Meet Your Match (Kings of the Ice, #1)(72)

Vince: I have a surprise for you.

Me: Sounds dirty.

Vince: Oh, you have no idea. Wear something you don’t mind getting stained.



My interest piqued, I stopped by my bungalow long enough to change into a t-shirt and overalls before I made my way back downtown and up to Vince’s floor. When he opened the door, he took in my appearance with a shit-eating grin.

“How did you know the perfect way to dress?”

I laughed, looking down at the overalls that had remnants of projects past etched into the jean fabric. There were paint splatters from working on houses with Dad, grass stains from gardening with Mom, and a host of other organic matter that had collected over the years.

“Lucky guess? What are we doing?”

“Hang on, I’m still appreciating the view,” he said, reaching out for my hand. He held it over my head and gave me a spin before letting out a low whistle. “How the hell you manage to make overalls sexy is a puzzle I’ll never solve.”

“Witchcraft,” I said as he pulled me into his arms, one hand hugging me tight to him while the other slid up to frame my face.

“Mm.” He kissed me long and slow before adding, “Then I’m gladly under your spell.”

It was moments like this, so small and quick I’d miss them if I blinked, that I felt it. My heart would stutter and expand, brain going haywire trying to stop myself from reading more into things than I should.

“Close your eyes,” Vince said, and when I did, he circled me until his hands were on my shoulders and guiding me inside.

I held out my hands, walking slowly so I didn’t slam into anything. My face was split in a smile, wondering what the hell he had in store as he kissed behind my neck and muttered about how he couldn’t wait to peel my overalls off me later. I didn’t have any context for where we were by the time he pulled me to a stop, but something smelled earthy, and sunlight warmed my face.

“Okay,” he said, releasing my shoulders. “Open.”

I blinked my eyes open, pupils dilating a bit as the sun streamed in through the window.

And then, I gasped.

I’d never been in this room before, but judging by the equipment that was shoved out of the way, I assumed it was a sort of multipurpose area for Vince before. A treadmill was pushed against the back wall, along with recovery equipment like bands and rollers, and there were some trophies displayed in a floor-to-ceiling case.

The rest of the area had been cleared, and the entire floor was littered with gardening tools, soil, seedlings, and plants.

It was too much to take in at once, my eyes shifting from one corner of the room to the next in a frenzy before I closed my eyes tight and took a deep breath. When I opened them again, I started over, beginning at one inch and letting my gaze float to the next.

There was a brand-new wooden plant shelf, its pine surfaces empty and begging to be filled. Next to it was a working table and two low stools. The table had gloves and trimmers and other tools, all brand new.

The floor was a jungle of color — marble queen pothos, African violet flowers, pearls and jade pothos, a rubber plant, an arrowhead plant, a Christmas cactus, a split-leaf thaumatophyllum, neon pothos. I shook my head as I identified more and more, everything from tiny tugela cliff-calanchoe succulents to a large and healthy monstera.

My hand floated up to my mouth, covering it as my eyes welled without me willing them to. I turned to find Vince watching me with his hands in his pockets, his brows furrowed, a slight tilt in the corner of his mouth.

“Do you like it?”

“What is it?” I breathed.

He ran a hand back through his hair. “I know you’ve been missing your plants. I thought maybe you could make a home for some new ones here.”

I blinked, turning back to survey the room with my heart thundering in my chest. “Did you build that shelf?”

He nodded, his smile shy.

“And these,” I said, bending to carefully retrieve one of the empty pots. There was an assortment of them in the corner, from five-inch to twenty-four inch, if I was guessing. They all had the perfect drainage holes drilled into the bottom. The one I had was creamy white, with painted black bohemian designs swirling around it. “Did you make these?”

My eyes floated back to him, and he shrugged. “I thought it could be a blending of the things we love — your plants, my pottery.”

I tried to swallow, but my throat was thick, blocked with a wad of sandpaper. “You did this for me?”

His eyes searched mine, worry etched into his brows as he moved close enough to slide his thumb along my jaw. “Oh God, I didn’t freak you out, did I? I just thought—”

“I love it,” I said, interrupting him. And as soon as I carefully set the pot back down, I threw myself into his arms, inhaling his masculine scent and how it mixed with the earth in that room. “I love it.”

He sighed, as if he were relieved, burying his nose in my neck.

Every part of my brain wanted to overanalyze in that moment. He’d bought a whole fucking indoor garden for me.

But he’d also immediately worried that it would freak me out, that I would read too much into it.

So I did my best not to, squeezing him tight and shoving anything that resembled feelings into the pit of my stomach where I hoped they’d stay.

When he released me, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope you know I’m completely clueless when it comes to what to do next. I don’t even know if I got the right supplies.”