“Explain to me,” Aden said, censure in his tone, “why you're so defensive. Are you like this with everyone? Or is it just me?”
Rosa's cheeks heated to an uncomfortable burn. Talk about confrontational. “I'm not defensive.” Rosa hiked her foot off Aden's lap where it was feeling far too comfortable and shoved back her chair so there was no danger he would touch her again. “It's just a small scratch.” She waved her hand, indicating the band-aid still in his hand. “Please?”
Gritting her teeth and clenching her jaw, she managed to sound polite. She only hoped she looked equally so. When he held out the band-aid to her, she resisted the temptation to snatch it quickly from him. Hiking her leg so her foot rested on the seat of the chair, Rosa slapped it over the wound. Now the shock had worn off, the dull ache was turning into a throb. “There,” she said, breathless with emotions she didn't understand. “All better.”
Aden pushed his chair back and stood. “Good. And as for my reason for calling by, I had wondered whether you might want to help unpack the crates when they arrive later today. I want to ensure everything for the exhibit has survived transit and, of course, I'd like your opinion.” He pushed his chair back under the table. “But perhaps now isn't the right time. When you're feeling more agreeable. Plus â ” his eyes scanned the room, “ â you've quite a lot of cleaning to do.”
“How rude! And like I said, I know where everything is.” Of course she wanted to see his work. That had been the point of inviting him to showcase at the Greenwood Gallery. “I'd love to help,” she answered quickly, not wanting to miss the opportunity. “I'm sorry. I'm scratchy and irritable and no, I'm not usually like this. Life sometimes throws you lemons. There's been a few of them in the last few days.”
Aden paused, and she feared he was going to ask what those lemons were. But then he nodded, a small, decisive movement. “Apology accepted.”
“What time should I come over?”
“Let's say an hour before we're due at Beth's. Say, six?”
“I'll be there!”
Fractured beams of gold spilled down from the moon overhead. One badly placed lamp lit the short lane. If she needed additional light, she would conjure it up. Taking her time, Rosa reactivated the wards protecting her property and made a brief scan of the invisible bands of golden light. She could see nothing wrong but tomorrow she would redraw them. She would not allow anyone to enter her property without warning again.
Satisfied all was as it should be, Rosa reached her destination less than a minute later. Situated a few scant yards from the flowing Raven's Creek River, Lavender Cottage exuded magical potential. Narrow paths of worn shell surrounded the perimeter of the house. French Lavender marched, sentinel-like, forming hedges along both sides of the pathway leading to the front door. Rosa lovingly looked after the garden when required, mowed the lawn weekly, and tended to the Pohutukawa in the front yard in the hope, perhaps one day, Alanna would eventually move in and want nature to be her friend instead of a stranger.
Every morning fantails flitted ballerina-like from frond to frond amongst the enormous tree ferns, feeding from a clay birdhouse strung from one of the great tree's branches. Higher still, a Tui and its mate with their blue-black feathers and distinctive white tufts beneath their necks chorused to each other.
The small cottage until now had remained resolutely empty; quiet and contained, as if waiting for something or someone special. Tonight it appeared more vital. More alive. Rosa observed the lavender swaying in the soft night air, happy someone had come to live amongst them. No evidence of fear existed in the cottage's aura. Even the old Pohutukawa's initial mistrust had been replaced by a calm composure.
The only one with reservations, it seemed, was Rosa.
The front gate squeaked as Rosa lifted the latch and pushed it open. She scrunched her way down the shell path and stepped up to the porch to lightly knock. Built of brick and painted cream, Lavender Cottage's eyes on the world were two Wedgwood-trimmed French windows on each side of a heavy kauri door. At the second knock, the door swung open, and there stood Mr. Far-Too-Gorgeous, looking sensational in black.
“Good!” he said.
That was it. Good. “What's so good?”
“You're on time.”
“It's not as if I'm going to get lost on the way,” Rosa retorted before she could stop herself. Damn it! When had she become so ill-mannered? Aden had done nothing to deserve her mistrust. Not yet.
His lips tilted upwards, and a twinkle of mischief lurked in those incredible, fathomless eyes. “You haven't mellowed with the afternoon,” he noted, and stood aside to let her in.
“Sorry.” Her apology was genuine. “I seem to be making a habit of being rude. Believe me, I'm not usually so difficult.”
Aden inclined his head, an imperceptible movement so smooth she thought he must have practiced it in the mirror a million times. Then he swiveled on his feet and, without waiting for her, prowled down the narrow entrance hall, past the single bathroom and the three bedrooms, one of which, at the far end on the left, was now the studio. Such a tiny house for someone as dynamic as Aden. She somehow imagined he was more suited to a chateau or castle somewhere in Europe.
Rosa looked for the telltale signs of the crates a courier had dropped off late that afternoon containing Aden's work and equipment. She knew they were here and imagined they were in the studio but that door was closed.
Patience, Rosa. Patience.
Aden led the way past the coffee table, through another set of old-fashioned, glass-paned French-doors hooked back against the outside walls, and out onto a veranda almost wider than the entire house. A stand of trees on the right provided both privacy and shelter, and on the left, Beth's home, Clematis Cottage, glowed with fairy lights strung amongst Pohutukawas. There was no fence between the two properties.
A small cedar table placed between two chairs faced the embankment, enabling them to take full advantage of Raven's Creek River several feet away. But it was dark, and she could only hear the soft sound of water as it flowed gently by.
“Already it feels like a home,” she admitted.
Aden tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet as he breathed in the fresh air, a smile of satisfaction in his words. “I have Beth to thank for the little extras.”
A honey-imbued candle glowed eerily at the table's center. Combined with the soft radiance of a mauve and orange lava lamp on the coffee table in the lounge behind them, the atmosphere was, in Rosa's opinion, extremely touchy-feely. Suppressing a shiver, she wondered what he thought he was doing. More importantly, what was
she
doing out here with him?
But Aden broke into her thoughts. “Beth insisted on lending me a few essentials, and it ate into her preparation time. She made me promise to not come over too early, so we've plenty of time for a drink before we crank open the crates and head on over.” Aden indicated the wine on the table. “One of your favorites, I believe.”
“Feijoa wine.” Her arm brushed against his when she moved to sit on the seat closest, and a zing of awareness rushed through her. “My absolute favorite. Although a Merlot is nearly as good.”
A whisper of warmth from his breath caressed the back of her neck, and her skin tingled. Rosa was very aware he lingered behind her longer than necessary before moving round the table to sit down on the only other chair.
“I know. Beth told me.” He picked up the wine and worked the cork from the bottle.
Inexplicably breathless, Rosa ignored the mental and physical uncertainty his nearness engendered. He had taken the time to find out what she liked. Determined not to succumb to the lure of the flickering candlelight reflected in Aden's inky eyes or the scent of his masculinity, she directed him toward the reason she was here. “I'm looking forward to seeing your work. How many pieces did you bring in the end?”
“Twenty-five. Most of them small to medium-sized as originally agreed. Don't worry,” he noted when Rosa checked her watch, “we have time for wine and the crates.” He reached over and filled her glass, his gaze unwavering. “I hope they live up to your expectation.”
⢠⢠â¢
Buoyed by the warmth of the wine, Rosa's expectations were high as Aden cranked the first crate open, lifted the lid, and leaned it against the leg of a chair. He stepped aside and smiled encouragement when she hesitated. “Go on. Feel free.”
Rosa stepped forward and brushed at the small, sticky, polystyrene balls buffering the contents against harm and her hand disappeared, delving into the whiteness until she felt the first item. Gently she pulled it out. It was wrapped in clear bubble wrap and unrolled it to reveal a bolt of rich purple velvet, which she unfurled.
An involuntary gasp escaped Rosa's lips. “Oh ⦠!” Without question, the piece was the most exquisite thing she had ever seen; a miniature, hand-crafted silver goblet inlaid with the clearest, purest-quality amethysts. Aden had not stinted in his use of his preferred medium and, for all its lack of size, the piece weighed heavy in her hand. Holding it up at eye level, she inspected every curve, every line. Beaten and shaped into perfect symmetry it was polished to a smooth, lustrous sheen. The only word she could utter was ⦠“Perfection.”
A prism of violet beamed from the amethysts under the room's single light bulb and arced across the far wall, creating a rainbow of color. Awe held her spellbound. There was no doubt Aden was a true master, deserving every accolade she had ever heard and read about.
Just by looking, touching, smoothing her hands over a piece of his work, her standards were raised. Here was the perfection she aspired to â dreamed of achieving some day. Placing the item with reverence on the studio workbench she looked to Aden, suddenly hesitant and very much in awe.
“Go on.” Aden encouraged again, his arms folded across his chest, his expression one of absolute confidence. It was as if he understood her awe. As if he was in awe as much as she.
Altogether she unwrapped six goblets and a miniature decanter studded with amethysts in a style similar to that of the goblets. Another foray into the crate resulted in a rectangular tray, the surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. A lip cleverly encircled it to prevent the goblets and decanter from sliding off.
In another, smaller crate there were other pieces â smaller items no less exquisite. Rings, bracelets, earrings, a pair of sterling silver hair-combs, three pendants inlaid with jewels, and, of all things, a letter opener.
But it was the last item, a necklace that captured her heart. A silver dolphin pendant, the mammal poised mid-flight as if about to dive into the sea. Its eyes, inset with the purest Ceylon sapphires, sparkled with joy. With its mouth open and tilted upward in an almost-smile, body arched in preparation for a dive, it seemed the only thing preventing it from plunging downwards was the long chain threaded through a smaller link soldered to the tip of the tail flukes. The balance and fluidity of the form suggested movement, hinted at playfulness and was ⦠miraculous.
“Oh, Aden!” Sudden tears pricked her eyes, and she gulped back a healthy and perfectly natural dose of envy. She marveled at how the dolphin seemed to wink at her, as if it held the greatest of secrets. In that moment Aden moved, his hands covering hers. A strange excitement took hold and spiraled into something else, something she couldn't quite define, but she felt safe, as if she belonged in Aden's aura. As if this moment had been predestined and that the Goddess was pleased. Then, as quickly as that feeling took hold, a sudden disappointment struck when Aden took the chain from her grasp, and she cursed herself for being so fanciful.
Then he shocked her by moving behind her and slipping the necklace about her neck and securing the clasp, his hands briefly resting against the nape of her neck. Adrenaline shot through her.
Is he the one for me?
“So you approve.”
Aden's voice sounded strangely gruff. She spun round to thank him. “It's ⦠the most exquisite thing I've ever seen.” The coolness of the silver tingled against her skin. She spun back, looking around for a mirror, but there was none.
“The bathroom,” Aden suggested, and Rosa shot out of the room to look in the old-fashioned cabinet mirror, scratched and worn with time. Her hand caressed the silver resting on her sternum. She twisted this way and that, the sapphires glinting wickedly against her skin.
Surely a man who crafted such beauty was not all bad. She looked at his reflection as he came up behind her. “It quite literally takes my breath away.”
Alanna filled four glasses with sparkling feijoa wine and handed them out, first to Aden, then her sisters.
“I'm so jealous!” Alanna exclaimed, and, in an overtly blatant display, which more often than not worked when she wanted something badly enough, she turned on the charm. “I think there has to be two more necklaces in those crates of yours.”
“Unfortunately,” Aden admitted with a hint of false apology and a wink, “the dolphin is a one-off design.”
“Rats!” Alanna took a gulp of wine, and the bubbles caused her to sneeze. Everyone laughed. “Then I get to wear the necklace next.”
Rosa placed a protective hand over the dolphin, unable to bear the thought of parting with it. This piece was hers. “I've made an offer for it and Aden has accepted. So you won't be getting your mitts on it anytime soon.”
Alanna's consternation was evident. “Hey. Isn't there an unwritten rule on purchasing a display item before it's shown to the public?”
“We make our own rules.” Rosa turned to Beth. “Don't we?”
“I believe so.” Beth grinned. “One of the privileges of being self-employed.”