Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I shook my head. “Not one bit. Especially not with that guy. How close is he to being done with the project?”
We spent the drive talking about what all was left before the restaurant would be ready for its grand opening. When we finally got to the Cherryville Butterfly Conservatory which was about forty-five minutes back toward Nashville, Parrish’s eyes about popped out of his head.
“Really? I haven’t been here since I was little. How did you know about this place? I thought you grew up in Kentucky.”
“I did. Just over the line in Bugtussle.”
“No.”
I laughed. “Not to be confused with Mud Lick or Flippin. It’s only about an hour southwest of Bowling Green.”
“That has to be a joke.”
“Kind of. I grew up in the Bowling Green burbs, but those are all real places in Kentucky.”
He grinned at me. “Now I’m disappointed. I wanted you to be from Bugtussle, Kentucky.”
“My accent’s not strong enough,” I teased.
“True.”
“The company my dad worked for was headquartered in Nashville, so he was real familiar with it. We came down there sometimes. I even saw the Titans play when they were still the Tennessee Oilers.”
“Is that some kind of sports thing?”
I stared at him for a beat before he cracked a smile and continued. “Joking. I’m joking. Uncle Beau has a box at the stadium, but I admit I mostly go because the caterer he uses makes these amazing little veggie puff pastry things.”
My ears perked up. “I make something like that. Maybe I can fix it for you sometime.”
“Yeah? Does yours have cheese and onions in it?”
“Yep,” I said, pulling into a parking spot. “And green peppers, but I can leave those out if you don’t like them. I usually use whatever veggies I can grab from my garden.”
“That sounds amazing.”
Things felt more comfortable between us again, even though I hadn’t really had a chance to talk to him yet. I grabbed the backpack and stroller out of the back of the truck while Parrish unbuckled Marigold and brought her around to put her in the stroller. I loved listening to his chatter with her.
“Did Daddy put you in this cute little outfit today on purpose? Do you think we’ll see a brush-footed butterfly, hm? Maybe a glasswing?”
She held the front of his work shirt in her chubby fist and clung to his arm with her other hand. It was so sweet, I almost didn’t want to remove her from his hold to put her in the stroller. But I also didn’t want to wear him out with a heavy baby before we even got into the conservatory.
We crossed the parking lot and entered the gates by showing the tickets I’d pre-purchased online. Once we were inside the gates, it was like a giant, landscaped park in every direction with a large glass-topped building in the center. By unspoken agreement, we meandered through the park. Paved walkways twisted here and there between shrubbery and mature trees. Clusters of flowers were planted all over the place as natural butterfly magnets and the place was quietly alive with color.
Marigold didn’t last long in the stroller before Parrish hauled her back onto his hip so he could get her closer to the flowers and point out the butterflies. “This is bee balm or monarda. It’s actually in the mint family. See the pink spiky petals? Those attract the butterflies to the flower, but it’s actually the center part here that holds the nectar butterflies eat.”
He went on to explain about their curled proboscis and how it worked. Marigold stared up at him like he was nature’s gift to budding entomologists even though she surely didn’t follow a word he was saying.
I knew how she felt.
When he stood back up from his crouch, he turned a wide smile at me that nearly brought me to my knees. “She may not be saying it, but she’s currently putting a butterfly habitat at the top of her birthday list.”
I wanted to touch him, to cup his face and simply stare at it for several minutes to drink in every detail. Having him here all to myself was a gift, and I didn’t want to waste a minute of it.
“Are you hungry? I brought a picnic,” I said gruffly.
He nodded. “I think there’s an area with tables unless you wanted to sit on the grass. Might be easier for Marigold if we sit on the ground.”
We found a spot under a shade tree at the edge of the park and unfolded the thin blanket I’d packed. Once we distracted Marigold with a little bowl of ripe banana pieces that were probably going to end up more in her hair than her stomach, I pulled out the stuff I’d brought for us.
“This is an orzo salad with veggies and smoked gouda. There’s a fresh baguette and butter too. I got it from the place you seemed to like when I saw you at the Lickin’ Pickin’ vendor stalls. If you don’t like those options, I also brought…” I rummaged through the cooler to see what else I’d packed, but Parrish laid a hand on my arm.