Chapter 3
There were butterflies in Wyatt’s belly as he packed the cookies into large containers, and from there into his backpack. He’d made three big batches: oatmeal for Justin, and white chocolate and macadamia, and chocolate chip. It was a lot of cookies, but Wyatt knew that any leftovers would be taken home for people’s families. And okay, it was still a little excessive, but Wyatt couldn’t stop thinking about the bad boy who was starting work today. How lame would it be to turn up with cookies just to try to impress the guy? It would be pretty lame, which was why Wyatt was glad nobody would guess that was what he was doing. He turned up with something for Justin and the workers at least once a week, so it wouldn’t look too suspicious at all.
The walk to the greenhouses was only a short one: Wyatt had to go down the long driveway, cross the road, and then he had to walk about a quarter of a mile up the next driveway to the greenhouses. Justin had got lucky when that land had come up for sale—and luckier still that the owner had offered it to him privately before putting it on the market.
The day was warm already, even though it was barely nine, with the sort of heat settling in the foothills that promised a long hot summer, and hopefully one free of California’s catastrophic wildfires. Everything was just so dry lately, and the underbrush crunched under Wyatt’s shoes as he reached the other side of the road.
There was a sign at the side of the road:Abbot’s Organic Produce. A car was pulling off the road in front of Wyatt as he crossed, tires crunching on dirt as it pulled in out the front of the little open-air stall. The stall was packed with open crates of fruit and vegetables, and also jars of honey from a guy a little farther up in the hills who kept a bunch of hives.
“Hi, Wyatt!” Patty called out to him as he approached. Patty was an older woman with gray hair that she wore in long braids. She was wearing a patchwork skirt and a faded Jimi Hendrix shirt today, and a purple crystal that hung from a leather thong around her neck. “How are you on this beautiful Saturday morning, my sweet, sweet boy?”
Wyatt flashed her a grin. “Yes, I have cookies for you.”
Patty raised her arms in a silent cheer. “I would have called you a sweet boy anyway!”
Wyatt laughed. He knew. He slipped behind the counter to join her, and unpacked some cookies while Patty spoke to the customers who’d come in the car. Patty looked like a gentle old hippie, but she was a total shark. The people had only come looking for tomatoes, but by the time they left they were lugging three boxes of produce to their car—and one of Dad’s cookbooks.
Patty took one of the macadamia cookies and bit into it. “Oh, this is delicious as always, Wyatt! When are you going to start baking some for me to sell?”
Wyatt wrinkled his nose, like he always did, and his stomach clenched. “I don’t know. It’s just a hobby.”
“Right,” Patty said with a laugh. “You want to make all those fancy-schmancy pastries and things, don’t you?”
Right. People thought he was going to be a pâtissier in a Michelin-starred restaurant, makingmille-feuilles and croquembouches, not the cupcakes and cookies you could buy in any baked goods section at any Walmart.
Wyatt managed a smile. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”
Another car turned off the road.
“I’ll see you later,” Wyatt said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and stepping back out into the sunlight.
Patty waved after him. “Bye, sweetheart! Thank you for the cookies!”
The six greenhouses were a short way down the road, just past the bend. As a little kid Wyatt had loved visiting. Justin’s first greenhouse had been damp and humid and smelled of soil, and the panes had been grimy and thick. It has been bursting with life, and so different from the dry, brushy foothills around Oak Glen. Wyatt had thought it was magical. Since then, Justin had upgraded to more modern greenhouses that were built on clean and sleek lines. Two of them were fully hydroponic, and reminded Wyatt more of laboratories than rainforests, but the rest still smelled overwhelmingly of rich, damp soil.
He kept to the edge of the road as a truck roared past, and the driver—Carlos—lifted his hand to wave. Wyatt waved back. Carlos was one of the guys that had been working for Justin for ages. He lived on site as well, in one of the trailers nestled in the dip of the land behind the greenhouses and served as temporary housing for some of the workers. Not everyone came to work here had a bank balance in the black and a good credit rating, and not everyone—even if they had those things—was in a position to commute to Oak Glen every day. Justin liked to take care of his workers wherever he could. He remembered what it was like to worry that he couldn’t afford a roof over his head.
Wyatt pulled out his phone as he approached the first greenhouse.
I’ve got cookies. Where are you?
He got his response a moment later:Break room.
Wyatt headed for the second greenhouse, dodging a forklift on the way. In the space between the first and the second greenhouses was a squat utility building that had a few showers, lockers, some bathrooms, and the employee break room. The break room contained two long tables with a bunch of mismatched chairs, two ratty couches, a couple of refrigerators for lunches and drinks, and a television on the wall that was usually playing ESPN. An air-conditioner unit rattled on the wall.
Justin was digging into some celery sticks and hummus when Wyatt entered the room, and he shoved them aside immediately, his face lighting up. “Let me grab some oatmeal cookies before everyone else finds out you’re here.”
“I brought plenty, don’t worry.” Wyatt set his backpack on the table and began to unpack it. “Are you busy today?”
Justin made a so-so gesture with his hand. “Not crazy busy, but I’m a bit behind because I spent the morning showing Izzy around.”
Izzy.
“Is that the new guy?” Wyatt asked, trying to keep his tone even and worrying he was failing.
Justin didn’t seem to notice, too busy opening the container of oatmeal cookies. “Yeah.”
“You think he’ll work out?”
