“You can’t hide forever.”
“I don’t intend to. I was in a bad place before I went to the clinic. I wasn’t even angry anymore, just numb. When I visited those sick kids at the children’s hospital, I felt—ashamed. There has to be more to this existence than I’ve seen.”
“You chose a strange neighborhood to look for the meaning of life. I was almost mugged right outside your door.”
Eric looked Reggie over. “Is that my watch?”
Reggie pushed his sleeve back, revealing a Louis Moinet Magistralis watch—an $800,000-plus gift from his father. Eric had never worn it, anyway. “Yeah. I use it to keep the time while driving your McLaren.”
The admission didn’t bother Eric. “Keep both, but it’s probably safer if you don’t bring either here.”
Reggie stood. “Good point, but no thanks. It would take all the fun out of borrowing them. I might even give my title back. I admit it was cool to be knighted by the king of Vandorra, but it’s too much responsibility. They invite me and my wife to events now. I can’t sit around in one of your tuxes and talk to old, rich people all day. I have too much shit to do.”
“Like that surprise you’re making for me.”
“You’re going to fucking love it.”
Eric laughed. Reggie was one of a kind—tall and pale with dark hair and the stare of a creepy extra in a movie. His official title was house electrician for the sprawling estate Eric owned in London, but Reggie stepped in and helped whenever he saw the need. He made sure everyone was paid and that Eric’s estate ran smoothly. He was also one of the few people Eric trusted.
Eric shook Reggie’s hand. “Thanks for covering for me.”
Reggie nodded, then wagged a finger at Eric’s marred face. “Hey, can you get laid like that?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t put much thought into it.” An image of the plant lady from the coffee shop came back to him with disconcerting clarity. She’d been curved in all the right lush places. Absolutely batshit crazy, but fuckable at the same time. Not that it mattered, since he had no intention of seeing her again. He was reasonably certain neither she nor her friend had recognized him, but they’d already taken a photo of him, and he wasn’t about to give them a reason to share it.
“That’s the first thing I would have asked myself. I guess you could get creative, though. Lights off. No hands. I’ll experiment with Alice and get back to you with some tips.”
“Not necessary.”
“No trouble. We’ve been together long enough we need to shake things up now and then. She might even get a kick out of putting makeup on me.”
“’Bye, Reggie.”
“I’ll be back next week to check on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Can I use your jet?”
“No.”
Reggie walked to the door and shrugged. “How about the yacht?”
“No.”
“Great. I’ll only tell you if I dent something.” With that, Reggie slipped out the door and closed it behind him.
Alone again, Eric returned to the mirror. Slowly, using a special cream and expertise that came from years of experience in theater, he peeled off the scar.
I really am a fucking mess.
Who am I to judge a woman for thinking she can talk to vegetation?
Her words came back to him: “It’s a scientific fact that plants are good for people.” He took her card out of his pocket and placed it on the carpet of his bedroom, focusing on it as he did push-ups.
Without fame, money, or the face my fans call perfect, could I get laid?
God, I want to fuck someone who doesn’t know me—who wants nothing from me.
For that kind of sex, I could tolerate a little crazy.
Chapter Two
He’ll be here. No one comes to the same coffee shop every day, then stops just because someone takes a photo of them.
I did also chase him down and tell him I talk to plants, but most people find that intriguing rather than off-putting.
Sage sipped her coffee and tried to occupy herself by reading the news on her phone. It was never good, but she wanted to stay informed even if it always left her wishing she could do more. It also made her miss her grandmother.
Sixteen years ago, her death had shaken Sage and contributed to the ugliness of her parents’ divorce. Her father, English by birth, had relocated to the United States and started his own import business. He’d done well and married an American model. As a child, Sage had traveled extensively—and considered home wherever her nannies were. She had fond memories of her grandmother, although so many of them had faded over time.
The death of her grandmother had brought her family to a whole new level of wealth, and Sage’s mother had decided to leave with her fair share of it. Still reeling from the loss of her grandmother, Sage had spiraled out of control while her parents used her as a bargaining chip. They both decided she wasn’t worth it, compromised, and sent her off to boarding school.
At first, Sage had been convinced one of her parents would wake up and come for her. Family had to be about more than social status and luxuries. People didn’t just give up and walk away from the ones they loved. Her parents didn’t come, though, and Sage withdrew from her classmates and teachers. She’d felt lost and adrift, alone and scared. What could possibly matter when she knew she didn’t?
She might have turned to drugs or alcohol, as many there did, if not for a garden renovation project her dorm mother convinced her to participate in. It was there that she’d discovered how connected every living organism was and how good contributing felt.
Bella’s British parents were still married at the time, but both were so busy they had no time for her. Like Sage, she had lived everywhere and nowhere.
Unlike Sage, Bella had been dragged into the garden project as community service for repeatedly skipping classes. She and Sage hit it off from the first day they met and had been each other’s family since.
Bella pushed Sage to speak up for herself. Sage showed Bella all the reasons she still had to be happy. Sage’s secondary career had taken root during those early school days. A new student, Kim Bradley, had arrived at the school and quickly landed in disciplinary probation for acting out in class. Sage and Bella were asked to befriend the girl. Her parents had died in a boating accident, and her uncle thought the school would be the best place for her. Helping Kim heal and fit in inspired Sage to reach out to another troubled student, then another. And her gift—or curse, as Bella jokingly called it at times—blossomed.
Sage’s cell phone ringing brought her back to the present. “Hi, Dad.”
“Miranda will be in London tomorrow. She wants to take you shopping.”
“I don’t need anything, but I could do lunch—”
“Don’t talk to her about your mother.”
“I would never.”
“Or Sylvia.”
“Why would I—”
“Or Caroline.”
“Dad. I get it. I’ll pretend she’s your first wife instead of your fourth.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone, Sage.”
Breathe. “Will you be in London as well? I’d love to see you.”
“You know I can’t get away right now. Just give me your assurance that you won’t do anything to upset Miranda.”
“What is it you’re afraid I’ll do?”
“Caroline and I were fine before she went out to visit you.”
“Oh my God, Dad, she was fucking her makeup guy and bragged about it in front of me. Should I not have mentioned that? Because I thought that was something you’d want to know.”
“It was none of your business, Sage. Marriage is complicated. You’re not a child anymore. You need to learn to keep your mouth shut.”
Sage threw one hand up in the air. “Fine. I won’t tell you even if I find out Miranda’s hosting an orgy on your dollar.”
Her father sighed. “I can’t deal with you right now. I’ll tell Miranda you??
?re traveling.”
“You don’t have to lie to her, Dad. I can—”
“It’s probably for the best. She already thinks you should be involuntarily committed for your own protection. I thought shopping together might help the two of you bond.”
“Hold on. I’m trying to wrap my head around this conversation. Why the hell would she think I need to be committed?”
“Let’s not have this conversation again. You know how I feel about your lifestyle.”
“My lifestyle? You mean the one where I work a job, pay my own bills, and never ask you for anything?”
“You’ve always been odd, Sage. I’m getting tired of trying to explain you. Is this the year you spend the holidays with your mother?”
Since it was still summer, it would be difficult for her father to claim he already knew he’d be too busy to see her. I’m an adult. These are no longer visitations. It’s just—just that I want to see him. “No, that was last year.”
“We’ll figure something out. I’m late for a meeting.”
“If you don’t want me to come, Dad—” Sage would have said more, but her father had hung up. She took several deep breaths. Don’t let him do this. It only hurts if you let it.
Feeling calmer, she looked around and met the brooding eyes of the man she’d been waiting for. He was watching her from several tables away. Had he been there all along? How much had he heard?
Her face flushed as she remembered how he’d warned her off the day before. Would acknowledging him send him scurrying away? She decided to risk it and waved at him once.
He didn’t wave back.
Instead, he stood up and threw his coffee in the trash. Sage forced herself to look away. Her grandmother used to say every action a person made needed to come from love, because it made the world either a better or worse place. Her parents had thought she was crazy, too.
“Why did your friend take a picture of me?”
Startled, Sage nearly knocked over her coffee. The man was standing beside her table, blocking her view of everything beyond him. Her body came alive. From his perfectly shaped lips to his T-shirt stretching over his biceps and broad chest, Sage doubted there was a woman alive who wouldn’t find it difficult to remain composed around him. He oozed virility. She wondered if he was self-conscious about his scar. There was no need to be. He would have been too perfect without it, the kind of unflawed Hollywood idol few women would dare approach. The scar gave him a realness, a depth Sage couldn’t resist. “She thought you might be dangerous. Are you?”
One corner of his mouth curled. “I suppose that depends on your definition. I’m pretty fucked-up.”
Maintaining eye contact, Sage asked, “Do you hurt people?”
“I’ve been known to disappoint my share.”
“Me too,” Sage said. “Some to the point where they think I require professional help.”
“You may.”
Ouch. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Come for a walk with me.”
“Now?”
“You have somewhere you need to be?”
“No. It’s a slow week.” She stood. “I’d love to.” She disposed of her cup, picked up her purse, then stepped outside the shop with him. They walked side by side on the busy sidewalk without speaking. Finally, Sage asked, “Your accent is American. Have you lived in London long?”
He stopped and looked down at her with that somber expression of his. “I don’t want to talk.”
“Oooo-kay.” She ran a hand through her long hair as she tried to discern his mood. “Not even your name?”
Another long, measured look as if he didn’t want to disclose that, either. Finally, he said, “Wayne Easton.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Wayne.” Sage started down the sidewalk again, and he fell into step beside her. There were a thousand things she wanted to ask him, but helping people meant valuing each person and their experience. He was telling her what he needed. Someone or something had hurt this man, and he wasn’t ready to share his story yet. One day he would be. If there was anything plants could teach people, it was patience. No flower bloomed before it was ready, no matter how much a person wanted it to.
Their walk took them to Leicester Square, where they both paused to watch a young girl laugh and play in the spouts of water at the base of a fountain. She looked to be about four or five and was running barefoot back and forth with such joy on her face Sage couldn’t help but smile along. She glanced at Wayne. Sadness filled his expression as he watched the young girl.
“The theater district is one of my favorite areas,” Sage said. “It has an invigorating energy. So much talent. So many possibilities. If I could, I would talk to everyone here.”
“Why?”
Sage waved at the people rushing past as well as the ones grouped in circles. “Aren’t you curious about their stories? Are they students? Actors? Is this their first visit, or are they locals? What do they see when they look around?”
“I doubt anything past their cell phones.”
“That’s true for some—more concerned about the selfie they’ll share than the history of the square. There are others, though, who are savoring this.” She pointed to a couple on a nearby bench who were watching the little girl dance in the water. “I bet they saved up to come here and they don’t want to miss a single moment of it.”
“How do you know they don’t live around the corner?”
Had Bella asked her that question, Sage might have joked that it was her gift to know, but the reality was that people were not really that difficult to figure out. “She is clutching her purse like a tourist, and he has his wallet in his front pocket. People don’t tend to do that in their hometown. There’s something wrong, though. They’re too serious. This isn’t a simple vacation for them.”
Wayne looked at her with a good amount of skepticism.
“Look closer,” she urged. “He’s comforting her.”
Wayne turned his attention back to the couple. His eyebrows rose and fell as if he were mildly impressed. “You’re very observant.”
Sage shrugged. “I like people. I hate to see them upset. Let’s make them smile.” Not waiting for him to answer, she grabbed his forearm to take him with her. Touching him felt right. She couldn’t explain it; there were a great many things in life she didn’t understand, but she refused to let that stop her. She dragged him out of the small park that surrounded the fountain and across the busy street.
“Are you buying them a plant?” he asked as they approached a florist shop.
Sage pulled him past it. “Who gets a plant on vacation? It’s unlikely they could take it home with them. No, this calls for something a little different.” She let his arm go when they arrived at the party store that was a few doors down. Minutes—and a hundred pounds—later, Sage exited the store with a still-grave Wayne. She led him back to the middle of the square, this time off to the side, where they could watch without being part of the scene.
As requested, a clerk from the party store appeared with a large bunch of balloons. She announced it was a promotional giveaway, one balloon per child. A group of children instantly surrounded the woman. She asked them to line up from shortest to tallest. The little girl who had been dancing in the fountain rushed to ask her parents if she could have one. They walked her over to join the line. Sage’s joy spilled over for the little girl and her mother, who was still clutching her purse like a tourist. Her reward was how happy the couple and child looked as they walked away.
“It won’t fix whatever they’re dealing with, but I’d like to think they’ll leave London with at least one good memory now,” Sage said, happy with herself until she looked at Wayne.
He was scowling at the departing couple, then the line of children that remained.
Sage couldn’t help herself. She asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t like kids.”
He shook his head, but she wasn’t sure
if that was confirmation that she was correct in her assessment or completely misreading his response.
Some might have given up and walked away from the sour-looking man, but seeing him like this only made her more determined to discover the root of his problem. “I have an idea. Let’s see a show.”
“No.”
She threw his earlier question back at him. “You have somewhere you need to be?”
He glared at her rather than answering.
She remembered being that angry with the world once. More than one teacher had given up on her, but thankfully, her dorm mother hadn’t. Giving up on people was an easy, but lonely, choice. “I’ll take that as a no. So, let’s catch a matinee. We can buy last-minute tickets right across the street.”
“I can’t do this.” Looking as unhappy as he had earlier, he started to walk away.
“Because you don’t like live theater?” she asked as she trotted after him. “I don’t believe that. You wouldn’t come to this district every day if that were true.”
He stopped and bit out his answer without turning toward her. “I don’t need to explain how I feel about anything.”
Sage raised her hands in concession. “You’re right.”
“It is none of your business where I go or what I do.”
“I completely agree.”
His head snapped in her direction. “Are you capable of silence?”
Sage put a hand on one hip and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Now you’re getting rude. I’m not the one who suggested this walk, so you can stop scowling at me. I didn’t do whatever it is that has you so angry, and I refuse to let you ruin my good mood.” He stood there, holding her gaze for long enough that her confidence wavered. Was there a chance he couldn’t afford the ticket and was too embarrassed to admit it? She hated the idea that she might have put him in that position. “The tickets would be my treat.”
“Why would you offer me anything? I’m so rude.”
Since you asked. “You know all those people you think you’ve disappointed? I’m not one of them. Not yet. Consider me a clean-slate friend.”