Austin opened the greenhouse door and held it for us like being a gentleman came naturally for him. It wasn’t a date ... but somehow felt like one anyway.
Inside the nursery, the scent of damp mulch and cedar pots wrapped around me like a sweater. Tables were lined with hardygreens, cool-season lettuces, and little fruiting plants in ceramic pots—kale with deep-purple veining, stubby cabbages, and even a few late-bearing tomato varieties already straining against their cages. It was quieter than in spring, the planting rush long past, but there was something peaceful about the stillness. Humidity and the trapped sunlight warmed me, so I slipped out of my jacket, draping it over my arm.
Austin nudged Winnie toward a flat of broccoli seedlings and whispered like it was a secret mission. “Do you think your mom would eat these if you grew them?”
She squinted at him like she wasn’t sure whether that was a trick. “Only if they turn into cheese.”
They laughed at my expense, but it filled me with happiness. My cheeks pinched and my heart was full.
The greenhouse curved overhead in a long glass arch, soft light diffusing over rows of herbs and starter plants, little signs stuck into pots in loopy handwriting—basil, zucchini, beefsteak tomato, and something called 1,500-year-old cave beans.
Austin crouched beside her as she ran her fingers over fuzzy leaves. “You remember what we talked about, bug? You have to pick at least one thing you’re willing to try eating.”
She scrunched her nose and looked up at him with a wrinkle of suspicion. “Even if it’s weird?”
“Especiallyif it’s weird,” he said solemnly. “That’s what makes it fun.”
She pointed to a tray of rainbow carrot sprouts, still tiny and wild-haired. “These look funny.”
He grinned. “Perfect.”
I stood a few steps behind them, arms folded, trying to seem casual, but my chest was tight and my skin too warm, even without my jacket. Austin scooped her up effortlessly to let her see the hanging baskets overhead—long tendrils of sweet potato vines and bursts of red geraniums.
His hand cradled her back. His laugh was soft.
I felt it again—that ache that wasn’t just physical. It was the one that whisperedwhat if.The one that threatened to swallow me whole if I let it.
Winnie pointed to a ceramic frog statue with a cracked eye. “I love him. Do you think he has a name?”
Austin glanced over his shoulder, catching my eye. “What do you think, Selene?”
I blinked. “Me?”
“Yeah,” he said, voice low and just this side of intimate. “You look like someone who’d name a frog.”
I gave a wry smile. “Charming.”
He smirked. “Come on. Don’t let the frog down.”
“Willie.” I shrugged and immediately regretted it.
“Old One-Eyed Willie.” Austin’s grin widened. “It’s perfect.” He grabbed Willie by the neck and tucked the figurine into his armpit.
I turned away, pretending to examine a tray of lavender plants, but I could feel the smile tugging at my mouth anyway.
We bought far too many plants. More than would ever fit in the tiny raised bed he’d built behind the duplex, but Winnie was too thrilled to stop, and I didn’t have it in me to break the spell. The woman at the register gave a steep discount for Willie since he was cracked, and Winnie’s smile beamed the entire time.
As he paid, Austin’s hand grazed the small of my back, light and intentional.
My breath stuttered and I didn’t move.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, voice pitched just for me. “You’re looking a little ... flustered.”
I swallowed, pulse thudding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His hand didn’t move. “Sure you don’t.”
He turned toward Winnie before I could respond, but the heat of his palm lingered long after it left me.
