There was something about Betsy May’s appointment that was bothering me. IlikedBetsy May. We had always had a fun relationship. Butthatwas not fun for me. I generally liked people. I could be charming, fun, and sarcastic as needed, but I was beginning to learn thatdealingwith people was much different than interacting with people.
Nate was the opposite. His casual, everyday conversation was nothing to write home about, but he was a natural atdealingwith people. He had the patience of a saint. I knew this because during PT school, I did a clinical rotation in Las Vegas, working with him in his office. His manner of talking to patients was full of clucking noises, sympathetic nods, and gentle coaxing. I sat in the same room, observing him, and tried not to claw at the walls. I would clench my fists tight and plaster a fake smile on my face instead of shouting at each patient to stop being so lazy.Do your exercises! You can walk the three feet without keeling over, I promise. Bend your leg. Stop the whining!
Maybe Nate was smart to ease me into an official position at Willow Creek with a few house calls. I clearly needed to rub shoulders with him before I offended every person we knew and loved in Eugene.
* * *
“According to my charts,Mom, you’re about a week ahead of schedule as to where you should be with your flexibility and mobility. You’re a rock star. Keep it up.” I had returned from Betsy May’s in time to run through some exercises with my very best patient. It had been two weeks since her double knee-replacement surgery, and she was doing well, but the recovery was not going fast enough for her. We had finished her physical therapy for the day, and she was heading back to bed for a nap. The strong medication they had given her made her mind groggy and her body exhausted. It was strange seeing my mom, who had always been so active, stuck in bed so much throughout the day. I got her settled, refilled her water, and then gave her a hug.
“Such a sweet little liar.” She leaned back on the pillow before closing her eyes. “Now, fan and noise machine, please.”
“Yes, your highness. Call me when you need me.” I turned on both and headed toward the door.
“Nate and Anna and the kids are coming by sometime today. Will you call me when they get here?”
“Yeah. What are they coming over for?”
“Nate wanted to check on me.”
“Is he planning to poach my best patient?”
Mom smiled and pulled up her blanket. “Nothing like that. They haven’t stopped by in a while. He’s been busy with his own patients and checking out the construction site.”
My thoughts took a turn when I began to imagine my brother and Logan working together before I yanked myself back on track.
“Sounds good.”
Outside, the early-June sun shone brightly. A cool summer breeze fluttered the base of my tank top as I strode across the yard in my work jeans and my hair tucked away in my hat. I yanked open the door of the large, metal greenhouse and stepped inside. The heated moisture felt dense against my skin. Tomorrow, we were opening our fruit stand for the first time this summer. With it being only June, we were reduced to selling whatever crops we had grown in our greenhouse. Rows of strawberry and raspberry plants filled the large structure. A few years ago, my dad realized, after apples and peaches in August and September, our number-one-selling crops were our strawberries and raspberries. Our supplies were limited, so he built a greenhouse to supply the buyers all season long with fresh, sweet berries. Now we’d be opening up our berries to the public.
I pulled out a large crate and began picking red strawberries off their vine, sampling a few in the process. I filled pint after pint, wiping the sweat dripping from my face from the humidity with the bottom of my tank top. Country music poured from the speakers on my phone as I sunk into an easy rhythm. Pick, pick, eat, pick, pick, eat. Out the window, Dad was headed toward the orchard with his hedge trimmer. He wore overalls, rubber boots, and his waterproof polyester gardener hat. It looked like a bucket turned upside down with string connecting both sides below his jaw. He had worn that hat outside for as long as I could remember. He moved in and out of my eyesight among the trees, and I sat transfixed like I always did when I looked at the orchard.
I couldn’t believe it had been a year ago. I hadn’t had the luxury to avoid the orchard. I wouldn’t be much help to my dad if I didn’t weed and spray and prune. I was grateful most of the trees in the orchard were apples and wouldn’t be ready to pick until closer to August. I hated that I wanted to steer clear of the place I used to love more than any other part of our property. Kelsey and I spent much of our life as children in and out of those trees. With low limbs, we would climb to the top, eat apples, and talk about boys. At thirteen, I had whispered to Kelsey from those trees the horrifying secret that I had started my period the day before, to which Kelsey grabbed my hand and told me she had started two weeks earlier but had been too embarrassed to tell me. The long line of grass between the trees served as an impromptu bowling alley, cartwheel lane, and, on occasion, a make-believe wedding.
And then, one day, a real wedding.
The opening of the greenhouse door snapped me off the trail my thoughts were on. I watched, grateful for a distraction but also curious, as Logan and Jake ducked under the low door frame and stepped inside. They both wore jeans and t-shirts, though Jake’s pants were much tighter, and they both had smiles on their faces that screamed trouble. And fun. But mostly trouble. And even as I grew wary, the tiniest thrill shot through me.
The day was suddenly looking up.
7
Logan
Jake had insisted he needed to come along. When I had told him to take a hike, he said the bet would be off if I didn’t let him come. He needed to see it with his own eyes. There had been a look brimming on his face that I hadn’t wanted to examine, so I rolled my eyes and agreed to it. Hopefully, Tessa would just turn me down again, and we’d be done with this whole mess I’d gotten myself into with my big mouth.
“Did your GPS take you to the wrong house again?” Tessa asked as she watched us approach, her eyes sparkling.
The greenhouse was huge. Once inside, I guessed it was almost as big as my dad’s shop. Vines of fruits and vegetables lined the walls and rows in between. An old cherrywood desk littered with packets of seeds and tools served as an island in the middle of the room. Tessa sat in one of two old computer chairs, then attempted to open a drawer. I could tell our arrival had flustered her, and so watching the drawer stick and refuse to open as she yanked it several times only resulted in me trying to hide my smile.
“Try kicking it,” I offered.
“That’s usually my next move.”
I ambled around the desk and squatted down next to her, my arm brushing her leg. She rolled back a few inches, allowing me closer access to the rogue drawer. It suddenly felt very strange being in her space so casually. I wasn’t sure if the smell of citrus was from something growing in this greenhouse or her, but either way, I was too close to her for comfort.
I shook the door, leaning further down to open the cabinet door under the drawer, and jiggled a few things before giving it one strong tug. The drawer glided open.
Her mouth dropped. “How did you do that?”
