Blue Dahlia

fabulous when you’re done. Unique, beautiful, and welcoming. I love the colors you’ve picked in here.”
    “Last woman I had in here said they seemed dull.”
    “What did she know?” Stella sipped and shook her head. “No, they’re earthy, natural—which suits you and the space.”
    She glanced toward the counter, where there were vegetables on a cutting board. “And obviously you cook, so the space needs to suit you. Maybe I can get a quick tour along with this wine, then I’ll let you get to your dinner.”
    “Not hungry? I got some yellowfin tuna’s going to go to waste, then.”
    “Oh.” Her stomach gave a little bounce. “I didn’t intend to invite myself to dinner. I just thought ...”
    “You like grilled tuna?”
    “Yes. Yes, I do.”
    “Fine. You want to eat before or after?”
    She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, then drain out again. “Ah ...”
    “Before or after I show you around?”
    There was enough humor in his voice to tell her he knew just where her mind had gone. “After.” She took a bracing sip of wine. “After. Maybe we could start outside, before we lose the light.”
    He took her out on the terrace, and her nerves eased back again as they talked about the lay of his land, his plans for it.
    She studied the ground he’d tilled and nodded as he spoke of kitchen gardens, rock gardens, water gardens. And her heart yearned.
    “I’m getting these old clinker bricks,” he told her. “There’s a mason I know. I’m having him build a three-sided wall here, about twenty square feet inside it.”
    “You’re doing a walled garden? God, I am going to cry. I always wanted one. The house in Michigan just didn’t work for one. I promised myself when I found a new place I’d put one in. With a little pool, and stone benches and secret corners.”
    She took a slow turn. A lot of hard, sweaty work had already gone into this place, she knew. And a lot of hard, sweaty work was still to come. A man who could do this, would do it, wanted to do this, was worth knowing.
    “I envy you—and admire you—every inch of this. If you need some extra hands, give me a call. I miss gardening for the pleasure of it.”
    “You want to come by sometime, bring those hands and the kids, I’ll put them to work.” When she just lifted her eyebrows, he added. “Kids don’t bother me, if that’s what you’re thinking. And there’s no point planning a yard space where kids aren’t welcome.”
    “Why don’t you have any? Kids?”
    “Figured I would by now.” He reached out to touch her hair, pleased that she hadn’t bothered with pins. “Things don’t always work out like you figure.”
    She walked with him back toward the house. “People often say divorce is like death.”
    “I don’t think so.” He shook his head, taking his time on the walk back. “It’s like an end. You make a mistake, you fix it, end it, start over from there. It was her mistake as well as mine. We just didn’t figure that out until we were already married.”
    “Most men, given the opportunity, will cheerfully trash an ex.”
    “Waste of energy. We stopped loving each other, then we stopped liking each other. That’s the part I’m sorry about,” he added, then opened the wide glass door to the kitchen. “Then we stopped being married, which was the best thing for both of us. She stayed where she wanted to be, I came back to where I wanted to be. It was a couple years out of our lives, and it wasn’t all bad.”
    “Sensible.” But marriage was a serious business, she thought. Maybe the most serious. The ending of it should leave some scars, shouldn’t it?
    He poured more wine into their glasses, then took her hand. “I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
    Their footsteps echoed as they moved through empty spaces. “I’m thinking of making a kind of library here, with work space. I could do my designs here.”
    “Where do you do them now?”
    “Out of the bedroom mostly, or in the kitchen. Whatever’s handiest. Powder room over there, needs a complete overhaul, eventually. Stairs are sturdy, but need to be sanded and buffed up.”
    He led her up, and she imagined paint on the walls, some sort of technique, she decided, that blended earthy colors and brought out the tones of wood.
    “I’d have files and lists and clippings and dozens of pictures cut out of magazines.” She slanted him a look. “I don’t imagine you do.”
    “I’ve got thoughts, and I don’t mind giving them