“So that means . . .?”
“Yes, I named the garden in your honor.” His bootsteps padded closer, cushioned by the thick layer of chestnut soil.
My eyebrows pulled together. “Why?”
Boone came to a stop. “Because you always wanted a garden of your own, and I wasn’t sure if you’d ever have one. So I guess this was my way of making sure you did.” He tugged his shirt free from his pants and wiped the soil from his hands. The soil was so rich with nutrients and water, more of it streaked his hands than brushed clean of them.
“Really?” I asked, brushing the sign with the tips of my fingers. It was hot from baking in the sun, but none of the metal edges were sharp.
“Really. Plus, you were responsible for making me feel that I was worth more than what the rest of the world was going to give me. My goal was to give these kids here at this center the same thing you did for me, so in a lot of ways, I couldn’t have given the garden a more fitting name.”
“You didn’t need me in order to do great things with your life, Boone. This center proves that.” I looked at him and lifted the tomato.
“No, but I did need someone else to believe in me first, before I could believe in myself. That person was you. You gave me the time of day when no one else from your circle would. You showed me that I was worthy of someone’s love and trust. How you saw me . . .” Boone shook his head. “It was like you were seeing me for the man I could be, instead of the floundering boy I was. That was what this center was about, that was what you did for me, and that was the reason I named the garden after you. No other reason.” Boone’s gaze fell on the sign, and almost immediately, the skin between his brows creased. He looked away.
“Whatever your reasons,” I said, smiling at the sign before turning and inspecting “my” garden, “thank you. I did always want to have a garden, and you were right—I still hadn’t gotten one.”
Boone stretched out his arms. “Well, you’ve got one now.” His arms fell back at his sides. “If only in sentiment, since Clara’s Garden now belongs to The First Bank of South Carolina.”
“Sentiment works just fine for me.” I felt shy when I turned to face him. I wasn’t sure why; shy was one of the only emotions I’d never felt around Boone. “Thank you.”
He plucked a tomato of his own from a vine before lifting it to his mouth and taking a bite. “You’re welcome.” He did another slow spin, inspecting the garden, before tipping his head toward the gate. “You’ve seen it all now, and fresh clothes aren’t going to pack themselves. Ready to move on?”
“No.” I shook my head. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, so we better go before my feet take root with the rest of the plants in here.”
“I guarantee you you won’t have to worry about the same thing happening at my place,” Boone said as he moved toward the gate.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the house might have a roof that doesn’t leak and a functioning air conditioner, but my place isn’t exactly what most people would consider welcoming. Or inviting.”
“What would they call it?” I asked as he held open the gate for me.
“Marginally hospitable.”
“I’m sure it’s just fine.” I finally took a bite of my own tomato. It was so juicy and sweet, it made the ones I’d bought at the farmer’s markets in California seem like they were red circles of air and seeds.
“As the owner and sole occupant, I’m not even sure it’s fine, but thank you for being nice.”
When we came out of the garden, Boone turned toward the back of the center’s property and started powering in that direction. I wasn’t in heels, but even in my flat sandals, I couldn’t match his pace. It felt like he was marching off to war and couldn’t wait to get there so he could get it over with. I huffed and puffed, trying to keep up.
We hadn’t been walking/tromping for more than a minute when a structure came into view. It wasn’t as bad as Boone had led on, not even by half. Like the center, it looked freshly painted and the windows gleamed. It didn’t have much of a yard, but the landscape made up for it. From the looks of it, there were just as many old oaks draped in Spanish moss surrounding the perimeter of Boone’s place as there were on the entire fifty acres of my family’s estate.
Boone glanced back, and he broke to a stop when he saw me so far behind. Apparently he’d been too distracted to realize he’d left me in his dust.
“Sorry,” he said as I got closer. “I guess I’m in a hurry.”
“A hurry for what?” I asked, trying not to sound like my heart was beating through my chest.