She knew the last local owner, Dr. Matthias Hamilton, had died two years ago, and he’d been the third-generation owner. Dr. Hamilton hadn’t lived in the house himself, but he’d rented it out for weddings and social events. Tessa had never understood why he hadn’t wanted to live in his family’s house, but he’d taken care of it just the same.
Dr. Hamilton had been a quiet, kind man. He treated the prize-winning damask roses in the front yard like children and gave cuttings to anyone who walked by. He dug a winding river through the backyard garden and filled it with koi, naming each fish after a famous fictional character. Tessa remembered a fat albino koi named Captain Ahab and a skinny golden koi named Dorian Gray that liked to stare at its reflection in the mirrored rocks lining the bottom of the riverbed. Even thinking of bulldozing over Honeysuckle Hollow’s backyard made Tessa’s chest constrict.
Tessa assured Mrs. Steele she would properly assess the house once she received the keys, and then she’d get back to her regarding the listing. It had been years since Tessa had seen the inside of Honeysuckle Hollow, but from driving by the property recently, she knew the front yard had fallen into disrepair in the last couple of years. The backyard would likely be overgrown, but burning down the historical home was ridiculous and cruel.
After replying to a few dozen emails, Tessa walked to Scrambled, which was up the block and around the corner from her office. There were a handful of afternoon diners, so Tessa settled into a two-top table by the front windows and ordered a garden omelet with a strawberry lemonade. All through the meal, Tessa’s mind wandered between her condo drowning a couple of miles away and Honeysuckle Hollow sitting abandoned on Dogwood Lane. She’d attended a garden party there years ago when Dr. Hamilton was still alive. Her vague memory recalled the scent of rosemary, which was probably growing untamed in the backyard, infusing the air with its woodsy scent. She thought about blooms of lavender waving in the spring wind. Had the rainstorms flooded the backyard river? Were any koi still alive? She forked the last bit of tomato and basil into her mouth just as Cecilia bustled out of the kitchen.
“Changed your mind?” Cecilia asked. “Harry told me you called.” She dropped a set of keys on the tabletop.
“I want to pay rent,” Tessa said. “I wouldn’t feel right living here for free.”
“Don’t be silly,” Cecilia said. “It’s a favor for one of my favorite customers. Go get settled in, and Harry and I will bring you food to stock your refrigerator. No arguments,” she added when Tessa opened her mouth to object to more handouts.
“At least let me help you in some way,” Tessa said. “Isn’t there anything I can do to say thank you?”
Cecilia tapped a burgundy fingernail against her lips. “Help me tonight with the garden. The rain nearly destroyed my plants. I could use another pair of hands.”
Tessa’s mouth turned down. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I kill plants.”
“On purpose?”
“No.” Tessa released a laugh. “They just don’t seem to thrive in my care. And bythrive, I meanlive.”
Cecilia smiled. “You’ve never had a good teacher. My garden is hardy. It survived the storms, so I think it can handle you.”
After grabbing her bags from the Great Pumpkin, Tessa hiked the stairs to the apartment above the diner and fished the keys out of her pocket. The apartment smelled like just-out-of-the-oven cinnamon rolls and sticky, sweet cream-cheese icing. Tessa inhaled deeply and dropped her bags beside the L-shaped tan couch. She spun in a complete circle on the walnut hardwood, scanning the living room and attached kitchen. Tessa had imagined the Borellis would have decorated the apartment to suit their more mature, traditional tastes, but the space was modern and trendy with a touch of masculinity.
The living room walls were painted in an earth tone resembling the color of the pages in an old paperback novel. Splashes of sage green complemented the neutral marble countertops and dark cabinets. A large map of the world pasted to a corkboard hung on one long wall. Tessa stepped toward it. Silver pushpins were scattered across the continents. She bounced her fingertips along their trail as though connecting the dots of someone’s life, each silver circle a place visited by an unknown traveler. A red heart-shaped pushpin had been pressed into the spot marking Mystic Water, Georgia. A gemstone globe sat on a shelf of built-in bookshelves lined with classic novels and travel magazines. She glanced toward the bedroom.
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the gossamer curtains, dusting golden stripes across the ivory duvet. Tessa dropped her laptop bag on the bed. Dark walnut furniture anchored a soft wool rug to the polished hardwood. A framed photograph of Harry, Cecilia, and two handsome young men sat on the dresser. She lifted it and smoothed her thumb over the glass, thinking the men must be their sons, Paul and Eddie. Tessa could see the resemblance, and the oldest son, Paul, stared out at her with his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, as if he had a joke he couldn’t wait to tell her. She felt a fluttering in her stomach and returned the photograph to its spot.
One of the few pairs of shoes that Tessa salvaged from her condo had been her ratty gray tennis shoes left over from her high school days. Her mama had insisted she throw them away years ago, but Tessa had kept them for no other reason except they reminded her of the day she’d sat on the bleachers during after-school football practice. She’d worn her new gray tennis shoes while pretending to take pictures for the school paper, but she was secretly photographing only Jeremiah Lee, the kicker.
During that particularly windy practice, a strong gust shoved the kicked ball out of its perfect line and rocketed it toward Tessa on the bleachers. Her face had been glued to the camera, so she hadn’t seen the projectile heading for her. Jeremiah’s football missile nailed her in the side of the head, knocking her backward off the bleacher. Tessa had been stunned, folded like a human taco between two rows, with her legs sticking into the air like cattails in a pond and her arms splayed at her sides. The camera bounced several feet away.
She blinked up to see Jeremiah leaning over her, asking if she was okay while he searched her face with his brown eyes. He clutched one lucky gray tennis shoe in his hand, reached for her opposite hand, and tugged her into an upright position. Then he sat down beside her, so close that she felt the heat radiating through his sweaty practice gear. Tessa remembered nodding and smiling and telling him she was fine, even though she had to reach up several times to make sure her head hadn’t cracked in half. Jeremiah’s relief showed in his smile, which showcased his slightly crooked bottom teeth and off-center grin. She’d fallen in love with that smile. Jeremiah chucked her in the shoulder with his fist and ran back to practice, cradling the football in his arm. It was the first time he noticed her, and she gave full credit to the new shoes.
Sometimes she still slipped them on and remembered a seventeen-year-old Jeremiah smiling down at her. In those daydreams she pretended she hadn’t been knocked goofy by his football and wasn’t lying wedged between the bleachers. Instead, she imagined they were lying in the grass behind the football field, and Jeremiah was grinning at her like a boy in love.
Tessa blinked down at the worn-out shoes with fraying laces and thought maybe there was still a little bit of luck left in them. They’d survived the flood. As she rounded the corner of the building, heading toward the front door of the diner, she stopped beside a red geranium in a terracotta pot that had fallen from its perch. The cracked pot exposed the geranium’s roots and spilled its dirt. The kelly-green leaves thumped against her shoe in the breeze. Tessa leaned down and scooped the dirt into a neater pile, covering the vulnerable roots. The soil tingled against her skin as she brushed the dirt from her fingers.
“Harry has gone to fetch a new pot for that one,” Cecilia said. “He’ll repot it before he preps for tomorrow morning’s breakfast rush.”
She handed Tessa a trowel and led her around the side of the building. Wind blew up the alley, rustling through basil leaves, stalks of rosemary, and tomato vines. Tessa closed her eyes and inhaled, breathing in the scent of an Italian pizzeria. The sight of the pummeled garden pulled a sigh from Cecilia. Some plants had fallen over, others had been beaten into the mud, and still others suffered broken stalks, scattering pieces of themselves across the alley.
Cecilia fisted her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Looks like a slush of mud pies and weeds. That storm uprooted more than half of my garden.” She pointed at a tangle of green spear-shaped leaves with long tendrils wrapping themselves around one another in a complicated knot. “Start there with the mint. See if the buried pot is still intact. I can’t have the mint taking over the garden, and believe me, it will if we’re not careful. Mint is a traveling plant.”
Tessa knelt and used her trowel to poke around in the dirt. Every time her hands or arms struck the mint, the plant released the fresh scent of Christmas and hot tea into the air. She inhaled, and the clutter in her head began to clear. Soon Tessa heard metal striking stone. She scraped away the dirt until she saw the sienna-brown edges of the buried pot. Tessa slid her hand around the stone vessel, her fingers finding a crack that splintered through the pot. “Feels broken.”
“Go ahead and dig it out,” Cecilia said. “I think I have another pot around back.”
Tessa worked on unearthing the mint pot, and when she was finished, she fetched the new container for Cecilia. Once the mint was repotted, Cecilia gave Tessa one task after another. They worked their way down the garden for nearly an hour. Tessa’s worries and anxieties about her present situation lessened as she worked. For the first time in a couple of days, she felt the tension between her shoulder blades release a little. While Tessa patted the soil around a patch of thyme, Cecilia disrupted the stillness.
“Why did you choose to work in real estate?” Cecilia asked as she tucked dirt around the base of a rosemary bush.
Tessa pushed off her knees and balanced on her toes. She scooped a handful of soil with one hand and sprinkled it into her open palm, mimicking an hourglass counting time. The wet earth spread warmth from her fingers, up her arms, and into her chest. “It’s what I knew. My mama put me to work young, doing odd jobs at the real estate office for her. Filing, answering the phone, sorting through the mail. I followed her everywhere, to houses, rentals, and plots of land, and I learned a lot. It seemed natural for me to keep doing it, even after college. I also enjoyed it.”
“What did you study in college?” Cecilia asked.
