“When we’re back in England, I’ll put the saplings in the ground. I’ve got an experimental fertilizer, and a supply of Welsh pixies to populate the grove in the summer. It’s supposed to be quite romantic,” Neville said softly, reaching across the table to lay a hand on Hannah’s forearm, hoping she’d relinquish the napkin.
“Not the fertilizer, mind. But the pixie light, and the cherry blossoms.”
He brushed his fingers lightly over her skin. It was so strange, to act and not know exactly how she would respond.