Free Dreaming August by Terri-Lynne Defino

two lights on inside—one upstairs and one in the back visible because of the picture window without curtains. The light went out. Moments later, another went on upstairs. Benny checked her watch. After eight o’clock. The party must have ended on the early side. Though she had come prepared to crash with apologies, she was happier skulking in like a thief.
    She crept up the driveway and slipped around back. Even in the dark, the landscaping was lovely. Stone walls, not the farmer-walls cutting through every property in New England, but carefully constructed and meticulously placed stone walls, lined the yard. Plantings accented the walls. A grape arbor, heavily vined and currently lightning-bugged, stood back against the trees. Somewhere, lilies bloomed. Their scent was sweet, heady, and unmistakable. Benny sighed softly, bit her lip, and started her search for the proof Augie said would be just off the cellar doors.
    * * * *
    The sound of feet crunching on the gravel driveway lifted Dan’s head. He listened, but it didn’t come again. Instead of unbuttoning his jeans as he’d been about to do, he re-did the first one and headed downstairs barefoot.
    He looked out the front window, then the back. Nothing but a quiet yard, and maybe deer. Pretty as the gardens were by day, Dan preferred them at night when all the night-bloomers popped. The hedge of four o’clocks, the evening primrose, night gladiolas, the copse of snow-white moonflowers and, his favorite, Casablanca lilies that cost him a small fortune his sister didn’t know about.
    Pride swelled. Winters in Bitterly were long and white. Plowing had always brought more money in than landscaping, but creating whole worlds in miniature, of color and scent with living plants and native stone, made him the artist he would never claim to be. The New Yorkers currently buying places in the country brought more work than he could handle this summer, and it wasn’t even July yet. If Bitterly didn’t depend upon him and his plow, Dan wouldn’t even have to work next winter. It would be nice to spend the cold months scouring seed catalogs, maybe even building a greenhouse to—
    Metal scraped on stone. Dan grimaced. Something was in the little alcove off the cellar. Raccoons after party leftovers that didn’t get cleaned up, more than likely. Scaring them off was easy enough, but they’d be back as soon as the lights went out. Someone had to clean up whatever they were after. As always, that someone was him. Dan grabbed a garbage bag and went to investigate.
    “Dammit!” A hissed whisper came from the alcove as he opened the back door. Not raccoons. He craned his neck. Big as he was, Dan Greene was no fool. Even Bitterly had its delinquents. Reaching slowly for the light switch just inside the door, he caught sight of the intruder’s shadowed silhouette. And knew it instantly. Having memorized it one stunned and sleepless night watching her dream beneath the stars.
    Dan treaded carefully. He didn’t want to scare her off. She was sitting at the wrought iron bistro table, in a chair still tied up with balloons. Head in her hands and grumbling, she didn’t hear him approach. Neither did she hear him clear his throat.
    “You are not making all this up, Benedetta Marie Grady,” she whispered harshly. “You are not losing it. You’ve believed in this shit all your life and now it’s actually happening and—”
    Dan stepped on what felt like a bottle cap. “Oh! Ow-ow-ow!”
    Benny’s head shot up.
    Hopping on one foot, Dan caught her chair before she toppled. “Sorry, sorry!” He fought off the balloons. “I was trying not to startle you. Wasn’t looking where I was going.”
    “Dan, I—I—I—hi.”
    Benny looked up at him, her eyes big as moons. He put his foot down gingerly.
    “Hi.” He wouldn’t blink, afraid she would disappear if he did. “What are you doing here?”
    Benny’s head bowed, robbing him of those eyes.
    Idiot. Wrong words. Fancy meeting