“Absolutely fair.” I waved for him to follow me to the area I was working on.

“Hold on. This isn’t open yet,” he said, gazing around. “This patio was laid a few weeks ago. This is where your dad wants you working?”

Shrugging, I followed his gaze with my own. “I think he’s trying to catch me out. It’s a tough area. It’s connected to the main garden, the play area for the kids, the main picnic green, and the maze. It needs to be functional, disability accessible, and still flow with the surrounding areas. Plus one half of the garden is on a large slope that’s tough to deal with.”

Miles turned his head side to side until he finally turned on the balls of his feet to get a full three-sixty view of the area. “You’ve ticked all the boxes. What’s the problem?”

“The layout.” I picked up the pad of paper I’d be working on and held it out to him. “A pergola. But I have no idea about the sizing of such a thing or if this size would even work without supporting beams that would impact accessibility. Or how to plant to get things definitely growing up it.”

“I’m not a builder.” Miles took the pad from me and looked at it. “So I haven’t got a bloody clue about that,” he continued. “But assuming this size works, growing things up it is relatively simple, depending on what you’re looking for. Evergreen? Fast growing? Flowering season?”

I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know. What was I looking for? I didn’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Oh, my gosh.

I couldn’t do this. I was way out of my depth.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, flattening my hand against my chest. “Oh, my gosh. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what’s needed. I haven’t even thought about this. I have two days to get a plan to my tutor and I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Miles took a step back.

“This is a mess! I don’t want my father setting me up with more dates with people he thinks are suitable! They aren’t suitable! They give me migraines!” I pressed my hands against my cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Oh, God.”

“Give me your pencil.”

I blinked at him. “My pencil.”

“Yes, Gabriella. Your pencil. The long yellow and black striped thing in your hand that you’re about to take your eye out with.”

Right.

Of course.

I lowered my hands and passed him the number two pencil I’d been sketching my ideas out with. He took it from me and looked at the nib and rolled his eyes.

So it was blunt.

I’d forgotten to pick up a sharpener. Sue me.

“Here.” He handed both the pencil and the pad of paper back to me after writing something down. “These are the things you need to consider.”

I looked down at what he’d written. “You write like a doctor.”