“Playful … and romantic.”
“A free spirit?” Liz tucked a blank card into the arrangement she’d just finished.
“Definitely. She likes to laugh. She’s very … warm.”
“And what’s the occasion?”
An apology for being an asshole, Beckett thought.
“Housewarming,” he said instead.
“I’ve got the perfect thing,” Liz said, wiping her hands on a towel. “Come with me.”
She led Beckett through a tangle of hanging plants and potted ferns to a corner display of glass globes. “This is what I’m thinking,” she said, holding up one of the globes. Tucked inside were tiny airy plants and mosses.
“A fairy garden,” Beckett said, lifting the globe higher. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly her.”
“We’ll make one just for her,” Liz said, collecting plants and opening drawers.
In the end, Beckett settled on an open globe that was flat on the bottom. They selected tiny tufts of moss and delicate stalks of greenery and tucked them into the globe on a foundation of rich earth.
“Any fairy accessories?” Liz asked.
After a considerable amount of deliberation, Beckett chose a delicate bench made out of twigs and two river rocks with the words family and home etched into them.
“You’re very good at this,” Liz said, leading him back to the cash register. “Any time you want to give up mayoring and the law, you come see me. I’ll put you to work.”
“Thanks, Liz. I’ll keep that in mind next time the town meeting runs amuck,” Beckett grinned.
Prize in hand, Beckett didn’t even bother going inside when he got home. He marched down the driveway and around the garage to the backyard.
He hopped up onto the front porch of the guesthouse and rapped on the door.
“Come in.” He heard Evan and Aurora call out together.
Beckett pushed open the front door and stepped inside. Aurora was sitting on the stairs, her little chin in her hands. “Hi, Bucket,” she said sadly.
A dejected Evan was frowning at the laptop on the dining table and reluctantly making notes with a pencil and paper.
The mood was definitely somber.
“What’s going on?” Beckett asked.
“We’re being punished,” Evan sighed heavily.
“I’m in time out,” Aurora piped up.
“And Gia’s making me write a 100-word essay on the poetry of some guy named Rumi.”
“Where’s your … Gianna?” Beckett asked.
“In da shed,” Aurora answered. “Can you ask her if I can be done in time out, Bucket? Please?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he promised. “Evan, if your essay goes by word count, make sure you copy and paste some of the poems. That’ll make it longer.”
Evan perked up. “Nice! Thanks!”
Beckett headed back outside to the shed in the corner of his fenced in lot. He’d never used it and had thrown it in with the rental of the guesthouse for additional storage. He was a little curious to see what Gia was storing in the shed. She didn’t seem like the years of paperwork kind of woman. Maybe she had a secret crafting hobby. Scrapbooking, perhaps?
Nope.
A wooden tug on the door revealed his little redheaded fairy whaling on a heavy bag.
She was still dressed for class in a tank top and tights, he watched the muscles in her shoulders and arms ripple with each punch.
Gianna was in the beat down zone. Her hands were wrapped, her feet were bare, and earbuds prevented her from hearing him open the door.
The bag, suspended from one of the shed’s rafters, was the only item inside the shed.
Beckett crossed his arms and watched. The longer she beat on the bag, the madder she looked.
She spotted him as she swung around for a spin kick and bared her teeth.
Spoiling for a fight, he thought. Gianna yanked the buds out of her ears and rounded on Beckett. “I suppose you’re here to pile on, too? Maybe tell me what a horrible man my father is again? Or accuse me of stalking you? Or how about you just jump on the bandwagon and try to drive me insane, too?”
He instinctively put his hands up. “Whoa.”
“I am not a horse!” She drilled a slim finger into his chest and glared up at him. She let out a hiss of exasperation and turned back toward the bag. “Get out!” Her small fist plowed into vinyl, making the chains above jingle.
Beckett decided to take his life in his own hands. He stepped further into the shed and nipped her around the waist.
Swinging her around, he pushed her back against the plywood wall and held her in place by the shoulders. “Take a breath,” he ordered.
“I’m a yoga instructor. I know how to breathe,” she hissed.
She was spectacular. Her flaming curls escaping their confines to frame her face. Those green eyes crackled with energy and anger. A flush tinged her ivory skin. Her chest heaved with every breath.
“Now I know what ‘she’s beautiful when she’s angry’ means.”
She growled at him.