Love in Bloom

by Lucy Eden

Genres: Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

In this hilariously steamy rom-com, a hardworking city woman inherits her grandparents' farm–and it comes equipped with a handsome horticulturist. 

It's a rough morning for Emmaline Walter–she got a flat tire, arrived at her grandparents' will reading fifteen minutes late, and just found out she inherited a farm. On the plus side, the farm manager, Danesh Pednekar, is smoking hot. 

As she learns about how to maintain a farm through several (clumsy) mistakes, she gets closer and closer to Dan. But when she comes across a locked door in the farm's giant greenhouse, she soon discovers what she thought was a struggling farm is a front for a thriving medical marijuana business. And to make matters worse, the entire town is in on the secret. 

When the farm is threatened, Emma needs a plan, and fast. Can she save the farm and the love growing between her and Dan?

Release date: November 12, 2024

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 352

Sample

I pulled into the parking lot of the local church fifteen minutes after the will reading was supposed to begin.

My perfectly planned day would have given me a one-hour buffer. Plenty of time to change and meet privately with my grandparents’ lawyer before taking a few minutes, at the very least, to wrap my head around this strange day. One of my highest-profile clients got involved in a DUI with a dancer from Magic City. That led to me nearly being late for the fundraiser I’d promised my boyfriend I’d attend—along with Atlanta’s Black elite, including Teddy’s bougie parents. After finally tearing myself away from Teddy, forty-five minutes behind schedule, hoping I could make up the time once I hit the interstate, the universe rewarded me with a flat tire, which I was forced to change myself rather than wait ninety minutes for AAA to show up. After what had to be one of the longest days of my life, which wasn’t over yet, I finally made it to the tiny, rural Georgia town that my mother grew up in, that three generations of my family called home, and where, until a few weeks ago, my estranged grandparents lived on a farm.

As far as I knew, I would be the only representative from my family in attendance, and it made me feel terrible to be late. There was no time to dwell on this as I grabbed my things from the back seat and ran through a side door of the church.

After scanning the hallway for the nearest bathroom, I ducked inside. With my makeup bag tossed into one of the sinks, I unzipped my blue dress, which was covered in grease stains from changing the tire. The zipper got stuck halfway down and I tugged on it a couple of times before deciding to give up and pull the dress over my head.

I took hold of the hem and began to peel the dress up my body. It got stuck again at some point, but once I was able to jump and wiggle to get my breasts free, the dress continued to slide up. While in the process of pulling the dress over my shoulders, I heard a deep male voice call out, “Whoa.”

I screamed, still with the dress over my face and completely naked except for my bra and panties. My body was on display to the stranger who’d barged into the ladies’ room, who I couldn’t see because my dress was still covering my eyes. The process of removing it was so far gone that it made more sense to pull it off and wrap it protectively around my front rather than force it back down.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I screamed before looking up to face the intruder. My anger momentarily abated when I looked up to see one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever encountered. He was tall and muscular but not too built, with sienna-hued skin and silky, shiny dark hair. He was wearing a simple white tunic over matching white pants, making him look like an angel. A thick but neatly trimmed beard and mustache covered the lower half of his face, framing the large O his full lips made as he gazed at me. Large, brooding, dark eyes roved my nearly nude body.

The fact that I was wearing lace undergarments that perfectly matched my skin tone, giving the illusion that I was actually naked, probably didn’t help the situation. My skin started to flame with embarrassment. Then, remembering this man barged into a women’s bathroom in a church, my embarrassment turned to anger.

“I could ask you the same question,” he quipped. He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. Why wasn’t he ashamed? And oh, fuck me, his voice was deep. It was the kind of deep timbre that you felt in your belly and other places that you shouldn’t feel the voices of strangers. To top it all off, he had a British accent, making him even sexier.

Focus, Emma.

Ladies’ bathroom. Pervert. (Sexy, British pervert… no, Emma!)

Your grandparents’ will reading. You’re late!

“Excuse me. This is a ladies’ room.” After regaining a little bit of focus, I dug a fist into my hip, which made him momentarily glance down at my waist, making my belly tighten in a way it hadn’t in years. I cleared my throat and his eyes darted back up to mine. “And I’m running late, so I’d really appreciate it if you left so I could finish getting dressed.”

“Well, actually, these are the men’s toilets, and I would appreciate it if you left because I had a few pints that are ready to make a reappearance and I don’t appreciate an audience.” He jerked his chin at the far wall to a row of three urinals that I definitely hadn’t noticed when I ran in here.

Shit.

I really was in the men’s room.

When I turned back to look at him, he looked incredibly smug. He didn’t have to say I told you so. His expression, his very sexy expression, was doing just fine. I heaved out an annoyed sigh.

“Look, I—” I wasn’t sure how I was planning to end that sentence, but I had to say something in order to get him out of the bathroom long enough for me to forget about his accent and change.

Unfortunately, my sentence was interrupted by one of the stall doors opening with a loud creak. An elderly Black man with long dreads, wearing dress shoes, dress pants, and a tuxedo T-shirt, came shuffling out, heading for the sinks. I clutched my dress tighter around my torso and angled my body in an attempt to hide the fact that my entire lace-clad ass was on display… in a men’s bathroom… in a church… at my grandparents’ will reading.

The man stopped in front of the faucet and gave me a quick glance before tilting his head to the side and furrowing his brow.

“This is still the men’s room, right?” He gave the other man a quizzical look.

“Yup.” The sexy, British not-actually-a-pervert answered with a small smirk and looked at me again. “Still the men’s room, Leonard.”

“Good.” Leonard chuckled and began to wash his hands. “I thought I was gonna have to cut back on Mavis’s magic cookies, but I’m glad I don’t have to.” He dried his hands, gave me a nod in greeting, and shuffled past the younger man, patting him on the shoulder.

We were alone in the bathroom again and the man stood quietly, but at least he’d gotten over the initial shock of seeing a partially nude woman in the men’s room because he was looking at my face.

“Look, I’m in a rush and I guess I didn’t read the doors correctly, but I really need to get changed, so I am going to go into one of these stalls.” I secured my oil-stained dress with one hand and picked up the garment bag containing my black dress with my other. “You’re welcome to do whatever you need to do while you’re in here. It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t heard before.” I backed into the stall and locked it, feeling myself burning from head to toe with embarrassment.

When I’d stepped into the black dress and zipped it up as much as possible, I reemerged to find sexy, British not-a-pervert standing in the exact same place as I’d left him. Not possessing the emotional bandwidth or the time to redo my makeup, I grabbed some tissue, wiped away the dark smudges of this morning’s eye makeup, tapped on some lip gloss, and tried to shuffle out of the bathroom with some of my dignity intact.

“Hey,” he called to me as I passed him. He was close enough that I could smell him. He carried the scent of men’s cologne with something else that was floral, spicy, earthy, and almost irresistible.

Almost.

“You know your dress isn’t… um… zipped up all the way. I could get it for you.” He gave me an odd look, like he was trying to categorize me but wasn’t sure which box to sort me into. Annoyance, amusement, and curiosity mingled in the dark brown eyes that were appraising me.

The offer was innocuous, but it felt almost sensual, and I couldn’t tell if my brain was short-circuiting from stress. Maybe it was his white suit with its intricate embroidery, his accent, or his long, dark lashes that most women would kill for. One thing I knew was that I could not let this man touch me. I wasn’t sure if it was for his sake or my own.

“No, that’s unnecessary. It will be fine.” I rushed out of the bathroom feeling my heart pound.

What the hell was that?

The hallway felt like a cavern as I stumbled through it searching, feeling exhausted and confused, before finally finding a door with a sign that read, George and Harriet King, Will Reading.

My plan was to sneak in and seat myself at the back of the room, but the loud creak of the door and the man seated at the front of the room—who I assumed was William J. McReedy, Esq., my grandparents’ lawyer—had other plans.

The man with dark brown skin, salt-and-pepper hair, and a thick mustache beckoned me to the front of the room and indicated that I should occupy one of the two empty ornate wooden chairs in front of the desk where he was seated.

I made my way through the aisle separating the room full of aluminum folding chairs while dozens of pairs of eyes followed me to the front of the room accompanied by hushed whispers.

“That’s the grandbaby.”

“She ain’t no baby anymore.”

“Looks just like her mother. Don’t she?”

I caught the eyes of one woman my age, sitting next to a little girl who couldn’t have been more than ten. The little girl smiled at me. Her mother didn’t. Not having any idea what I could have done to a woman I’d never met, I instead focused on making it to the front of the room, feeling like a goldfish in a bowl.

I didn’t have to wonder long about the occupant of the other wooden chair because the door to the room opened again and the man in white with the sexy accent entered the room and made his way to the front. No one whispered about him. He greeted and shook hands with a few people before lowering himself into the opposite seat. I also noticed the woman who had nothing but disdain for me smiled at him.

“Emmaline, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Mr. McReedy gave me a sympathetic smile as I did my best to make myself comfortable in the chair. It felt so odd that everyone seemed to know exactly who I was without me having to introduce myself.

“Thank you.” My voice came out as a strained whisper, and I cleared my throat and spoke again. “Thank you, and I prefer to be called Emma.”

“Emma, huh?” Mr. McReedy smiled genially, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He seemed like he wanted to say something else to me, but instead he addressed the room. “I wish I had a better reason to bring us all together like this, but unfortunately, it’s been more than thirty days since George and Harriet’s deaths, and I’m here to read their last will and testament and carry out their requests contained therein.”

I chanced a glance at the man in the other seat. He was all wit and sarcasm in the bathroom, but in this room, he looked absolutely bereft. His body was almost slumped in the chair, and he seemed to be staring off into space. There was a balled-up handkerchief in the hand he was using to cover his mouth and his eyes. His beautiful eyes—focus, Emma—were rimmed with red. Real grief was etched into his expression, and I felt guilty thinking about how attractive he was—not to mention that I’d been dating the same man for much of my adult life. I should have been focusing on the subject at hand, not men who weren’t Teddy. It was also probably a bad idea to objectify someone so obviously in pain at a will reading.

This man was so close to my grandparents that he was visibly mourning their loss, while I was their flesh-and-blood granddaughter and felt nothing but curiosity and confusion because I barely knew them. A pang of irrational jealousy made my chest clench.

Who was this man?

Why was he so close to my grandparents?

Why did he get to sit in one of the two fancy chairs in the office?

Mr. McReedy’s voice broke my chain of thought and I focused on the front of the room.

“Before we get started, I’d like to invite Pastor Freeman to lead us in a short prayer. Sister Harriet and Brother George are sitting at the right hand of the Father—”

“Mm-hmm.” A chorus of agreement and a few claps erupted from behind me.

“—and I know they wouldn’t want to waste an opportunity to give thanks to the Almighty while we are all gathered here together.”

“That’s right!” a woman shouted as Pastor Freeman took his place in front of the desk, a few feet away from me and sexy British bathr—I mean, the man from the bathroom.

Pastor Freeman wasted no time in piggybacking off Mr. McReedy’s statement that my grandparents were sitting at the right hand of the Father. In fact, the pastor gave a rather lengthy monologue about how my grandparents had “elevated the town’s spirit” and “lifted it to new heights.” I looked around the room to find most of the occupants nodding with coy smiles and I wondered if there was some meaning to his words that I was missing. It became harder to focus as the pastor became more animated as he described how our Lord and Savior was the “high you could never come down from.” Before I could wrap my head around Pastor Freeman’s obsession with heavenly metaphors, a woman behind me began humming a vaguely familiar tune. She was soon joined by others. I looked to the man in the chair beside me to see if he was as confused as me, but he was still mired in grief.

“‘In the Upper Room’!” Pastor Freeman shouted, startling me, and I realized what the tune was. He invited the ladies to join him in front of the desk and the next ten minutes involved the loudest and longest rendition of Mahalia Jackson’s classic I’d ever heard.

“Danesh Pednekar,” Mr. McReedy said, almost as if he were answering my earlier questions. He was reading from the will: “Farm manager and grandson we never had. We hope you will be running the farm long after we’re gone, but we know that if you’re reading this, that is out of our control. So we’re leaving you two hundred fifty thousand dollars.” I felt my mouth drop open, and when I looked at Danesh, his mouth had dropped open, too. “We know what you’re thinking—it’s not too much and you can and will accept it. If Green Acres is not in your future, it will be enough to get you set up someplace else and help you continue your research. We’re also leaving you George’s F-150 and his antique watch that you always admired.” Mr. McReedy placed the watch on the desk. Danesh slowly retrieved it and held it in his hands, turning it over and over.

“Emmaline, our beloved grandchild. You wouldn’t know this because we haven’t seen each other in so long, but we are so proud of the woman you’ve become. We’ve followed your achievements from afar and hoped one day we would be able to tell you in person. But things don’t always work out that way.” I felt a lump form in my throat and swallowed it down, blinking rapidly.

“I don’t know if our stubborn-as-a-mule daughter ever told you this, but you were named Emmaline after your great-grandmother. When your great-grandfather and half the men in town went off to fight in World War II, she and the women of this town kept the farm going until the war was over and for years after. Your grandfather and I followed in that tradition, in hopes that we could pass it on to your mother. But since I can’t imagine your mama ever setting foot in this town again, we’re leaving it to you. You are free to do whatever you want with it, but we hope that you’ll consider carrying on the family tradition. Green Acres is a very special place to many people, and it is our fondest wish and dearest hope that it becomes a special place to you. There is also…”

Mr. McReedy kept reading, but I couldn’t focus on anything he said after I heard that my grandparents had left me a farm, hoping that I would—what, live there? Run it?

A farm? What the hell was I supposed to do with a farm? If Green Acres was such a special place to so many people, why did my grandparents trust me to take care of it?

I was avoiding looking at houses because I didn’t want the responsibility of mowing a lawn. Teddy and I didn’t have any pets because I couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive, not to mention all the houseplants I’ve massacred over the years. I looked over at Danesh, the farm manager, to see his reaction. He didn’t seem surprised or moved by the announcement. He was still staring at the watch. I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to my grandparents’ attorney. He’d moved on to bequeathing items and property to the other people in the office and I barely paid attention.

Soon the reading was over, and I was holding a manila envelope stuffed with a thick file folder full of documents that represented the last three generations of my family, feeling more exhausted and confused than ever.

A man in a dark blue suit approached me as soon as I stepped outside of the church. “Hi, Emmaline Walters?”

“Um, yes. Emma,” I corrected him as I tried to make a beeline for my car. He blocked my path.

“Emma, of course. I’m so sorry for your loss.” He screwed up his face in an odd facsimile of a sorrowful expression. He looked like a child pretending to cry. It would have been funny if it weren’t so off-putting.

“Thank you,” I said brusquely. I’d dealt with men like him in my profession. He wanted something and it wasn’t to offer his condolences. “Can I help you with something?”

“Actually”—his expression changed to a megawatt grin that made my stomach roil—“I’m pretty sure I can help you.”

I had just left a will reading for the grandparents I barely remembered, inherited a farm, and realized that I’d flashed the farm’s manager before yelling at him—and I still had to make the four-hour drive back to Atlanta on a donut because I hadn’t had the time to replace the spare tire, and, speaking of donuts, I was still hungry. A creep in a cheap suit was the last thing I needed.

“No, thank you. I have to go.” I turned to leave, and the man grabbed my arm and pushed his business card into my hand.

“Take my card,” he said quickly, “and give me a call.”

I rolled my eyes and shoved the card into my pocket, not wanting to deal with any more drama tonight.

As I got closer to my car, I saw a large figure leaning on the hood with his arms crossed.

It was Danesh Pednekar, farm manager, grandson that George and Harriet King never had, and sexy British bathroom guy.

“Friend of yours?” His deep voice rumbled in my chest making me stop short a few steps from my car.

“No… Like everyone else in this town, I have no idea who he is.”

He stood there for a few seconds, surveying me like he had in the bathroom. It made me nervous, and I wondered if he was picturing me in my underwear.

“So you’re Emmaline…” He said it in a way that made me believe he’d been expecting to meet me. What had my grandparents told him about me? Then I remembered that his opinion of me had no bearing; so why did I still care?

“It’s Emma.” I bristled and hit the button on my car keys to unlock the doors, making a loud beeping sound. He took the hint and stepped away from my car so I could reach the driver’s side door. “Danesh, was it?” I raised an eyebrow, causing him to smirk.

“It’s Dan.” He took a step toward me, making my breath catch in my throat, and I almost dropped the envelope I was holding. His hand grazed my back, causing me to shiver as I heard the telltale sound of a zipper and felt my dress tighten around my chest. “That… has been driving me mad.” He took a step back. We stood in the parking lot staring at each other. I couldn’t read Dan’s expression, and I was uncharacteristically speechless. Usually, I would know the perfect thing to say, always two steps ahead of anyone in a conversation, but in that moment, I was completely unarmed. I blamed it on the exhaustion.

“Well, I should get going.” I realized that while I had been staring at Dan in the parking lot, I had forgotten to breathe, as well as speak. I opened my driver’s side door and threw the envelope and my purse on the passenger seat.

“I don’t think you should drive anywhere with this.” Just like in the bathroom, his suggestion seemed innocent. But for some reason, his voice made everything sound like an invitation to sex. I tried to think back to the last time I had sex with Teddy. Then I had to think further back to the last time I enjoyed sex with Teddy. Those thoughts were beyond inappropriate, and I needed to get back to Atlanta because I had an early-morning meeting. I also needed some distance from this town and from Dan, the sexy, mysterious farm manager, so I could make sense of the last few hours.

“Well, thank you for your concern, but I have a busy day tomorrow. It was nice to meet you.” I tried to pull my car door closed, but he grabbed the doorframe and pulled it back open. “What the hell are you—”

“You can’t drive in the middle of the night on a stepney.”

“What the hell is a—”

“I believe you call it a donut.” He cut me off with a hint of annoyance and tilted his head at the miniature wheel holding up one fourth of my car.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get a new tire tomorrow.” I tried to pull my door shut again, but Dan’s hand didn’t move.

“Listen, I’m sure you think you can handle everything on your own, but it’s late, you’re tired”—Oh God, did I look as exhausted as I felt? A quick glance in my rearview said yes. But how dare he mention it? I was about to argue when my stomach gave a loud growl—“and apparently you’re also hungry.” He tried to stifle a smile, which only made my cheeks flame with heat. We glared at each other. My hand was on the door handle while his was still wrapped around the doorframe. We were at a standoff. “Get out of the car, Emma,” he said sternly. His tone of voice let me know he wasn’t going to ask again, and I wondered what that meant. I wondered why I liked it. “Please,” he added with a softened, but still stern, expression.

I heaved a deep sigh, climbed out of the driver’s seat, and stood in front of him, eyebrows raised. His expression didn’t change as he guided me around to the passenger seat and helped me into my own car. He climbed into the driver’s seat, pushed the seat all the way back, and started the engine.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath. “When was the last time you got an oil change?”

“I don’t know. Whenever the sticker says I did.” I shrugged and pointed to the small rectangle of white on the upper corner of the windshield. When I took a closer look at it, I noticed it was faded and starting to peel. I decided to change the subject. “Where are you taking me?”

“To get a proper tire put on this car, and an oil change apparently.” He pulled out of the parking lot and onto a main road. “How long has the car been making that sound?”

“What sound?” I rolled my eyes at my would-be savior. The very last thing I wanted or needed today was a lecture about self-neglect. I gave myself enough of those.

“This sound…” He glared at me while tilting his head toward the front of the car. I didn’t hear anything unusual. The car sounded like it always did. I shook my head and shrugged. He rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like “Christ” under his breath and continued to stare at the road.

“Are you always this rude to people you’re helping?”

“Ha!” He barked out a laugh. “You think I’m rude? That’s rich coming from the woman who stripped down to her knickers in the men’s toilets and had the nerve to get pissed off when a man came in to piss!”

“I didn’t know it was the men’s room,” I shot back. “I was in a hurry. I was running late and made a mistake, which is very rare for me. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. So don’t think you can—”

“Oh, you didn’t know, eh?” he interrupted. “The same way you didn’t know that this car is an accident waiting to happen. And no, I don’t know you, but I know all about you, love.” He was seething, and it was odd how someone could take a word like love and make it sound venomous.

“You’re so well put together and you’ve got everything figured out. You don’t need help from anyone, but I bet you bend over backward helping everyone else in your life, not because you want to, but because you feel like you don’t have a choice. And when it comes to taking care of yourself, you can’t be bothered to read the door on a loo, take your car in for maintenance, or feed yourself.” My stomach gave another betraying growl. “And you’d rather walk around with your bra strap showing, drive around on three and a half tires while starving, than accept an offer of help. How did I do?” He turned to me after he put the car in park. We were outside of a garage/auto body shop. All the lights were off and it looked like it was closed, adding confusion to my anger.

“I’m well put together because I have to be. And I don’t need help from anyone because I am used to taking care of myself. My job is taking care of other people. I don’t do it because I have no choice, I do it because I’m damn good at it. You met me a few hours ago and you think you’ve got me all figured out. Well, you don’t. And if your idea of helping people is making them feel like shit on what has to be one of the shittiest days they’ve had in recent memory, you’re great at it.” I felt my eyes prickle with tears as the combination of stress, grief, and exhaustion took its toll. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had a day from hell, and being yelled at by a stranger is the last thing I need.” Tears fell from my eyes, and I wiped them away furiously.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.” His voice was soft as he placed a large, warm hand on my shoulder. “I’ve had an off day as well. An off month if we’re being honest…” He sighed. “Look, it’s like in chess. The queen can do anything she wants in the game, but she can’t win by herself… fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying. George always said it better…” He muttered the last part to himself.

I didn’t answer him, I just stared out the window. I knew exactly what he was trying to say, but I didn’t want to hear it. His use of my grandfather’s name also ignited a flicker of memory, but it was gone too quickly to grasp.

He let out another sigh and exited the car. A few moments later, he returned with a man in a jumpsuit with the name Terry stitched in red letters on the front.

Dan and I sat in the waiting area of the body shop, not speaking. As it turned out, the shop was closed. . .