Viggo stops, then spins, facing me again. He looks perplexed. “What is it?” I ask. “You didn’t think it was weird that I’ve named all my plants.” I shrug. “You have strong plant-daddy energy; I’m not surprised.” “I named them for romance authors. Lisa Kleypas. Beverly Jenkins. Tessa Dare. Lorraine Heath. Courtney Milan. Cat Sebastian—” “Again, I’m not surprised. You named your plants after authors you love. No knocks on that.”
