“I do,” he says.
I hang up, wishing I didn’t feel like I’d lied to my friend and business partner. But when I reach the main gate for Lavender Bliss Farms, I try to shrug off the uncomfortable feelings, vowing to focus on the client’s needs—giving her the space she asked for while watching her back.
That I can do without lying.
By the end of the evening, I’ve finished some admin work, helped pick and prune flowers with Ripley, and accompanied her on somedeliveries. I stayed in the background, giving her space to chat with her customers, her employees, her friends. While she talked to Ramona by the lavender maze about something that clearly distressed the woman in the shop, I hung back, out of earshot. When she ran into a woman with heavily pierced ears and a nose ring, I gave them space for the convo.
As we return to the farm, Ripley heads inside the home, and I go to the shop, on a mission. A guy I’m pretty sure is Cyrus is working there today, bobbing his shaggy head of hair to something that sounds like Jack Johnson. He’s a white surfer dude with long hair, a deep tan, and an obviousvibe—that his life is a vibe.
“Hey, bro,” he says with a smile. “What can I do you for?”
“How’s it going?” He doesn’t have a name tag, but Ripley told me the names of everyone who worked here so I can surmise. And I like to use people’s names when I can. That’s something my mother taught me. It personalizes interactions. Shows them you care, even if it’s someone you’ll never see again, she says. “I’m Banks. You must be Cyrus.”
He puffs out his chest. “I am. And you’re like Kevin Costner, right? I love that movie. I mean it’s old, but old movies are so cute, man, aren’t they? But hey, no surprise there. Old people are rad. I wonder what it would have been like to be an old person back then?”
Wow. That is quite anif you give a moose a muffintrain of thought. He seems to be enjoying it since his gaze is drifting off, and perhaps he’s picturing himself in the good old days of the nineties.
I wait for him to come back to the present moment.
He shakes his head. “Anyhoo. Talk to me, bro.”
I nod toward the lavender eye masks. “I’ll take one of those, Cyrus.”
“Sweet,” he says, then hands me one, not making a move to ask for payment.
My brow knits. “How much?”
“Bro, you’re keeping my boss safe. It’s on the house.”
Pretty sure giving things away is not helping the boss, but this is not my circus nor my monkeys. “I’d like to pay.”
He shakes his head. “Your money’s no good here.”
“I bet it cashes just fine,” I say.
“Nope,” he says with a pop of his lips.
The fact that he thinks he can win this battle of wills with me is, admittedly, impressive. No wonder Ripley hired him. He has tenacity under thischillexterior.
That goes on for about another minute until I stare him down and say in no uncertain terms, “I’m not leaving until I pay.”
With a huff, he holds up his hands, relenting. “Have it your way.”
I buy the eye mask, thank him, and leave, setting the mask neatly on the nightstand in the cottage. We’ll see if it helps relieve all my supposed tension after all.
When it’s dinnertime, I don’t expect Ripley to feed me. I tell Lila and Ripley that I’ll order takeout, but Lila insists, and I’m not oneto argue with grandmothers. At dinner we discuss security precautions for the farm, and I review the plan. But I’m pleased that Lila and Ripley are savvy already about best practices.
And, like I promised, I show Ripley that she can take care of everyone and everything while I look out for her. I’ll do it again tomorrow and throughout the length of the shoot, respecting her boundaries and the boundaries of the job.
As the day fades and night settles its blanket over the farm, I nod toward the front door, a sign I’m heading off to my quarters for the night.
“See you and Hudson bright and early,” I say with a wink as I reach for the doorknob but don’t open it.
“Just try to keep up with me,” she retorts.
“I’ll be up and at ’em.”
“Right, because you don’t sleep.” She cocks her head to the side, lifting her chin. “Hey. Are you a vampire bodyguard?”
