by Gemma Jakes

Created on: July 17, 2009

Jack sat motionless in the sitting room beneath the humming air conditioner, letting his weight sink into the plush couch. He leaned back until his neck rested against the edge. It was tender from bending over in the sun. Music played softly from the stereo across the room. He could see Ivy through the open window, watering the flowers on the back veranda.

Her dark red hair was loose, falling past her shoulders in waves, and her sundress thin, clinging to her as she leaned over with the watering can. Jack looked away, his eyes drawn back to her after only a moment. Her back was to him, but he wondered if she felt his gaze on her. He had stopped attempting to hide it.

She started pinching dead flowers off the plants, dropping them one by one into the empty can. Jack watched her hips, and the dress shifting over them as she bent. She finally disappeared from his view, crouching down beneath the bottom of the window.

A breeze tossed in fresh air, stirring Jack's hair as he looked back around the room for a moment. He pushed himself up and stepped out onto the veranda.

"Hello, Jack." Ivy didn't look up. He watched her bare arm stretch as she reached around for one particular flower.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"I can tell you apart from Will and Tessa by now, I should think," she replied, almost teasingly. The two children were inside, running about the large house, each with a friend. Ivy and Jack both looked back towards the screen door at the sound of fast feet thundering across the wood floor. When she looked up at him, a smile warmed her eyes.

She always had a smile for him.

"Can I help?" he asked.

"Certainly."

He knelt beside her, watching at her hands and her long, delicate fingers.

"Here," she murmured. "Hold out your hand. I realized it's going to a bit hard to get these out of the can."

She smiled again, just a half smile, as if amused at herself. Jack obediently held out his hand. She dropped the wilting flowers into his palm as he watched her pluck them carefully out.

"You have to pick the dead and dying ones out, to encourage new growth," she explained softly to him. Her hair had fallen forward over her shoulder, partially shielding her face - he reached out with his free hand to brush it back in response. When she looked up he didn't look away, and after a moment she touched his cheek, smiling again.

Her fingers smelled like flowers.

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