I followed him, the two of us pausing at the marigolds to peer at their lush amber heads. Sometimes nature disguises one thing as another. How true it was. There was more to Kash Bennet than I’d realized, a revelation that struck me like a match.

There was more to me too. And I wondered what he was hiding to protect himself. I wondered if he knew what I didn’t say, what I didn’t show, and got the distinct impression that he did.

It was as thrilling a thought as it was terrifying.

Once at the black buckets lining the workspace in the back, he guided me to the relevant greenery.

“Rose hips,” he said, gesturing to the red and green berries, fat and shiny. “Sedum.” He reached for a stem topped with a plain of tiny flowers of white and dusky lavender. “Is this lavender too pink? I promised somebody I wouldn’t screw this up, and I’d hate to go back on my word.”

I chuckled, ignoring the tingle of warmth in my cheeks. “They’re perfect.”

“The succulents came in too.” He stepped to the table where trays of succulents and vibrant mosses waited for my approval. Tenderly, he scooped up a succulent that burst from deep purple to vivid green, center to tip. It sat in his broad, cupped hand, roots in its dirt in his palm. “For the centerpieces,” he said.

“They’ll look brilliant.”

He smiled, returning it to its home and dusting off his hands. “There were other flowers we don’t have space to grow, but they’re in the cooler. White anemones, tulips, and hyacinth for the bouquet and touches in the centerpieces. Tess made the garland mostly out of purple amaranth, strung it with feather tops and sprigs of dusty miller.” He reached for what I thought was a pile of furry lavender falls, pale feathery yellows, and silvery-green leaves dotted with buds, but when he spread his arms, the garland hung before him.

I drew a slight breath of surprise. “She is a genius,” I said, eyes trailing the details of the strung grasses. “The bride is going to cry, and we’ll all get a raise.”

At that, he laughed. “I don’t need tears. I’ll accept anything, except for her coming after you like the Berkshire girl.”

“Well, they were the wrong color,” I noted, but I couldn’t help but smile. “Anyway, you got yours—I ended up planted in the greenhouse.”

“Should I be expecting a dry cleaning bill?” He smirked as he folded the garland, spooling it onto the table.

“Without a doubt. Consider the flowers officially approved. And thank you for letting me micromanage you. I know it’s not typical for an event planner to come second-guessing your work.”

“It’s more common than you might think. And I don’t mind, Lila.”