“Hey…” Esther’s voice is gentle now. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? I’m always scrambling, always behind on bills, always making do with equipment that’s held together with duct tape and prayer. Now I’ve proven that my half-assed setup can destroy someone’s life’s work in about thirty seconds.”
“Their life’s work is pretty fragile if a few goats can wreck it,” Eva points out.
Despite everything, I snort out a laugh. “That’s what I said. Who designs trees that can’t survive a little chaos?”
“Someone who’s never met your goats.” Eden grins.
“Exactly.” I feel some of the tension ease from my shoulders. “Look, I’ll do the work because I have to. But I’m not pretending this guy and I are going to be friends. We’ll grow his precious trees, I’ll finish my contract, and then I never have to see Reed Nicholas again.”
“Reed Nicholas?” Ben’s eyebrows go up. “As in Nicholas Industries?”
“How should I know?”
“That’s a big company. Construction, development, energy stuff.” Ben looks thoughtful. “His family has a hand in basically every project in the county right now.”
“Great,” I mutter. “He’s not just rich; he’s dynasty rich. That makes me feel so much better about this whole situation.”
“At least you know he can afford to lose fifteen grand,” Eila says cheerfully.
“Not helping.”
Despite my grumbling, I feel a little better surrounded by my sisters’ support. Even when they think I’m being unreasonable, they’ve got my back. And I’ll need it.
6
Reed
I pull into Eliza’s gravel driveway, my hybrid sedan jolting over potholes that could probably be classified as calderas. She never responded to my three texts about today’s schedule, which means I have no choice but to manage this situation in person.
I’m also not entirely convinced she hasn’t tried to leave town.
Her house appears held together by optimism and paint that might have been teal once upon a time. I’m surprised to see a number of different buildings—a real urban farm right in the middle of Pittsburgh’s north side. Of course, Eliza has tools scattered across her porch haphazardly, along with mismatched watering vessels and roaming cats that probably have fleas.
But then I step out of my car and see the view.
Pittsburgh spreads out below me in the winter light, the downtown skyline crisp and gleaming in the sunrise. From up here, I can see the three rivers converging, the bridges spanning between neighborhoods like delicate steel vines. It’s the kind of view that adds a few zeroes to a property’s value, assuming anyone could navigate her driveway to appreciate it.
My gaze drifts to a large structure behind the house—some kind of barn or workshop that looks almost solid. With those south-facing windows and roof angle, it could easily be converted into a state-of-the-art growing facility. Climate controlled, properly ventilated, solar powered…
I’m mentally calculating square footage when an ungodly sound erupts from the building. I imagine an air horn mixed with a garbage disposal.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Eliza’s voice carries from somewhere I can’t see, tinged with surprise and irritation.
I blink and look around. “I couldn’t get ahold of you and needed to confirm our start time for today.”
A head pops up from behind a wooden fence, dark hair escaping from a messy bun and dirt streaked across one cheek, despite the early hour. “I said I’d be there.”
“You didn’t say when.” I hold up my phone, displaying the unanswered messages. “I came to discuss logistics.”
Eliza vaults over the fence with casual athleticism that makes me suddenly aware of my own physical limitations. She’s wearing overalls again, these ones patched at the knee but clean, paired with work boots that have clearly seen actual work. It’s alluring in a way that startles me. I… don’t like women like this… usually.
“I was feeding animals,” she says, wiping her hands on a rag. “Some of us don’t check our phones every five minutes.”
“I don’t check every five minutes. I check at regular intervals to maintain effective communication. And I’ve been reaching out since we left Bramblewood.”
She stares at me until I have to check if I’ve just admitted to speaking fluent Elvish. “Right. Okay, professor.”
