@NoraAtwood followed you. Say hi!
I bounced from the couch, desperate for action. Did I message her? Call her? DM her? What did I do? Fuck! I paced her living room, my insides flip-flopping like an Olympic gymnastics routine, and settled on the only choice.
I wouldn’t message her. I didn’t need to. My posts told her how I felt about her, and if she saw those and didn’t care…then there was nothing left to say. I checked her website daily to see progress on the greenhouse, but she hadn’t posted in two weeks.
I waited like a desperate fool when she posted short clips, only her voice coming through and not her face. Just a glimpse of her would be great, but for now, I had to be okay with knowing she would at least see my videos. That follow from her put a spring into my step and invigorated me to keep going.
My Saturday consisted of cleaning my entire apartment, watching the Cubs, and checking my phone. Constantly checking the notifications was a dangerous addiction, but this was my life now. A nervous energy went through me as I clicked my last video. Thousands of views. Hundreds of comments…most of them stating they donated to Nora’s website. There was no way to confirm that it was true, but judging by her growing numbers and her following me…things had to be going well.
@lonelygirl19082308 commented:wow this is a great idea? A plant therapy greenhouse? Sign me up.
@plantbabygirl3989 commented: seriously, like where can I find this place?
@aloeveranerd09877 commented:nature has a way of healing us, Nora is a genius.
I chewed the side of my lip as I read the comments, solidifying why Nora had to follow her dream. I knew. Despite her weirdness, her heart was in the right place from day one.
I stalked a few of my most active followers’ profiles to see what other videos they liked. There were videos where someone started the video innocently and when the beat dropped, bam! They were shirtless, or doing something sexy, were apparently a huge trend.
I made a sour face at the thought of making a post like that, even as I’d already accepted the fact that I was going to make one. Whatever it took.
The combination of the filters, lighting, and the music that I’d need to make this post the sexiest I could was going to take some preparation.
An hour and a half later, I posted my first thirst trap. There was no going back. I was in this for the win. The video started with a fully-clothed me in Nora’s apartment, innocent music dubbed in. Upbeat pop. Then, the music got louder and the beat dropped. My shirt came off, and I moved my hips a bit as I watered her plants. Did I take time between takes to do push-ups to make my muscles stand out more? Yes. It was a great tip and made my chest look better with the light.
As I filmed myself, sweaty and bare-chested, I hoped Nora knew this was for her. It was all for her.
The hashtags#bigplantenergy #Flora #teamFlora were everywhere, and right before I exited out of the app and headed to work, a greenhouse sent me a message. I followed fifty accounts that were focused on plants and therapy and, of course, Nora’s personal account.
I had hundreds of notifications I didn’t check because they were all various forms of fan mail—which still felt weird as fuck—but the greenhouse message caught my attention. Was it Nora’s? I clicked so fast I had to try three times because my thumb wasn’t hitting the right spot.
@GableGreenhouse Hey Fritz!Love your posts about plant awareness and how much joy they bring to the world. Would love to have you visit and help us out. If interested, let us know. Happy to contribute to a charity of your choice. Also, we want to talk about selling some merch with #bigplantenergy. Have a lot of ideas if you’re open to discussion.
Charity of my choice?Nora’s dream. I looked up their location, and they were only an hour north. They had a huge following online. Thousands of followers and likes. Their website said they partnered with local churches in their area, so they definitely gave back to their community. I started typing a response but hesitated. Was this Nora’s competition? Did I want to head there? I let the message sit unanswered and wouldn’t make any decisions yet, especially if it would hurt Nora.
Merch though…that could make a profit. They had a huge reach, and I could raise funds for Nora to make it a nonprofit. Hmm. With the following I gained, people could buy shirts with the dumb sayings. I could even include a slogan or a logo from Nora’s greenhouse. Yes—I could help sell stuff to promote her brand. I nodded to myself and messaged back. Talking to them wouldn’t hurt.
@Fritz When you thinking?
@GableGreenHouse Tomorrow afternoon would be best for us. We have some killer ideas that would help spread awareness to Nora’s greenhouse idea.
@Fritz I’ll be there.
Wow. Despite the heartbreak, I was having…fun. It was unlike my typical areas of interest, but fuck it. I was a real plant dad now and owning it. Now, I just had to see what their ideas were and hope it didn’t conflict with my plan to support Nora.
The next day, I pulled up to Gable Greenhouse and parked my BMW. While I was glad to have my car back permanently, I did miss the truck. It had more room. There weren’t a lot of cars in the parking lot, but it was still hot as balls outside. I made my way inside, the scent reminding me so much of Nora, I swore I could feel her there.
The earthy scent of dirt and flowers. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Fritz?”
What the fuck.I snapped my head to the right and about fell over. Nora stood right there. In front of me. Her pink hair had faded and grown out a little bit, but she was still her. The earrings, the baggy shirt, the goofy backpack, and large eyes. My heart about beat out of my chest wanting to be closer to her, to be home again. Her saying my name stole all the oxygen from of my lungs.
Because she was fucking beautiful, and distance did nothing to lessen my feelings for her. I opened my mouth to say hi, to say something, but nothing came out. Not a word.
She chewed on the side of her lips as she furrowed her brows. “By your expression, I take it you didn’t plan this.”
I shook my head and wiped a hand over my face. “You look beautiful,” I said, my voice scratchy as my feelings threatened to overflow in choppy half sentences.
