Maya follows me out. "You're going to the soft opening, right?"
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Ivy."
"What? I'm busy."
"You're scared."
I slam the tailgate harder than necessary. "I'm not scared. I'm cautious. There's a difference."
"He asked about you."
That stops me. "What?"
"Last night. Called me at eleven asking how to get in touch with you. Said he found Cora's notes about seed nights."
I gaze at her. "And?"
"And I gave him your number. But I'm guessing he hasn't called yet because he knows you'll bite his head off."
"Smart man."
Maya sighs. "Just come to the soft opening. Thursday night. See what he's about before you write him off."
"I'm not writing him off."
"You're doing the thing where you decide someone's going to disappoint you before they get the chance."
"That's not a thing."
"It's absolutely a thing."
I climb into the truck. "I'll think about it."
"That means no."
"It means I'll think about it."
She steps back, hands up. "Fine. But if you don't show, you lose the right to complain when he turns the bistro into a foam-and-tweezers nightmare."
I start the engine. "Noted."
Back at the greenhouse,I unload the soil and check the seedlings. The tomatoes are right on schedule, the beans are climbing, and the lettuce is ready to transplant into the community garden plots.
I yank out my field notebook and update the log. Dates, varieties, germination rates. Everything labeled, everything tracked.
Control. That's what keeps systems running.
I'm in the middle of mixing a fresh batch of potting soil when my phone lights up.
Unknown number.
I consider ignoring it, but curiosity wins.
"Hello?"
"Ivy Hale?"
