2
" I’m trying to think…are you the florist?” Malcolm’s voice was slightly off, as if it were coming from someplace other than his own throat. ...
She took a sip from her own drink. “Nope. I like flowers as much as the next woman, but I can’t tell a dahlia from a daisy.”
“Or a lupine from a lobelia?” Hugh Parteger said.
“Or a carnation from a chrysanthemum.”
“You’re obviously not into floral sects,” he said.
She almost spit out a mouthful of kir royale laughing. ... “Mr. Parteger, I don’t discuss what I do in my garden bed with anyone.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “For most women, it’s just a matter of finding the right tool.”
She took another drink, enjoying herself immensely. ... “Yes, but it’s such a tedious process, finding one that fits and works really well. Better just stick to hand weeding. Fewer complications that way.”
“Ah, so you’re a master gardener.”
She actually giggled. How mortifying. She took a long swallow from her drink. “As Voltaire said, we must cultivate our garden.”
“I believe he also said, ‘Once, a philosopher, twice, a pervert. "
― Julia Spencer-Fleming , A Fountain Filled with Blood (Rev. Clare Fergusson & Russ Van Alstyne Mysteries, #2)
