Love in the Lavender

By Amanda Gale

Andrew Quinn has always loved city life. A stockbroker from New York, he enjoys running in Central Park and grabbing drinks with friends. After suffering a personal tragedy, however, he can't help feeling that his life lacks meaning.

Then he picks up an obscure novel from a secondhand bookstore. The book speaks to him and pulls him from the darkness, making him feel hopeful once again. He'd like to thank the author, but the author seems to have vanished.

On a hunch, Andrew packs his bags and heads to a mountain in the Adirondacks to search for him. Instead, he finds Mary, a mysterious woman who has isolated herself in a beautiful garden of lavender. She teaches him the wonders of the mountain, and Andrew feels more and more at peace. But as he finds himself falling for her and her idyllic life, so many questions remain unanswered. Where is the author of his book? What is the sadness he sees in Mary's eyes? And what is he truly searching for?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Gale
• Release date: Apr 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9798227591272

Book preview

Love in the Lavender

LOVE IN THE LAVENDER

AMANDA GALE

Copyright © 2016 by Amanda Gale

Cover by GetCovers

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

Love in the Lavender

Mary’s Simple Syrup

Adam

Also by Amanda Gale

Acknowledgments

LOVE IN THE LAVENDER

Andrew had long since lost the trail. He slowed to a stop by a moss-covered boulder and consulted the map in his hand. This didn’t look right. There was supposed to be a downslope here, not an incline. He turned the map upside down and right side up, then looked about to assess his location, hoping to connect it to something—anything—in his surroundings. Finally he folded the map and replaced it in his backpack. Attempting to read the map was futile; everything looked the same.

Okay, so I’m lost, he thought, his hands on his hips as he stared at the ground, deep in thought. Now what?

He leaned back against the boulder. It was cool against the hot, sweaty skin sticking to his t-shirt. He pinched the shirt with his thumb and index finger and pulled it forward a few times to fan himself, then removed his glasses and attempted to dry them on his cargo shorts. This was a good time to take a break, he thought, reaching into his backpack for his water bottle. He took a few greedy swigs, then wiped his chin with his forearm.

He stepped onto a fallen tree to afford himself a better view of Mount Daphne, in the heart of the Adirondacks. He had to admit it was gorgeous. The creeping groundcover beneath his feet was clover-like, like the roofs of an elf city. Jagged rocks jutted haphazardly along the ground. Sunlight peeked around the spindly trees, which rolled on in faceless masses like the herds of commuters he passed every day in New York City. The mountain was relentless, and he had to respect its grandeur. As a marathon runner, he was used to physical exertion. But the mountain was giving him a run for his money.

He jumped back to the ground, muscles straining, and continued forward as the sun grew higher. He was breathing heavily, and his brow was dripping sweat; he had slicked his auburn hair back by running his fingers through it. He was beginning to wonder if he’d be sleeping on the dirt on the mountainside, and not hating the idea, when he was hit by a fragrance so strong it was as if he had walked into a wall. He hiked on, exiting the thick of the trees. It was then that he stumbled upon a magnificent garden, larger than the little stone house that sat just beyond, bordered by purple flowers. The scene was charming and unexpected. He felt he had been transported to another century. The only sign of modernity was on the roof of the house: it was covered with solar panels.

A woman was bent over a tall plant, whispering to it and tending to its tender leaves and buds. She wore a long brown skirt, lacy white shirt, and yellow shawl. Her nearly white hair was pulled back into a low, loose ponytail. She held her shawl closed with her left hand while her right hand patted the soil