She swings a hip against the worktable and hops up onto the edge of it, the surface wobbling enough to send a jolt straight through my spine. I step closer without thinking, palm hovering near the pot like a worried parent with a newborn.
“What’re you doing?” she asks, peering down at the leaves.
“Taking readings,” I answer. “Again.”
She leans closer, then pauses mid-reach when my movement stills. Her arm freezes in the air before she draws it back, slow and deliberate, eyes flicking to my face. “Touching is bad, huh.”
“Not bad,” I say. “Just… unhelpful.”
“Got it.” She tilts her head. “Have you tried sweet-talking it instead of threatening its life?”
I snort despite myself. “I’m not threatening it.”
“You just told it you were going to throw it out.” She plants her hands on the table, gripping the edge.
“That’s motivation.”
“For you, or… it?” she asks. “Cause it sounds like you're traumatizing it with all your grumpy talk.”
I shoot her a look. “I’m not grumpy. I’m frustrated. All the data says it should be thriving.”
“Mmm.” She hums like she’s unconvinced and bends closer to the pot, lowering her voice. “Don’t listen to what grumpy Greg says. You’re beautiful, unique, and special. Not everyone blooms at the same time.”
She keeps one eye on me while she murmurs it, mouth twitching, clearly enjoying herself, and then adds in a softer whisper meant only for the plant, “I believe in you.”
I blink. “What are you doing?”
“Giving it a little encouragement.” She straightens with a satisfied little nod and grins up at me. “Remember this morning, you said you don’t take the easy way out.”
I hesitate. “Go on.”
“Maybe all the tricks in the book aren’t what this little guy needs.” She hops off the table, ruffling the hybrid’s leaves. “Play it some music, talk to it…” She gives me a pointed look. “Nicely. Think outside the box, babe.”
Babe?
Something warm coils low in my stomach. I’m suddenly aware of my own pulse. She watches me closely, mouth tipped into a curious grin, like she’s clocked the half-second delay before I respond.
She leans in and kisses my cheek again, quick and soft, her lips warm against skin. “You want to grab dinner later?” she asks.
I nod, my brain still stuck on the intimately close pet name and that it doesn’t bother me. “Yeah.”
“Come get me when you finish up,” she adds, already backing away. “I’m going to bother Daisy for a minute.”
She slips through the greenhouse doors toward the showroom with the same unstoppable momentum she walked in with. I stare at the spot where she disappeared, my thoughts stalling.
I glance at the plant. “You,” I mutter.
I set my pen and notebook on the table, fingers lingering on the paper before pulling away. Talking to a plant is ridiculous. I deal in soil chemistry and light spectrums and nutrient ratios, not… affirmations. Still, the words,think outside the box,repeat in my head in Darby’s voice, smug and annoyingly persuasive.
I clear my throat and open my mouth. But my mind goes blank and nothing comes out. What the heck do I say to a plant?
I shift my weight, glance toward the doors to make sure no one’s watching, then feel like an idiot for doing that, which only makes my shoulders tighten more. My hands hook into my pockets and come right back out again, restless. I rub the back of my neck, stare at the leaves, and try to pretend this is a normal part of horticultural science.
“All right,” I tell the plant quietly. “This is… purely experimental.”
I press my lips together, exhale through my nose, and try again. “You’re… healthy.” That sounds pathetic even to me, but I keep going. “Strong stems. Good color. No disease markers. That’s… good.”
What the hell am I doing?
