Free Jennifer's Garden by Dianne Venetta

“Let me make some sketches.  That way, you’ll get a better feel for what I have in mind and we can go from there.”
    So much for all her dictation on how things would run.
    “I’ll begin this afternoon.”
    “Will it take very long?” was all she could think to ask.  I mean, because—“
    He held up a hand and his eyes softened to a caramel brown.  “Mike explained you’re under the gun on this one.  I’ll draw them up today and drop them by in the morning.”
    Jennifer gave a double take.  That quick ?  “Yes but, I leave for work pretty early.”
    “Will six a.m. be early enough?”
    She about fell over.  How on earth could he produce drawings with any detail in so little time?  She hesitated, but met with a solid wall of confidence she consented.  “Yes, of course...”
    “All right, then.”  Jackson extended his hand.  “I guess I better get to work.”
    Shaking hands, she was once again taken by the warm clasp.  Firm, yet soft.  Comfortable.  Her senses reeled at its sudden withdrawal.
    “Goodbye.”
    Jennifer turned to lead the way, but he stopped her.  “I can find my way out.”
    And with a quick wave, he was gone.
    Jennifer stood spellbound, her gaze trailing after him until he disappeared around the corner of her house.
    For a long moment she stood, unaware she was caressing the skin where they had touched.  The exchange had gone nothing like she imagined.  Not once had he said “dude” or “man.”  In fact, he used no slang at all and instead, was rather well-spoken.
    And his ideas...  Some of them were really quite good!
    But then again she thought, annoyed by her lingering reaction to his touch.  Anyone can sound like they know what they’re doing if they follow a template.  His portfolio of projects probably all look the same.
    With an about-face, she marched back into the house.  We’ll just see what Mr. Montgomery comes up with tomorrow.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven
     
     
    “They’re beautiful, Jennifer.”
    Organizing the flowers in a vase by her mother’s bedside, she agreed and spruced them for a rounder presentation.  “Rudolph’s nursery does an outstanding job, don’t they?”
    “They do, indeed.”
    It had become a regular stop on her way to Fairhaven.  The roses they grew were sheer perfection; long graceful stems topped with petals of red velvet.  She buried her nose in the bunch, inhaling the rich, sweet perfume.  “I don’t know how he does it, but they are magnificent each and every time.”
    “It takes a loving touch to nurture such beauty.”
    “And you should know,” Jennifer replied, heartened by the sentiment.  She turned toward her mother.  “Your flowers were always award-winning quality.”
    Light blue eyes sparkled in pleasure at the compliment.  Dressed in a simple linen dress, shoulder-length hair combed until it shone a lustrous gray and held back by a pearl-lined clip, Beatrice was elegance personified.  Despite the ravage within her body, she still took the time to make up her face, and receive her guests in proper fashion.
    With the staff’s assistance.
    Fairhaven was the best assisted-living facility Miami had to offer, their reputation impeccable.  The interior décor was equally lovely as creams, greens and blues were blended together in fabrics and furniture, walls were painted a buttery yellow and dotted by tasteful paintings of the Everglades.  Lighting wasn’t fluorescent, but instead came in the form of lamps and sconces lending a cozy feel to the rooms.  The aim was quiet luxury.  As patients waded through the twilight of their lives, they would do so in style.
    The place was top of the line in every way, except one.  It wasn’t home.  It wasn’t where her mother should be.
    But Beatrice insisted.  She wasn’t moving in with her daughter, despite Jennifer’s pledge to provide round-the-clock nursing care, a private bedroom and bath of her own.
    No.  Her mother remained adamant.  She