The days grew shorter and crisper, and the country side looked like a torch had been set to it as the foliage erupted in vivid reds and oranges. Chiara and her father were busy and exhausted as they dashed from one job to the next, trying to get all of their properties adequately winterized and tucked in for Kent's long and dreary cold season.

One night in October, Chiara realized she hadn't set foot on the Langton estate in nearly two weeks, due to emergencies at other properties involving a recent storm. She usually didn't let this much time go by, not only because the property needed tending, but also because the cemetery where her mother had been laid to rest ten years before was next to the estate, and she liked to visit on a regular basis when she could, though she didn't like to tell her father that.

"Hey, dad?"

"Yeah, love?" He was watching telly with a beer, as usual.

"I think I'd better head out to Langton tomorrow, if you can spare me?"

"Did you get a call or something?"

She shook her head. "No, but I haven't been out there since the end of last month. The storm's had us running around like crazy, trying to clear blown over trees and such, but I bet it's a mess, what with all the leaves and everything, you know? He's not the type to notice and call us or anything, but that doesn't mean that the place isn't going to need cleaning up and winterizing. Remember last year, how clogged the drive and rose garden got?"

Her father looked over at her.

"You want me to come as well? I can easily put off the Millers for a day."

"No, you shouldn't. It's things like that give us a reputation, isn't it? We need to be reliable and stick to a schedule, dad."

"You're right, as usual." Her father looked at her fondly. "Dunno what I'd do without you, child."

"You'd get on just fine without me," Chiara replied with a smile. "Can't you do the work of three men, even at your age, dad?"

"What do you mean, even at my age?" he asked, shaking his fist at her with a smile. "I may be getting on in years, but I'm spry, and I'm wiry, I'll have you know."

"I know, I know."

"You're a good girl, Chiara."

So the next morning, which proved to be one of those days that was so bright and windy that Chiara ached to just throw all work related things aside and go fly a kite, she drove her truck to Langton, not sure if she wanted the master of the house to be there or not. She found Drew to be unsettling, and even when he was being "nice" to her, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was making fun of her.

She saw that his car was in the carport, and resolved to get her work done as quickly as she could and avoid the mudroom as much as possible; however, she knew that Langton was going to be an all day job today, as the recent storm had done a real number on the grounds. Water logged flowers sagged to the ground from nearly every bush that bore them, colorful leaves were strewn everywhere from trees that were stripped bare from the recent rain, and in the back, the rose bushes looked completely bedraggled and sad, in desperate need of pruning and deadheading.

Chiara sighed and grabbed the leaf blower from the back of the truck, heading to where the leaves were thickest. Her usual method was to blow them from the lawn and bushes to the concrete walkway, and then to gather them into bags. Then she'd move to the back and repeat the process, only now she'd have to avoid the massive hole where the pool was being dug. Every time she came she looked with trepidation for the rose garden to have been ripped out for the threatened tennis court, but so far it hadn't happened, and Chiara wondered if it had been an idle threat, or if maybe he'd forgotten.

She put on her noise canceling headphones and turned on the leaf blower, working methodically from the front corner toward the walkway.  She nearly jumped out of her skin twenty minutes later when a hand landed on her shoulder.

She turned around to find herself face to face with a very angry Andrew Pennington. She thought to herself that she'd rarely seen him with an expression other than this one on his face. She flicked the leaf blower off and pulled her headphones down around her neck so she could hear what he was saying, as his lips were moving, but obviously she had no idea what was coming out of his mouth.

"--bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he finished.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't catch most of what you said," Chiara informed him, gesturing toward her headphones. "This leaf blower is so loud that I'd damage my ears if I didn't wear these."

"I know it's fucking loud," Andrew answered, getting right up in her face. His frustration was evident.

She backed up a step so he wasn't so close, blinking with surprise at his tone. That's when she noticed that he was shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but cotton sweats. His torso was pale and toned, and had the look of someone who exercised but didn't get outside much. His soft curls were in a tangled mess all over his head.

"Wow, aren't you cold?" she asked politely. "It's sunny and all, but the ground's still awfully wet from the storm, and there's a bitter wind--"

"Yes I'm bloody cold!" he yelled in her face. "I was fucking sleeping when you started with this monstrosity at the  ass crack of fucking dawn!"

"'Ass crack of fucking dawn?'" she repeated in surprise. "It's nearly half ten! The morning's practically gone!" She looked beyond him to the large, solidly built house. "Besides, the master suite is at the back of the house, isn't it? And the windows are all double-paned? How could you hear me?"

"I like to sleep with the windows open a little, because I like fresh air," Drew explained through clenched teeth.

"Ooh." Chiara nodded her understanding. "You know, I do, too. My dad thinks I'm crazy, but even when it's a bit chilly, there's nothing like falling asleep and awakening to the fresh air, is there? I really think it keeps a person healthy, so I completely understand--"

"Will--you--kindly--shut--the fuck--up!" Drew nearly bellowed in her face.

Chiara looked at Drew, lips narrowed to a thin line.

"You know? You're very rude," she finally said. "And uncouth." She took a step closer to Drew, who took a step back to compensate.

"I've never been anything but nice to you, and you've done nothing but treat me like shit, since the day we met." She poked his bare chest with her forefinger once for each of the last three words she said. By the time she finished talking, they were standing quite close, noses nearly touching, eye to eye.

"Why?" she asked, her voice soft.

"What?" His voice was even softer.

"Why don't you like me?"

"I don't not like you."

She blinked and took a step back. Her heel caught on the pile of leaves and she tripped, sitting down, rather hard, in the huge pile of wet leaves she'd just created.

Drew heard her squeak of pain, and jumped forward, hand outstretched, to help her up.

"Shit, are you okay?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I bit my tongue," she said, her words misshapen. "I think ith bleeding, can you look, pleathe?"

She stuck her tongue out at Drew, who leaned forward to check and saw that it was, indeed, bleeding.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, you did," he commiserated. "Come on, let's get you some tea."

He led her up the walk and through the front door, where she removed her shoes before entering.

Once they each had steaming cups of tea, they sat at the kitchen table that over looked the storm ravaged rose garden.

"You going to work out there today as well?" Drew asked, waving with his cup.

Chiara nodded, making a face as the hot liquid hit her damaged tongue.

"Lithen," she began. "I'm thorry I woke you with the blower, okay? It didn't occur to me that you'd thtill be thleeping."

Drew smiled at her words, but nodded. "Apology accepted. And I know that it's ridiculous to still be sleeping at this hour. It' just that I bought this place to be alone, and I've really taken the concept to heart, that's all. I've pulled the hole in after myself, as the saying goes."

"So you're enjoying being solitary?" Chiara asked.

"I am, yeah," Drew said, nodding. "I'm getting a lot of writing done, and now I've got my lovely piano here, the days are flying by." He gestured toward the front room, where there was a huge, scarred Steinway holding court. It was obviously very old and very valuable.

"Well, that sounds lovely," Chiara said, "and I'll try to come a bit later in the day in future, I promise. Or at least check if you're awake before I do noisy things, how's that?"

"Why don't I give you my number, and you can text me?" Drew suggested.

"You trust me?" Chiara asked in surprise.

"Why wouldn't I?"

Chiara shrugged. "I don't know. Aren't there people out there who would give a lot to get it, though?"

"I suppose, but it's not like knowing where I am. I can always ignore people I don't want to talk to on the phone. If they find out where I live, that would be a problem, you know? I'd have to move. And you've known that for months, yeah? And you've not told a soul." Drew grinned at her. "My address is worth far more than my cell number."

He held out his hand for Chiara's phone, punched in his phone number and sent himself a text before handing it back. "And now I have yours as well," he said.

"Well, I guess I'd better get back to work," Chiara said. "My tongue seems to have stopped bleeding, anyway."

"Will you be using the blower back here as well?"

Chiara nodded. "I usually blow all the leaves out to the side, then rake the leaves up and bag them," she explained.

"Maybe I'll come out and help with the raking up bit," Drew offered.

"What? Why? You don't have to," Chiara protested. "It's my job."

"No, it's not chivalry or anything," Drew assured her. "I actually enjoy raking up leaves, it's one of the few gardening chores I like, along with pulling weeds."

"You like pulling weeds?"

Drew nodded. "Especially after rain, when the ground's gone soft? It's dead fun."

"Well, don't think I'm going to forget those words, sir," Chiara informed him.

"My pleasure," Drew assured her. "I'll get some food in me and put some clothes on and join you in a bit."

Chiara got the front leaves raked up and bagged, and moved around to the back. She used the blower to clear the leaves away, and saw that many lovely blooms had been broken off, though the blossoms themselves were unsullied.

She decided to clip them off and take them to her mother. She grabbed her clippers and cut about a dozen or so, of differing lengths and varieties, quickly and efficiently stripping them of their thorns and any ragged leaves.

Just as she was gathering them and heading to the gap in the fence, however, Drew showed up, dressed in jeans and a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up.

"Andrew Pennington, reporting for raking up duty," he declared with a grin. "Where you going with those flowers? You know someone buried in the cemetery next door?"

She nodded. "My mum's there," she told him.

He drew his brows together. "Oh god, I'm so, so sorry," he said. "I had no idea! You never said! Why have you never said before now? I never even knew your mum was no longer with us. You should've--"

"Drew." Chiara cut him off. "It's fine. I don't talk about her much, you couldn't possibly have known. She died when I was twelve. It's one of the reasons I like to come to this property so much. Did you know there's a gate in the fence that divides your property?"

Drew shook his head. "I can see the tombstones from my room upstairs," he told her. "The estate agent seemed to think I wouldn't like it, but I actually find it kind of soothing, you know? It's a very pretty cemetery, lots of greenery and trees, not all damp and creepy like most--" He broke off and looked at Chiara. "Christ, I'm so sorry, I must sound horrible--"

Chiara shook her head. "No, honestly, it's fine, you're fine. I hate it when people get all funny and that about the fact she died. They won't talk about her at all, it's like she never existed."

She smiled at Drew. "She was alive. Then she died. And now her body's buried right over there. And you're right, it's a lovely spot, and sometimes I like to take her flowers and say hi, that's all.

"Would you like to come?" she asked. "Is that a strange thing to ask? Never mind, you don't have to, just forget I asked."

"No, I'd love to," he replied. "I've been meaning to go have a look, but I thought I'd have to go round by the road, and it seemed so silly to drive, but a bit long for a quick walk, you know? But if there's a gate right here...lead the way."

So they walked down the path into the trees, and Chiara showed him the gate in the fence that separated Drew's property from the grounds of the cemetery. They wandered down the aisles between the headstones, as Chiara pointed out the names of the people she knew.

"And this is my mum," she said, stopping in front of a small block of granite.

Catherine Cavuto
beloved wife and mother
she flies with the angels now

And just the date of her birth and death.

"Hi mum," Chiara said cheerfully, laying the flowers in front of the headstone. "I hope you've been well, and that you aren't feeling the damp too much.

"This is Andrew Pennington," she went on, gesturing to where Drew was standing.

He wondered if he was supposed to wave or say something.

"He bought the Langton Estate. That's where I am today, cleaning up after that horrible storm."

Chiara knelt in front of the headstone, pulling weeds and cleaning up as she chattered to her dead mother. She didn't seem embarrassed or perturbed in the least that Drew was there, listening.

After a couple of minutes, she rose, waved goodbye to her mother, and they began to walk back toward Langton. The wind had died down quite a bit, leaving only a cold, brisk, beautiful autumn day.

Chiara sighed.

"I always feel better after I talk to her, isn't that strange?" she asked. "I know she's not really there and that she can't hear me, but it still makes me feel better." She wiped away a tear that was stealing down her cheek, Drew noticed.

He reached out and patted her shoulder, and it felt quite natural and normal.

"I don't think it's strange at all," he replied. "If my mum died, I think I'd quite like to go to where she was laid to rest and just have a chat from time to time. I think it would be--nice."

"Yeah, that's exactly what it is," Chiara agreed, sniffing. "It's really nice."

"Now, let's get cracking on those leaves, yeah?"

Chiara nodded at him. "I've got an extra rake in my truck."

"Ha! I've got my own rake in the cupboard in the mudroom," he told her. "I told you, I like clearing up leaves."

"A man after my own heart. Let's get to it, then."