“That must be hard though. Do you think she remembers?”
“Somewhere inside she knows Cait’s gone.” I take a deep breath and slowly release it. More tension goes out into the air. “But I’m not sure she’s able to process it.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I knew how to help, but I guess I don’t.”
I walk over and pick up some of the clippings. She watches as I toss them into the brown bag then gesture at her to keep going.
Without speaking, we start working together. She cuts and I collect, and slowly we move around the patch of unruly plants together, and for an hour, I can concentrate on nothing more important than packing clippings into a bag and watching Tara’s body move. I ease into the moment, marveling at her legs and arms and back and lips. It’s sensual, but I’m also impressed by her strength, her body lean and toned from working outdoors. I want to pin her against a wall again, but this time I’ll bite her lip and kiss her hard and make her whimper my name. I get lost in filthy thoughts like that, and for a while, we just work.
It’s strangely comfortable, though at first the silence is tense, but by the time we finish, it’s like we’ve been doing this our whole lives. I drag the full bag back to her compost heap and leave it leaning against a large wooden hutch.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, stripping off her gloves and wiping her brow. “I could’ve handled it.”
“You think I helped because I thought you needed me to?”
“If you’re trying to butter me up for marriage, that won’t work either.”
I shake my head and start walking. “I helped because I wanted to, that’s all.”
“Don’t tell me there’s no ulterior motive.”
“Not everything’s a power struggle all the time.”
“Not in this family,” she calls out as I round a bend and her little cottage disappears from sight.