A Perfect Love Read Free Page A

fireworks of scarlet salvia, the eccentric mop tops of bee balm, and mounds of cloverlike globe amaranth lined the red brick walks with friendly greetings for the tourists.
    â€œLook,” some woman would inevitably exclaim as she bent to fondle a siren-red clump of Lawrence verbena. “Have you ever seen anything more heavenly?”
    Micah loved flowers, and Barbara was fond of saying he possessed a green thumb plus four green fingers. No one could wield a trowel, fork, shovel, and rubber pail with such astounding effect. But island winters were merciless, and once the leaves and flower beds were raked and the outdoor furniture stored in the shed behind the B&B, Micah had little to occupy his time other than leading music at the church and enjoying coffee and doughnuts at the bakery with Abner. That morning habit, Micah declared years ago, was proving disastrous to his waistline, so he wanted to earn his keep by housecleaning in the winter months.
    When Cleta had protested that cleaning wasn’t Micah’s job, he only smiled and said he liked to feel needed. So now the forty-somethingish gardener helped with the vacuuming and cleaning in winter, attending to each guest room with as much dedication and precision as he gave his beloved flower beds. Like clockwork, he cleaned twelve rooms—thirteen if you counted the attic bedroom, used only for overflow—five guest rooms and three baths upstairs, and the Lansdowns’ bedroom, kitchen, parlor, and bath located downstairs. Each Monday morning Micah started at the top of the house and worked his way down, rarely finishing before noon on Thursday. The high-pitched whine of his vacuum cleaner reverberated along the sixteen-foot ceilings until Barbara declared she was going to frow the cord.
    In the church, the house, and the garden, Micah was a perfectionist. He didn’t just sprinkle tender plants or vacuum the center of guest rooms. He pulled out heavy chairs, beds, and nightstands with the same diligence he sowed, weeded, and fertilized every inch of the lawn. The lively man went about his mission like a sugared-up General Patton, hellbent on annihilating dust mites, powdery mildew, black spot, and rust. Occasionally his trained eye would catch sight of the dreaded rose mosiac fungi and life wouldn’t be worth living around the B&B until he’d stamped out the blight.
    Now Micah and his Hoover were bearing down on Barbara, roaring down the carpeted hallway.
    â€œIf it’s no trouble, I’ll do your room and be out of your way soon!” Micah shouted above the siphoning noise. The Hoover mowed through a path of resistance, catching the hem of a window drape. The fabric corkscrewed up the shaft, the wall screws straining to hold the curtain rod. Micah quickly stepped on the power button and shut off the machine. “Not a problem,” he said, turning the vacuum on its side.
    Tightening the belt of her robe, Barbara walked to the doorway of her bedroom and leaned against the framing. Oblivious, Micah patiently proceeded to undo the snarl.
    She would have heaved the cleaner out the window and told her mom to buy new drapes.
    Sighing, she folded her arms and caught her reflection in the antique hallway mirror. What happened to the dewy-eyed twenty-year-old girl Russell had married? She was nowhere in evidence today. The image that stared back at her had allergy-puffed eyes behind thick glasses, no makeup, and thin lips. The swinging, sassy haircut Russell had thought cute a year ago now hung like linguini against her pale features.
    She leaned forward, making white indentations on her cheeks with her thumb and forefinger. Water retention from too many nitrates. She really should lay off the bacon.
    â€œMicah? Why would any man in his right mind marry me?”
    The gardener, absorbed in salvaging the drape, glanced up. His brown-eyed gaze softened. “What a question, Barbara. Any man would be proud to have you for his