Pebble (Elemental Men #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

CLAY

THREE YEARS AGO

Most days, I’m invisible. Not literally, of course. The power of invisibility doesn’t exist in real life. But when people don’t see you, it’s basically the same thing, right?

It’s okay, though. I don’t mind. If they don’t see me, I don’t have to talk to them. Even when they’re kind, it’s not easy for me to interact with strangers. And I don’t have a great track record for meeting kind ones, with the exclusion of Penny. I don’t know what I’d do without Penny.

“Clay, hon, are you finished with those planters?” she asks. “These nice people are so impressed by your work that they want to buy them.”

I blush hotly. Partly because strangers are looking at me, but also because Penny’s always saying things like that. The truth is, she’s just a really good saleswoman. These people will probably get the planters home and wonder what the hell they were thinking, paying a premium price for something so mediocre. (The plantings—not the planters themselves. Those were designed and chiseled by a local artist from granite quarried right here on site. Not on site at the garden center, but at the quarry.)

“I-I-I… Y-Yes?” I glance back at the planters, which were supposed to be the centerpieces of our spring flowers displays. I was going to add some sweet alyssum in a few places, just to give the display a fuller feeling, but if these people are in a hurry…

But if I don’t, I’ll be ripping them off.

Luckily, Penny seems to understand my quandary. “We’ve still got some other plants to select,” she says gently. “Why don’t you take your time finishing up?”

I shoot her a grateful smile. If I’d had to leave the alyssum out, it would have kept me awake all night.

Working quickly, I finish the planters, lever them onto the dollies—fuck, they’re heavy, especially after being planted out like this—and wheel them inside and to the register at the front of the store. Penny will get one of the guys from the granite yard to load them into the customers’ vehicle—it’s the agreement she worked out with her brother, who runs the place. They have this handy lifter-winch thing that makes it easier. Some of these pots and planters weigh over fifty pounds when they’re empty, and the statues and water feature ponds are a lot more.

Dusting off my hands, I peer out the big front windows toward the quarry, telling myself not to be stupid as I do… but I want to see if he’s there. The man only I seem to be able to see. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve made him up, if I’m so lonely and pathetic that my mind has created a whole person to keep me company… even though I’ve never spoken to him or gotten closer than fifty feet away. Thinking about him is company enough.

Not that I think he’d want to be my friend or anything. He might even be just as horrible as my brothers and all the kids who bullied me at school. He looks like he could be mean—I’ve never seen him smile.

Of course, I’ve never seen him frown either. He’s just… there. Literally right there—I see him, back in the shadow of the rocky overhang near the quarry entrance. There are a couple of big trees there too, making it hard to see details, but he seems to just be standing there, hands in pockets, looking toward the garden center.

“Clay?”

I jump and spin, startled. It’s only Penny, though—without the customers, but with a flatbed trolley full of plants. “Sorry! I was just… I thought I saw that guy again.”

Penny races to my side, and we both look, but sure enough, he’s gone.

“I must have imagined it,” I mutter.

She squeezes my arm lightly. “It’s not something to be upset about, hon. I wish I could see handsome men wherever I go.”

Heat floods my face. “I never said he was handsome,” I mutter. Even though he is. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

I think. It’s kind of hard to tell from this distance, with the shadows. But I want him to be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, and since he’s most likely not real, that’s what counts.

The customers choose that moment to come in with more plants in their arms, exclaiming over how they just couldn’t leave them behind, they’re so pretty and healthy! I try to slip away, but Penny says—like she always does—“That’s all Clay’s hard work. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He can make anything grow.”

If she weren’t my only friend, I’d plot her murder.

Muttering thanks for the praise the customers heap on me, I back toward the open wall, and the second Penny distracts them, I turn and flee.

Back to my plants and flowers and the earth that sustains them. It’s the only place I feel truly at home.

It’s drizzling the next morning, so I take advantage of the fact that we won’t have many—if any—customers to work on the garden beds out front. The soil around here is best for natives and plants that like rocky beds, but Penny convinced her brother that it would be good for business to have some massive granite raised beds constructed so we can showcase other types of plants as well. He grumbled about it a lot, but three years later, even he has to concede it was worth the cost and effort. A lot of customers love plants that don’t thrive in the local soil, and the granite does have a very showy effect. Penny and I are always mindful to plant the raised beds in a way that complements our regular beds, to show how different types of plants can work together, and the quarry now sells slabs for this purpose so regularly that we have a list of stonemasons we recommend to do the work. And a list of landscapers who can do the rest. Penny tried to convince me to do that part, but I refused. I can’t deal with people like that, going to their houses and consulting with them. All I want is to spend the days with my plants.

The tulip and daffodil bulbs I planted months ago are putting on a good show, but the hyacinth and snowdrops are done for this year. They were stunning just a few weeks ago, and it always makes me sad that we don’t get more time with them.

I begin the process of lifting the hyacinth bulbs, tucking them carefully out of the damp. After I plant the pansies, I’ll get the bulbs into the greenhouse, where they can dry out properly before going into storage for next year.

I’m deep in my happy place when someone clears their throat behind me. My hand slips, digging a furrow in the potting mix, almost taking out a tulip. “Shit,” I whisper, then suck in a breath. It’s fine. I’ll point whoever it is toward Penny, and she’ll take care of them.

Pasting on my most professional smile—or really, the only smile I can manage—and pretending the heat in my face doesn’t mean my cheeks are bright red, I turn toward the newcomer. “C-Can I he?—”

The words freeze in my throat. It’s him . My imaginary man. Only, standing right beside me with rain dripping off his nose, he doesn’t look imaginary. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“I apologize,” he says in a low, deep voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I stare up at him, dumbfounded. Either my imagination has given him a voice, or he’s real .

“Are you okay? I won’t hurt you.”

That shakes me from my stupor, and I scramble to get to my feet. Unfortunately, my boot catches on the edge of the raised bed, and I’m too busy swearing about the effect of granite on toes—even with the steel caps, it fucking hurts—to think of my balance.

Which is why I stagger right into the stranger.

My first thought is “We’re both going to fall,” but that’s quickly followed by “Is this guy made of granite?” Because not only does he stand firm against the impact of my weight, catching my arms and steadying me, but his chest is solid . Hard. I didn’t know humans could be that hard on the outside.

On the inside, sure. People have to be extremely hardhearted to treat their own kin like crap for eighteen years and then kick him out without money, skills, or a place to live.

“S-Sorry,” I gasp belatedly as he sets me firmly on my feet. “I’m so s-sorry.”

“I startled you,” he excuses, when the reality is that I’m just a clumsy idiot. “Are you hurt? You kicked the granite pretty hard.”

The throbbing of my toes is testament to just how hard, but it’s already beginning to fade. I’ll probably just have bruises.

As if reading my mind, he asks, “Do you think you need an X-ray? They could be broken.”

“Steel,” I mumble, pointing down at my feet and wishing the ground under me would open up and swallow me whole. “Fine.” Oh my god, now I can’t even speak in complete sentences.

Taking a fortifying breath, I make myself look up—though I can’t quite make eye contact—and say, “D-Did you need help finding something?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not exactly. I wanted… That is, I wondered… Do you like working in the rain?”

That surprises me enough that I look directly at him. His eyes are a deep, dark brown, almost black—darker than the rich mahogany of his skin. Something about the set of his jaw makes me think he doesn’t smile much, but even though his question is unusual, I’m not getting bad vibes from him. No feeling of danger. He almost seems to be at a loss.

“I… do.” He watches me expectantly, so I add, “Working at this, I mean.” I gesture to the bed behind me. “I don’t think I’d like it as much if I didn’t love my job.”

He nods. “Good, good.” There’s an awkward little pause, and then he says abruptly, “I’m George.”

What is going on here? “Uh… nice to meet you? I mean, it’s nice to meet you, George. I’m Clay. Clayton. I w-work here.”

He smiles, and I can’t believe I thought he might not smile much. If he doesn’t, it’s a travesty. He has a beautiful smile, and it lights up his face. “I know. Do you?—”

“Clay?” Penny calls, and a second later she steps outside in a rain slicker that matches mine. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were talking to a customer.” Her surprise is evident, but it’s quickly chased away by pleasure. She worries a lot that I don’t interact with people or have any friends. I’m basically the reason she decided to start the garden center—so I’d be able to have a job and see people on a daily basis while still being in my happy place: the dirt.

“I’m not really a customer,” George says uncomfortably. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract Clay.”

Penny’s whole face lights up. “Are you a friend of Clay’s? That’s great! I’m Penny, his boss and landlord and basically adopted big sister.”

My eyes widen in horror, and I begin to sputter a denial—poor George! He was being nice and now Penny’s assumed he’s my friend—but George offers her his hand and says, “George. We’re kind of new friends, so I’m sorry, I don’t know much about you.”

We’re… what?

I watch dazedly while Penny shakes his hand and waves off his comment. “I don’t expect Clay to talk about me with his friends. But hey, he’s due for a break—Clay, why don’t you take your friend back to the staff room and get him a coffee? And a towel, maybe?”

At a loss for what to say, I agree. “Sure. Let me just put this stuff?—”

“Oh, I can take over getting the pansies in,” she assures me. “It’s quiet today. For some reason, people don’t like to buy plants in the rain,” she explains to George, then waits while I take off my gloves before shooing us in the direction of the staff room.

Helplessly, I lead George away. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur. “I’ll get you a towel and coffee, but I promise not to bother?—”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” he interrupts. “I pretty much told her we’re friends without letting you get a word in. That’s not what I meant to do at all.”

My heart sinks. I guess I’d been hoping that he didn’t correct Penny’s assumption because he might want to be friends.

“Oh. Of course you didn’t. I mean… haha. Why would you want to be friends with me? It was mostly Penny’s fault, anyway. She really wants me to have a friend.” I snap my mouth closed in mortification. I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t?—

“Do you want to be friends?” he asks. “I think you’d be a great friend.”

I stop with my hand hovering over the code panel for the staff room and look up at him, eyes wide. “You do?”

There’s an almost pained expression on his face as he nods. “Yeah. I do. If you want to be friends, we can be friends.”

I swallow hard. I don’t know anything about this man except that he’s been hanging around outside the quarry for over a month, his name is George, and he’s been nice to me.

But that gives him more points than nearly every other person I’ve met.

I nod. “Yes. I’d like to be friends.”