Chapter Twenty-One
After walking through the interior of the greenhouse, which was now navigable thanks to the removal of much of the dead plant life and the heaps of mostly disintegrated wood tables, Seth and Bailey said their good-byes so Seth could take her back up to Addie’s. There was still weekend homework to be done and lambs to be fed and put to bed.
Sunny and Sawyer stayed behind, basically because she couldn’t yet tear herself away. She’d taken dozens, maybe even hundreds of photos with the camera on her phone. Only the failing light kept her from taking even more. The work that had been done was merely the tip of a glacier-sized iceberg, but the instant gratification of being able to see a goodly part of the entire greenhouse interior from anywhere they chose to stand, as well as being able to see clearly out through the front wall of the atrium, as the setting sun turned the scrubbed glass panes from green to gold, proved they’d chosen the best tip to start with.
“So . . . now that we’re alone, what has the universe been whispering to you,” Sawyer asked her, tugging her back into his arms and propping his chin on the top of her head.
He’d had a moment of panic when she’d first said they needed to talk, because those words did not usually bode well. But the moment had passed almost as quickly as it had come, because whatever it was, he felt confident that it was something she intended for them to deal with together.
And, frankly, that was the only part that mattered to him.
“You have a Seth,” she said, amusement in her tone, which also helped to calm him.
She didn’t sound nervous. How bad could this be?
“I have a Stevie.”
“We are blessed with good friends,” he agreed.
“Opinionated good friends who like to prod their good friends into what they are certain is the correct direction.”
“Speaking for mine,” Sawyer said, “this would be true. But then, his success rate makes it hard to quibble.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple.
She sighed a little and snuggled back against him. “Stevie’s batting average isn’t so bad, either.”
“I knew I liked her.”
Sunny laughed. “Well, when I was possibly being a teensy tiny bit whiny about the whole long-distance relationship thing and how I didn’t have much choice if I wanted to continue seeing you, she might have tossed it in my face that maybe the key word there was choice, and perhaps I should start thinking if there might be a third option. One that took care of the long-distance part, and left the relationship part intact.”
He’d been comfortably humming along, letting her talk, happy to have her in his arms, happy that she seemed happy, excited even, fairly confident wherever she was going with this was going to be a good thing. He hadn’t expected that it might be an amazing thing.
He turned her around in his arms. “And . . . did the magical third option appear?”
She smiled and the anticipation and downright glee in her eyes made his heart speed right up. “I’m . . . not sure yet. That’s why I didn’t say anything. But, actually, while we were exploring in here, it occurred to me that Bailey’s gift might be an even bigger one than she realizes.”
“I’m liking where this is going. Everyone is winning.”
Sunny’s tone might be saying caution, caution, but her eyes were saying yes, yes. “You know I told you that the orchid program I’m part of is a joint effort on the part of many linked botanic garden facilities around the country, all working together to try to save the native orchid species of North America.”
“You did. I had no idea there were so many kinds indigenous to our country. They seem too exotic for that.”
“Well, it’s a shrinking number as we reduce their natural habitat. The paper I was asked to write is actually about new advances we’ve made in learning about the relationship between the ability of tiny orchid seeds to germinate in the wild and their reliance of these special little fungal critters.”
“Would that be the technical term?”
She nudged him with her elbow. “Mycorrhizal fungus, smarty pants.”
“Sounds kind of sexual and gross all at the same time.”
She grinned. “Actually, the sex lives of orchids are rather wanton.”
He nibbled on her ear, making her squirm. “Sounds like late-night phone call fodder to me.”
She nudged him again, but he just wiggled his hips against her. She swatted at him, but she was laughing. “I’m trying to tell you something.”
“I can’t help it. All this orchid porn talk is making me hot.”
“Actually, that might be the sexiest thing you could possibly say to a horticulturalist.”
“Well, then hurry up so I can lure you up to my cabin with my own special brand of myochorri—actually, you know what. I just realized using any term that includes the word fungus is really not going to get me where I hope to go.”
“Again, know your audience.” She looked back at him and wiggled her eyebrows.
“Kinky,” he said. “I like it.” He made a face. “Maybe.”
“So,” she said, emphasizing the word, “I contacted the director who oversees the whole North American orchid preservation program and explained my situation, and told him that it was possible I might be able to get exclusive use of a rather large privately owned greenhouse facility.” She turned in his arms now and faced him. “I thought even if I could save the atrium, maybe part of one wing, it would still be substantial square footage. Or worst case, tear it down and build a new facility on the same property—though that would have pretty much broken my heart.” She saw the confused look on his face and hurried to clarify. “One of the biggest problems we face is finding facilities that meet our specific needs and with enough space to even be worth setting up a research program. Even though the greenhouses we do work with can handle plant varieties that aren’t native to their specific location, the more diverse locations we have, the better.”
“And I’m guessing a mountain-based facility would be a good get?”
She nodded, but lifted a hand to stall any premature celebrating. “All of this costs money, of course. The kind of money I don’t have. Even if I sold the town house—”
“Sunny,” he began, his expression immediately changing to one of concern.
“I’d been thinking about it anyway, even before we met. I don’t need all that space, and besides . . .” She lifted a hand. “I don’t want to bury my memories of my mother along with her. I couldn’t anyway—they will always be with me. But I thought I might not mind burying some of the ghosts of the past, if you know what I mean. I just . . . every time I thought about actually doing it, I couldn’t imagine still living in the same area and knowing there were strangers living in my house.” She shrugged. “I know that sounds weird, but—”
“It doesn’t sound weird at all,” he said.
“But that’s not the solution to the money problem anyway,” she said. “There are grants available, and charitable foundations who also underwrite various research facilities. The director agreed with me that we might have a leg up on getting one awarded to us based on the unique elements I already mentioned.” She looked up into his face. “So . . . I applied for one. In fact, I applied for several. Just to hedge our bet.”
“So . . . what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means if we win one or more, I would leave the USBG and work independently with the national orchid preservation group. The restoration would be underwritten, and some percentage of the research. I’ll always have to be scrounging after funding, but that’s more or less the nature of most research anyway. And with a facility this size, especially if Seth’s friend is right and we can preserve most of the square footage, it’s likely that others in my field will come up and work here, too. I couldn’t do it all on my own.”
“That’s . . . incredible. I can’t believe you’ve kept this a secret.”
She motioned to their surroundings. “Really?” she said dryly.
He chuckled. “Touché.”
“If it happens, it’s not going to be for some time,” she warned him. “I’ll need to stay with the USBG until we get an answer. Which is fine because I still have the paper to write.”
“What about the doctorate?”
“Well, if I do choose to pursue that at some point, the work here would go a long way toward forming the basis for my thesis. I thought a lot about what you asked. Was I going for the education or the career advancement? I realized I’d only been thinking about it for the latter. But with this new path . . . I don’t know. I’m thinking maybe it will be something I want on a deeper level. That’s distant future though.”
“And . . . if the grant doesn’t come through?”
She pressed her palm to his cheek, then let her fingertips trace down along his chin. “Then I’ll find another one, and another one, and I’ll keep applying until I get one. There is no better solution, and, quite honestly, it’s a really fabulous proposal.” She let her hands slide to his shoulders. “It was surprising, really, how it all fell into place. It won’t earn me much and, as I said, I’ll constantly be beating the bush for funding.” She smiled. “And Bailey and I will have to revisit that whole donating-her-share-of-the-greenhouse thing, and I’ll need to talk to you and Addie as well, because we’ll have to secure the property separate from the mill.”
“Something tells me that will be the easiest part of this whole endeavor.”
She grinned. “I was also thinking that, while we’re waiting to find out about the proposals, you and I will have some time to explore our relationship, before getting too ahead of ourselves.” She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck and stepped more fully into his arms. “But if that goes well, then when the time does come, I’ll put the town house on the market and invest whatever I get for it in getting a place of my own . . . or in getting that cabin of yours up to snuff. Maybe throw a little at the trapper’s cabin. I’ve always wanted my very own potting shed.”
“Sunny,” he said, utterly abashed. “You don’t need to—”
“Doyle gave that house to my mother, and to me. So, in a way, it’s also part of our inheritance. I mean, if part of that mill is mine, then it’s only right that part of the town house should be yours.”
He just shook his head, humbled and filled with admiration for her. “So, now I have something to tell you.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t look overly worried.
“That first morning I woke up with you, you were lying on your back, hair every which way, mascara in very fetching streaks on your cheeks, and did you know you snore?”
“You sweet talker, you,” she said wryly.
He slid his hand under her hair, stroked a fingertip along the nape of her neck, enjoying the little shiver that went through her. He loved discovering her sweet spots. He loved that he was going to have the chance to find the rest of them. “I watched you sleeping that morning,” he said quietly, lowering his mouth closer to hers. “And every part of me was thinking the same thing.”
“Run, run for the hills?” she said, but there was a breathless element there now, and her gaze was locked on his.
He smiled. “If the phone hadn’t rung, and the snowplow cavalry hadn’t arrived, I doubt I could have kept it to myself. But now I’m glad I did.”
“Oh?” she said, looking worried for the first time.
“Because this is the perfect spot to tell you.”
She didn’t say anything then; she just gazed into his eyes. And he’d never been so sure of anything in his life. “Sunshine Meadow Aquarius Morrison Goodwin . . . I love you.”
He watched as emotion filled her eyes and she closed the distance between his mouth and hers and gave him possibly the very best kiss he’d ever gotten, because along with it came the words, “Oh, thank God.”
He chuckled against her lips. Only Sunny.
“I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to be keeping that a secret, too,” she said. “Master Sergeant Sawyer Angel Hartwell, I love you right back.” Then she grabbed his face with both hands, and claimed him for her very own.
Thank you, Universe, he thought. It’s about damn time.