She looks like she wants to argue, but practicality wins out. “Fine.”
The drive to her place is quieter than I expected. Eliza stares out the passenger window as we enter the city, the lights of the downtown skyscrapers illuminated for the holiday season. Each of the bridges seems to have a different theme, from Hanukkah blue and silver to a Kwanzaa kinara, and Eliza is noticeably charmed by all of it.
I find myself stealing glances at her profile in the dashboard light. She looks tired but alert, clearly processing the events of the evening.
I navigate the narrow streets of her neighborhood, noting the mix of renovated houses and ones that have seen better days. Eliza’s place sits on a hill with that spectacular view of the city, and she sighs, gazing at the glittering lights.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says when I pull over. “And for letting me help tonight. It was kind of fun, solving problems with duct tape.”
“Thank you for making it work,” I reply. “I was feeling pretty forlorn about the whole thing.”
She grins. “Sometimes good enough is better than perfect.”
“Don’t let that get around. My reputation as a control freak is all I have left.”
Eliza laughs, then grows serious. “You’re going to do great tomorrow, Reed. Trust your instincts.”
She gets out of the car and walks toward her house, fumbling for keys in the darkness. I should leave now; she’s safely home, my obligation as a decent human being is fulfilled. But I find myself sitting in the driveway, engine running, watching until she gets her front door open and disappears inside.
A light comes on in what I assume is her kitchen, then another in an upstairs window. Only then do I put the car in reverse and head home.
The whole drive to my apartment, I can’t shake the image of Eliza working beside me in the greenhouse, completely focused and utterly competent. She never once questioned whether we could fix the problem. She just started fixing it.
Later today, I’ll present my trees to a room full of investors and family members who may or may not understand what I’m trying to accomplish. But tonight, for the first time in months, I believe the presentation might succeed.
And it’s not just because of the trees.
9
Eliza
Reed calls while I’m mucking out the goat shelter, which means I answer with my phone tucked between my shoulder and ear while scraping questionable substances off concrete.
“I know you’re probably busy,” he says without preamble, “but would you let me buy you lunch? As a thank you for last night.”
I pause mid-scrape. “You don’t owe me lunch for helping with your lights.”
“Maybe not, but I could use a pep talk before tonight’s presentation.” His voice carries that tight edge I’m starting to recognize as Reed trying not to sound anxious. “And I was thinking we could go to the Christmas market downtown. I know some vendors there, and after seeing what your goats do to regular plants, I believe in them when it comes to weeds on my friends’ properties.”
“You want to pimp out my goats at a Christmas market?”
“I want to introduce you to people who need your services,” he corrects. “There’s a guy who’s converting old warehouses into artist studios. Another woman who’s rehabbing industrial buildings for small manufacturers. The kind of properties that have been sitting empty long enough for invasive vines to take over… Anyway, they have booths there if you want to meet them.”
I lean against my pitchfork, considering. The city still hasn’t paid me for the Highland Park job, and winter work is always scarce. Plus, Reed sounds nervous about tonight, which is weirdly endearing coming from someone who usually has everything calculated to three decimal places.
“What time?” I ask.
“Two? I know it’s late for lunch, but?—”
“Two works. Where should I meet you?”
“Downtown. By the ice rink?”
After we hang up, I stare at my reflection in the barn window. If Reed’s introducing me to potential clients, I should probably look professional and businesslike instead of resembling someone who’s been wrestling goats all morning.
Thankfully, the truck just needed a jump and a new battery, but I’m already dancing on a haystack when it comes to my budget. I decide I’ll accept Reed’s free lunch.
I hope he wears his glasses again.
