Authors: Dianne Venetta
“You have a good eye.” He flipped his full attention back to her. “It’s perfectly in line with the character of the Gables and what makes this city unique, right along with Coconut Grove.” He shot his thumb upward. “And that balcony is phenomenal.” Jackson smiled, clearly impressed.
“Yes,” she said, taken aback by the extent of his enthusiasm. “It’s one of the reasons I purchased the home. The balcony and courtyard here are what sold me.” Sequestered behind another four-foot wall, capped with a single row of roof tile, the small courtyard acted as an outdoor foyer, adding more privacy and charm. Coral Gables was the only place she could ever imagine calling home. She grew up here, three blocks over.
“I agree,” he said. “They really make a statement. You have good taste.”
Her pulse skittered. “Well,” she began, smoothing the back of her pants. “I have some ideas for the yard that I’d like to discuss.”
“Great. Why don’t we start here, out front?”
Jennifer had prepared to start with the back, but acquiesced. About to proceed, she realized he was empty-handed. “Don’t you want to take notes?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Fine? How was he going to remember everything she told him to do? But with no easy way to voice her concern, Jennifer reluctantly began, by pointing to the empty space within the center of the circular drive. “For starters, I was thinking maybe one of those Sago palm trees should go there. I feel it would make a great centerpiece for the front yard.”
“A Sago is a nice choice,” Jackson said. “But I’d also consider a fountain. A three-tiered, Italian-style fountain with nice curves and a large basin encircling it. Around the base,” he gestured with his hands, “I’d like to see a low shrub, or some flowers. I think it would add to the romantic feel of your home, yet stand out in its own right.”
Startled by the suggestion, she tried to cover her surprise by fixing on the image he was forming in her mind. Italian fountain? Bushes and flowers around the base?
Jackson smiled again, open and engaging. “People are drawn in by fountains. Sort of an invitation to come on in and relax. Enjoy. I’d also add some flower boxes,” he turned toward the house, hands outlining them like a mime. “Beneath the windows. They do wonders for bringing in warmth, both inside and out.”
Romantic feel, flower boxes, warmth
...
Jennifer stared at him, knocked off guard not only by his choice of words, but the accompanying sparkle in his eyes.
Was this really coming from him?
“You already have a natural wall of privacy in place there.” He pointed off to the dense clusters of skinny palm trees on the opposite side of the driveway, then turned to the other side, a mishmash of plants bunched around the base of more palm trees. “But I’d like to see that area cleaned up a little. Maybe add a few ginger and ferns. Once rooted, they’ll spread, and do a nice job of filling in the gaps between trees.” He stopped as though a thought occurred to him. “Do you have an irrigation system?”
“Yes,” she answered abruptly, honed in. “Both front and back.”
“Great. It will help to establish your new plants.” Glancing around one more time, Jackson suggested, “If you’re ready we can head to the back.”
“Around this way,” she said, her mind still buzzing with images of fountains and flowers. Curious to what he would propose next, she led him to the pool area via the driveway.
“Those Oaks are some real beauties.”
She followed the direction of his finger. “They are lovely,” she agreed, steering her line of thought to one of the few positives, at the moment.
As Jackson rounded the corner and stopped dead. The smile dropped from his face. “That’s depressing.”
Jennifer sighed. It was one of the things she hated most about moving in before the landscaping was finished. Like living in limbo, it was incomplete; a mix of beauty and waste.
A disorganized mess. She frowned. “The same contractor who remodeled the house built the pool, so naturally they were completed together.”
“Not to worry.” Jackson shrugged off the brief dip into negative territory and his smile was back. “We’ll get this yard in shape before you know it!”
If only she felt as certain.
“Does that wall run along your property line?”
“Yes,” she confessed. Like being seen without makeup, he was observing her yard at its worst, particularly the huge blemish—the ugly, cracked back wall. “Unfortunately. It’s an awful eyesore. The workers cleared the weeds from it and found the stucco is in need of serious repair. They’re scheduled to fix it next week and then I plan on painting it the same color as the house, maybe put a bench or something in front of it.”
She turned to him for his reaction, almost woeful at the prospect. “I could tear it down, if you think it might help.”
Jackson looked aghast. “Oh no, that’s a definite asset!”
She scrunched her brow. “
Asset
? How on earth do you figure?”
His expression brightened. “I’d like to put in a wall fountain, surrounded by colorful Spanish tiles and a half round basin on the ground. About midway up.” Once again, his hands were working through the air as he seemed to be thinking on his feet, encouraging her to envision the project. “A splash ledge, maybe in the shape of a giant clam shell.” He made a wavy motion with his hands. “Keep it simple, but elegant.” He looked to her as though seeking confirmation.
Jennifer squinted, trying to imagine it as he described. “You like fountains,” she said dully. While she considered herself a positive person, she found it hard to match his enthusiasm. Living with this mess took a toll on one’s outlook.
“I love fountains. Water is good for the soul,” he said, words flowing from him like a river of poetry. “It’s a powerful cleansing force that heals anything from stress to illness and everything in between. For added texture, we can place some climbing fig on either end.” He paused, as though waiting for her to catch up. “It makes for an attractive, dense wall covering.”
As the sun eased past the treetops, she raised a hand to shield her eyes. The artist in her was embarrassed she couldn’t keep up with his vision. Intricate, emotion-provoking, it was clear his ideas for the property were superior to her own.
“The pool is a good size, the shape simple.” A rectangle with inverted corners. “Gets plenty of sunlight—an important thing to consider, as it dictates the mood of the pool.” Jackson flashed an approving smile. “And a pool full of sunshine is like a party on demand!”
Yes, she nodded, thinking absolutely not. This was to be her sanctuary, not party central.
He curled a finger around his lips. “I like the paver pool deck. It coordinates well with the driveway and roof, and the keystone coping completes the look. I see a couple of statues at the far corners.” He pointed out the imaginary fixtures. “Some small cherubs, nothing elaborate, or maybe some lions.”
He framed the area with his hands again, a photographer assessing his shot. “I can imagine a few terra-cotta planters filled with dark green shrubs.” Jackson stopped, as though it had just occurred to him to ask her opinion. “Do you lean toward a manicured look or more natural and free?”
“Natural,” she replied, though he most probably took her for the manicured type. She’d always preferred the natural fall of plants and flowers, growing as nature intended them.
“I assume you’re planning on using a professional yard service, to take care of the property for you?”
“Yes,” she replied, taking offense to the insult she thought she detected in his voice. “I work. I don’t have time to take care of a lawn.” And Aurelio would no sooner cut the grass than tune his car engine. His time was too valuable. In fact, he chose high-rise living on South Beach for that very reason.
“No problem. But if you change your mind, I design a garden to live by.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“Live your garden.” He slapped both hands back to his hips, slipping fingers into the front pockets.
She assumed the concept was universal, though she had no idea what it meant.
Jackson merely smiled.
Not a cloud in the sky, it was growing uncomfortably warm. While she may not know, he didn’t have to know she didn’t know. “Of course. A garden to live by.”
“It’s my own slogan.”
Her pulse tripped over the blunder.
“It describes the essence of how I design. Your garden should be a reflection of you.” He paused, his eyes and interest taking her in more fully. “It should mirror your image of leisure, enjoyment. It’s the place where you can unwind, relax... Do nothing if you choose...or everything—depending on your personality.” He smiled as though a secret was unwinding between them. “Some clients want a party atmosphere in their backyard, while others want a tranquil environment, where they can escape the hustle and bustle of the city, the office. The goal varies, but the heart of the garden is the same.”
What Jackson was describing, seemed more like a slice of psychology than landscape design.
He glanced around, a quick survey of the grounds, then settled his gaze on her. He smiled and his voice dropped to quiet tones. “It should be a place where you want to spend your time. If we succeed, the job of maintenance won’t seem like a job at all. Rather than a chore, you’ll enjoy the upkeep of your space. Weed a little here, prune a little there...” Dancing brown eyes landed on her as he grinned. “I call it living your garden, a
must
for success.”
Growing up, it was her mother who clipped the weeds and pruned the flowers. She trimmed and mulched and spent hour upon hour keeping up with the grinding chore of maintenance. All this time, Jennifer had viewed the endeavor as a backbreaking necessity. Was she wrong? Had she been “living her garden” as Jackson implied?
“Do you have an idea for what you want to see out here?”
Jennifer looked at him with what surely must have been a dumb stare. Her fundamental plan had called for trees and shrubs, some grass and a few beds of flowers. This talk of fountains and statues, and
living the garden
threw her wholly off kilter! “Oh, uh, I don’t know...” She glanced around, feeling like an ill-prepared first-year resident. “Hibiscus,” she murmured. “Maybe some bougainvillea...”
“Nice choices.”
But not near as well thought out as your ideas. “I’ve always wanted a fruit tree,” she added meekly.
“You certainly have enough sun for them.”
Habitat; an obvious consideration, yet the thought never crossed her mind. While she may know what she liked, she had no idea if it would grow in her yard. Immobile, Jennifer suddenly felt ignorant. It was a state of mind to which she was unaccustomed. And one she didn’t care for.
“Listen,” he said, and gently took charge. “Let me make some sketches. That way, you’ll get a better feel for what I have in mind and we can go from there.”
So much for all her dictation on how things would run.
“I’ll begin this afternoon.”
“Will it take very long?” was all she could think to ask. I mean, because—“
He held up a hand and his eyes softened to a caramel brown. “Mike explained you’re under the gun on this one. I’ll draw them up today and drop them by in the morning.”
Jennifer gave a double take.
That quick
? “Yes but, I leave for work pretty early.”
“Will six a.m. be early enough?”
She about fell over. How on earth could he produce drawings with any detail in so little time? She hesitated, but met with a solid wall of confidence she consented. “Yes, of course...”
“All right, then.” Jackson extended his hand. “I guess I better get to work.”
Shaking hands, she was once again taken by the warm clasp. Firm, yet soft. Comfortable. Her senses reeled at its sudden withdrawal.
“Goodbye.”
Jennifer turned to lead the way, but he stopped her. “I can find my way out.”
And with a quick wave, he was gone.
Jennifer stood spellbound, her gaze trailing after him until he disappeared around the corner of her house.
For a long moment she stood, unaware she was caressing the skin where they had touched. The exchange had gone nothing like she imagined. Not once had he said “dude” or “man.” In fact, he used no slang at all and instead, was rather well-spoken.
And his ideas... Some of them were really quite good!
But then again she thought, annoyed by her lingering reaction to his touch. Anyone can sound like they know what they’re doing if they follow a template. His portfolio of projects probably all look the same.
With an about-face, she marched back into the house. We’ll just see what Mr. Montgomery comes up with tomorrow.
Chapter Seven
“They’re beautiful, Jennifer.”
Organizing the flowers in a vase by her mother’s bedside, she agreed and spruced them for a rounder presentation. “Rudolph’s nursery does an outstanding job, don’t they?”