#gardener!cassian

Meanwhile, Nesta’s sisters, Elain and Feyre, had inherited money. Loads of it. Aunt Ripleigh had been exceptionally wealthy, and it turns out that the Archeron sisters were her only living relatives left. There had been a couple other names in the will as well, but none that Nesta had recognized. The only reason Nesta could think of for why the woman had left her the property in the middle of nowhere, was that one time Nesta had mentioned that she would be interested in seeing it. And that was just because she was being polite!

But now, with an absolute mess of a situation going on at her job, Nesta has to take a week off to settle the papers so that she can sell the house and wipe her hands of the whole matter. Elain and Feyre had briefly attempted to convince her to keep the land, but they all knew that it was a lost cause. The eldest Archeron sister is married to the city life, her job at the company, and the society that comes with neighbors right next to you and loud noises all through the night. And seeing how out of the way this place is, Nesta is all too sure that she is making the right choice.

Her GPS starts to recalibrate, shaking Nesta from her thoughts and forcing her attention back on the road. It is a good thing that no one else is around, or she might have very well crashed. The corn seems to grow taller with each passing mile, and the mountains in the background go on forever. Her phone beeps and Nesta glances over to see that it is directing her to turn left in a half mile. She must be close.

With less than half a mile to go, Nesta sees a inlet in the road ahead. She turns on her signal, even though there is no one to see, and swerves onto a white gravel road with a strip of grass down the center. A driveway. She pauses briefly to glance around. A mailbox sits at the edge of the driveway, empty. Fields of the same tall corn border either side of the long gravel path. A sort of archway made from two trees frame the entrance, two signs are posted to the tree on the right. One reads ‘15 mph’ and the other dictates how she is entering private property, and there is absolutely no trespassing.

With one last look at the road stretching behind her in either direction, Nesta takes her foot off the brake and rides up the driveway, doing the instructed speed limit. It is just like Aunt Ripleigh to tell her visitors how fast they can drive while approaching her house. There is a bend in the road a little while in, turning onto a perfectly paved driveway that goes around the back of one of the corn fields. Perhaps the white gravel was just for show. Nesta is not surprised when she finds a gate a little bit farther in, as Aunt Ripleigh was always strict about security. Although whomever would makes the trek all the way out here and then venture down the mile long driveway just to steal from a little old lady surely deserves to get something for his efforts.

She fishes through her phone for the passcode and leans out the window to push it into the small keypad along the side of the road. Automatically, the gate creaks open and Nesta ventures through.

The gate, and the tree line beside it, turn out to be hiding a wondrous property. Nesta slowly drives the last stretch of driveway to the enormous house standing in the center of the nine square acre piece of land. She gawks at her surroundings unabashedly. Nesta has never particularly liked nature, but the open space before her is just enough to slightly take her breath away.

A large meadow takes up about a third of the square, huge round bales of hay the size of her car dotted around it. She spots a small orchard of trees along the far edge, tiny specks of color betraying that they are bearers of fruit. A barn stands tall and large in one corner and Nesta can see the beginnings of a small lake as she drives. The sun high in the sky casts beautiful rays on light across the property. A soft breeze makes the flowers in the meadow sway.

Pulling up to the house, Nesta parks outside of the garage and slowly gets out. The humidity is awful and without the car’s air conditioning, her hair is frizzing in all sorts of directions. She’s already starting to feel sweat leak through her sheer blouse. Nesta thanks whatever gods are out there that no one can see her in this state.

As she walks further around the garage, the lake becomes clearer, positioned about a hundred meters from the house, it is shaped like an oval with a couple different openings to small rivers at the far end. A fish house and pier sit comfortably on the shore. Nesta decides that she will enjoy getting a nice tan while she’s here. As long as the bugs aren’t too bad, that is.

To say that she is shocked would be an understatement. Never in a million years would Nesta think that a place like this would exist in such a spot, surrounded by corn on all sides and mountains looming overhead. It truly is extraordinary. No wonder Aunt Ripleigh barely ever left.

Her great aunt was a sophisticated woman, who loved the outdoors and everything it had to offer. This place would fit her perfectly. Nesta can practically see her sitting at the small table on the pier, sipping sweet tea and enjoying the sun on her face.

Lost in her own thoughts, Nesta wanders through the gate that leads to an enclosed portion of the yard, surrounded on three sides by a white fence, the fourth side being the back of the house. Nesta is so deep in thought that it isn’t until he starts waving at her that she sees the man standing on the other side of the fence. A very shirtless, very sweaty man.

Nesta screams. She grapples for her purse, trying to find her pepper spray and realizes with unending dismay that she left it in the car. Backing away hurriedly and trying to ignore the confused expression that crosses the man’s face, Nesta’s breath quickens. Who is he? Why is he here? What does he want? Why is he without a shirt?

While attempting to open the damned gate again and get back through, she distantly hears her name being called. “Mrs Archeron! Mrs Archeron, please I didn’t mean to startle you!” A deep voice yells as the young man hops over the fence and starts walking rapidly towards her. He has is hands up in a nonthreatening manner but Nesta does not take that as a sign that he is indeed not a threat. In fact, after living in the city for so long, that almost guarantees that he is.

Finally, she gets through the gate and bolts back to her car, throwing the door open and grabbing her phone. She holds it up to him warningly. “Stop right there!” She says, trying not to let her fear taint her voice. The man stops with one foot outside the gate, breathing heavily. “Tell me who you are and why you are on this property this instant or I am calling the police.” No matter that they wouldn’t get here in time. This man could kill her five times over before any kind of law enforcement official could reach the house. Nesta focuses most of her attention at calming her breathing at that thought. If there is anything she learned in the city, it was to show no fear.

The man keeps his hands raised, palms towards her, demonstrating that he has absolutely nothing that may harm her. Although looking briefly at the corded muscle along his biceps and the six pack he sports reveals that he probably doesn’t need any tools to torment her. Nesta quickly averts her eyes back to his own gaze.

“I’m Cassian,” He states slowly, his voice rough and seemingly hewn with mountain air. It sends an involuntary shiver down her spine. It is impossible not to notice the swirling black tattoos that litter his chest and down his sides, disappearing over his shoulders and below his waistband. Nesta’s hand tightens on her phone as she concentrates on not ogling him and focusing on the matter at hand. “I’m the caretaker of this property,” Cassian continues, “I worked for your Aunt Ripleigh for more than a decade,” He takes a hesitant step towards her and Nesta tenses again. “Mrs Archeron, I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Please just lower your phone and we might be able to talk in a more civilized manner.”

Without taking her eyes off of the stranger, Nesta clicks her phone off and slides it into her pocket, still in easy reach. “Miss,” She responds, crossing her arms.

Confusion once again mars his sweaty face. “Excuse me?”

“Miss Archeron,” Nesta corrects. “I’m not married.”

A devilish smirk spreads across his features. Cassian runs his hand through his long black hair and Nesta has a feeling that she is not going to like whatever he says next. “Well, Miss Archeron, lucky for you, I am not married either.” The sideways smile on his face makes her blood boil.

“Lucky for me?” She repeats, trying not to grit her teeth. “Why, Mr...”

His smirk widens slightly. “Just Cassian.” He supplies.

“Well, just Cassian,” She practically spits the name. “I have known you for barely thirty seconds and I already know that all women are lucky that you are not married yet, as we would feel obligated to end the torture of our fellow female who was unlucky enough to end up with you.”

Unfortunately, her biting comeback does not have the desired effect. The corner of Cassian’s mouth twitches a little in amusement, and he says nothing for a few seconds, surveying her from head to toe. Nesta resists the urge to fidget under his gaze.  

“Can I help you with your bags?” The man asks eventually, startling Nesta.

She sputters a few times as he walks past her towards the trunk. She can do it herself, she knows she can, but as long as he’s offering she’ll take him up on it. He’s a strange man in a property that now belongs to her, but he definitely does not seem like a serial killer. Cassian heaves the large suitcase from the back of her car and begins to lug it towards the garage door. “We can go through here, I’ll show you around the house.”

Nesta reluctantly follows him, only now realizing that her hair is still all out of sorts and she’s sure her blouse must be spotted with moisture. Staying behind him, she sneakily attempts to pat down the frizz and fan her underarms that the evidence of her sweating might not be visible. Of course, he is sweating like a pig. And rather dirty now that she looks at him. His jeans are caked with dirt and grass, patches of mud sticking to his sides. He’s also still shirtless, gracing Nesta with a view of his toned back.

However, as he opens the door into the house and she actually looks at the fine muscles and shoulder blades, Nesta is briefly taken aback by the two mottled scars that run on a slight diagonal down his back. She blinks at the image and quickly has to school her features into neutrality as he turns around to glance back at her, a mocking smile playing at his lips.

“Coming?” He asks, one eyebrow raised.

Questions swimming through her head, but also the knowledge that this man - this stranger - owes her no answers nor does she owe him any sympathy, Nesta nods once and steps over the threshold.

...

As they venture through the house, Cassian gestures towards doors, explaining how this one goes to a bathroom, or another to a laundry room, another to the pantry, another to the screen porch, and so on. Nesta is amazed at how modern everything is. The kitchen is large and spacious and the appliances are wonderful. Aunt Ripleigh was a fine cook, and so is Nesta. She is excited to try out the space this week.

There ends up being six bathrooms, three bedrooms, a sunroom, screen porch, wrap around porch, 4 fire places, two laundry rooms, and various gathering spaces. All this house for one person. Or two. Nesta still isn’t quite sure what Cassian’s deal is.

Dropping her suitcase down in the upstairs master bedroom, Cassian dusts his hands - which Nesta notices are rather grimy and cringes at how the handle of her bag must reflect that now - and looks at her. “So, when are the rest of your things getting here?”

Nesta blinks. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

His brows furrow. “Well this can't be all of your things. I mean, yeah this bag is heavy but I’m sure a respectable lady like you owns more than what can fit in a suitcase.”

“Of course,” she replies, “I have an apartment in the city. But all my stuff isn’t coming here.”

Cassian raises his eyebrows, surprised. “Oh, you’re going to maintain both of your properties then?”

Nesta just stares. What is he talking about? Then it clicks. “I’m... not keeping this house, Cassian. I’m selling it.”

The man’s mouth immediately forms a grim line. “I see.”

“I’m sorry if you were under the impression that I was moving in, but frankly, I’m not a nature person. I’m a city girl and a house in the middle of nowhere?” She gestures around herself vaguely. “Definitely not my thing.”

Cassian’s expression does not waver. His voice is devoid of it’s previous joking nature. “So, how long will you be staying here before you sell?”

“A week. I have some people coming in to investigate the territory. If they can find it, that is,” she adds quietly. “I only asked off of work for the next week and then I have to head back.”

The change in atmosphere is palpable and Nesta feels nervous all over again. She does not know how this man reacts to bad news. She suddenly chastises herself for entering an enclosed building with him in an area where no one can hear her scream nor does she know if she has cell coverage or not.

She also never even considered the possibility that someone else might be living here. So she has no idea what he will do when the house goes on the market. Not that it matters much to her as long as it doesn’t interfere with the sell. She doesn’t like to admit it, but Nesta kind of needs the money. Another reason why she’s mad at her aunt for leaving her this place instead of a cut of her fortune.

Cassian takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the action and drawing Nesta’s gaze. He is probably one of the most intimidating men she has encountered, excluding Tomas. She quickly blocks the thought before it goes too far. This week is supposed to clear her head, not force it in the wrong direction.

“Very well, Miss Archeron,” he says at last. “I didn’t finish in the garden yet, excuse me.” He brushes past her and out the door. She listens as his heavy gait descends the staircase, and the beep as the security system sounds through the house when he opens the door. Then the screen door slams shut and she’s alone.

Nesta runs a hand down her face, thoroughly irritated with the events that just unfolded. She has no obligation to this man whatsoever. He is inappropriate and odd and frankly, should definitely wear a shirt more often. Nesta hopes that he does not live on the property or she might die from the torture of having to spend the next week with him and his mood swings.

Fetching her phone from her pocket, Nesta checks to make sure that she has signal. She does. After sending a quick text to her sisters letting them know that she made it safely, Nesta begins to wander.

The bathroom connected to her room is wondrous, with a clawfoot bathtub, large shower, and a balcony coming off of it overlooking the lake. Curiosity getting the better of her, she steps out onto the small terrace and admires the grounds. The lake is much bigger than what she could see from the garage, multiple streams branching off and turning back, perfect for rowing through. A couple islands and peninsulas intersect the water as well. The barn stands two stories tall and takes up much of the southwestern corner of the property. She notices a track running around the lake that must be mowed regularly, and used by the golf cart she noticed when they passed through the garage.

Glancing almost directly down, Nesta finds a garden, two of them actually. A small house stands between them, Nesta hoping that it is just a garden shed and not Cassian’s abode. Said man is currently hacking away at some wood next to the shed, still shirtless. His long hair is pulled back into a bun and even from the balcony, Nesta can see the sweat glistening off his back, as well as the twin scars that run there.

She turns away from him and towards the meadow, which she can only just see from her position. It has an assortment of wild flowers in it, as well as tall grasses and brush. She notices that there is one flower though that pops up all over, both in the meadow, along the islands and peninsulas, on the sides of the driveway when she had been coming in, and even one in a vase on the nightstand beside her bed.

Nesta snaps a picture of the plant and sends it to Elain, knowing that the middle Archeron sister will know exactly what kind of flower it is. Elain’s answer is almost immediate. ‘That’s a hardy amaryllis,’ she says. It means nothing to Nesta so she shrugs, slipping her phone back in her pocket and cringing at herself in the mirror. Perhaps a soak in the tub or a nice shower would be a good idea after such a long drive.

Firmly shutting the door to the balcony and pulling down the shade on the window just to be sure, Nesta decides to do just that. It’s Saturday after all, and she has a week here before she has to head back. She might as well enjoy it.