"Got it."
She hands me a pair of gloves—too small, but I make them work—and points to the bed closest to the fence. "Start there. Pull anything that's not a vegetable or an herb. If you're not sure, ask."
"Yes, ma'am."
We work in silence for a while. The morning sun spreads warmth on my back, the smell of earth and growing things filling the air. It's peaceful. Grounding. Work that doesn't require thinking, just doing.
Ainsley moves between the rows, murmuring to the plants like they can hear her. Maybe they can. I've seen stranger things.
I'm pulling what I'm ninety percent sure is a weed when she speaks.
"My grandmother taught me how to garden."
I glance up. She's kneeling a few feet away, hands buried in the soil, gaze distant.
"Yeah?"
"She raised me. Single grandmother, tight budget, no room for extras." Ainsley pulls a weed free and tosses it into the bucket beside her. "But she always had a garden. Said it was cheaper than therapy and more reliable than people."
I say nothing. Just wait.
"She loved it," Ainsley continues, voice softer now. "She'd spend hours out here talking to the tomatoes, fussing over the basil. She said plants don't lie. They don't take your money and disappear. If you take care of them, they take care of you."
"Sounds like a smart woman."
"She was." Ainsley sits back on her heels, brushing dirt off her hands. "She died two years ago. Left me the house, but it needed a lot of work and we were in the process of fixing it up. We had to take out a mortgage in both our names on the home so we could fix it up. Then she passed. That's how I ended up with Kelsey."
The name lands like a stone.
"My ex-best friend," Ainsley clarifies, though I already knew. "We were tight in high school. She was fun, spontaneous, everything I wasn't. When Grandma died and I needed help with the house, Kelsey offered to move in. We'd split expenses, fixthe place up together, save for this big trip to Europe we'd been dreaming about since we were sixteen."
She pulls another weed, harder this time.
"I worked at a nursery. I loved it. It didn't pay much, but I was happy. Kelsey worked retail, complained constantly, but we made it work. We opened a joint account for bills and the trip fund. I put every spare dollar in there."
I can see where this is going, and I hate it.
"One day, I came home, and she was gone. No note, no explanation. Just... gone. And so was every cent in that account."
Her voice doesn't waver, but her hands do. Just a little.
"How much?" I ask.
"Almost twelve thousand dollars." She laughs, bitter and sharp. "I know that's not a fortune to some people, but to me? That was everything. My emergency fund, the trip fund, three months of mortgage, utilities, and car payments. Gone.Poof."
"Did you report it?"
"Tried. Cops said it was a civil matter since her name was on the account too. Technically, she didn't steal—she just withdrew her share." Ainsley's mouth twists. "Never mind that I deposited ninety percent of it."
I grip the weed in my hand so hard the roots snap.
"Anyway," she continues, brushing her hands on her jeans. "I couldn't afford to work at the nursery anymore. I needed something that paid better, fast. Simon offered me the bartending job, and I couldn't say no. More money, plus tips. It's not what I wanted, but it keeps the lights on."
"And the garden?" I ask.
She looks around, expression softening. "This is all I have left of her. Of Grandma. So yeah, it's off-limits. Because if I lose this too..." She doesn't finish the sentence.
She doesn't have to.
