Aria’s doing, no doubt. This morning, when I’d had my coffee, she’d been out with watering can and shears, pruning the pots and planters. She was a gorgeous woman. Much to my dismay, her looks always made my heart beat a bit faster. Just my type too. Beautiful. Obstinate. Bold. Aria’s looks were different than Clara’s, though they shared some features. The pretty bows of their lips. The tips of their noses. The same shining brown eyes flecked with gold. And a realism for life beyond their years.
