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“I plant what I like to see when I look out the windows. There's no art to it, only my personal whim." He stopped. Eliza looked up in surprise. "Never say there's no art to it," he told her. Goodness, his eyes were dark and mesmerizing. "I know peace and beauty when I see it, and there is more in this garden than anywhere else I've ever seen." She knew it was flattery, she knew it wasn't true, but she still felt a small explosion of joy in her chest that he would say it. "That's because the irises are in bloom," she tried to say, but he shook his head. "I don't mean the irises.” — Caroline Linden
I plant what I like to see when I look out the windows. There's no art to it, only my personal whim."
He stopped. Eliza looked up in surprise. "Never say there's no art to it," he told her. Goodness, his eyes were dark and mesmerizing. "I know peace and beauty when I see it, and there is more in this garden than anywhere else I've ever seen."
She knew it was flattery, she knew it wasn't true, but she still felt a small explosion of joy in her chest that he would say it. "That's because the irises are in bloom," she tried to say, but he shook his head.
"I don't mean the irises.