, his parents’ room and his sister’s room.
“What about you?” I teased. “Do they make you sleep in the garage?”
He grinned. “Nah, actually I have the best room in the house. Come on.”
Pulling me by the hand, he led me back out through the living room to a set of stairs that I hadn’t noticed before. They opened to a huge loft, with a high, beamed ceiling and wide windows. A simple bed stood in the corner, and along the wall were a dresser and wardrobe. The floor was hardwood, with a few throw rugs scattered here and there. There was a desk in the corner opposite the bed, and a worn-looking sofa and chair were nestled on the far side of the room.
“It’s amazing… how did you score such a great room?” I marveled. “I’m surprised your sister didn’t want it—or did she?”
Michael laughed. “No, she didn’t want it. First, there’s really no privacy to speak of up here, and I guess girls like to be able to close a door. It doesn’t matter to me because no one comes up here anyway, and my parents have always respected my need to be alone sometimes. And second, there’s no closet in here—and Lela likes a good closet. So this has always been my space.”
“Have you lived here all your life?” I asked, looking out the windows at the view below.
“No, when my parents first came here, they had a little house not too far away. That’s where they lived when Lela and I were born. But when they acquired the additional property, they decided it made more sense to live on-site, and they used some of the extra space to build what they always wanted—a log cabin. We moved in when I was in second grade.”
“A second-grade boy would love all this space,” I mused.
“You know it. At one point I had a hockey net and basketball hoop set up in here. My mom hated it, because of the noise it made downstairs, but she let me do it anyway.” He smiled, remembering. “My parents have always been pretty tolerant and supportive.”
“I guess so!” I laughed. Michael was looking at me steadily. “What?” I asked, mystified. “Why are you staring?”
“I was just thinking that this is one of those situations I have to beware of,” he admitted. “The most beautiful girl in the world, the only one I love, alone with me in my bedroom… well, it’s dangerous.”
I felt my face heat. “Then maybe we should move along downstairs. Didn’t I hear your dad say something about a cool drink on the porch? That sounds like heaven.”
He rolled his eyes at me, and then laughed in resignation. “You’re right, of course,” he assured me, taking my hand and twining our fingers. “Doesn’t make it any easier, but you’re still right. Let’s find you that drink.”