“It’s all right, Will. Let’s go see what you have.”
The scent of damp soil and tomato vines hit Mia the minute she stepped into the greenhouse. Rows of herbs and greens stretched in neat lines, the air was thick with humidity.
“I can pull some baby arugula if that helps. I know I have dill.” He glanced around the worktables, rifling through trays that had already been picked over. “Flowers are … well, we’ll see what’s hanging on.”
Before Mia could answer, the door squeaked open and Sabrina stepped in. “Oh, I left a box of basil in here. If I’d known you needed microgreens, I’d have saved you a handful. But they’re so delicate, you really have to plan ahead with these things.”
“Good advice,” Mia said lightly, although the vision of stuffing Sabrina’s mouth with microgreens passed quickly.
Sabrina cocked her head and gave Mia a syrupy-sweet smile. “Busy week for you, huh? I heard you booked the Barton-Mercer party for Saturday.”
Mia blinked. “I did, yes. They reached out a couple of weeks ago.”
“Mm.” Sabrina wiped her hands on her apron. “They reached out to me first. Asked for a tasting, menu ideas, the usual.” She shrugged. “I figured we were moving toward a contract, but I guess they wanted something different or cheaper.” Her eyes flicked over the crate Mia carried. “Fresh. Rustic. You know how it is.”
“Oh,” Mia said quietly. “I didn’t realize they were talking to anyone else.”
“Technically, they never confirmed. Clients shop around. Who knows why they go for one or the other. Usually, it boils down to price.” She shrugged. “Good for you, though. It’s a nice event to land.”
“I’m sure they just changed their minds,” Mia said gently.
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Sabrina replied, though her eyes disagreed. “It’s good to know where clients land when options are on the table.”
The message was subtle but sharp enough to catch. She hadn’t stolen anything, just answered the phone. Still, Sabrina made it sound like Mia had gone behind her back and plucked the job right out of her hands.
After Sabrina left, Mia and Will picked the arugula, dill and the few edible flowers that were left.
By the time Mia got home, the air was thick with humidity. Her shirt clung to her back, and her head throbbed.
Her dad’s truck was parked crooked by the pond, tailgate down, tools scattered. Damn. What was Roy doing now? She already knew this wouldn’t end well.
She walked closer and spotted him, not laying the pavers like she’d asked him to handle but knee-deep in muck, hacking at a clump of cattails.
“Roy?” she called. “Please tell me you’re not doing what it looks like.”
He didn’t turn around. “Your dad mentioned the shoreline was getting overgrown. Figured I’d start clearing it.”
She came closer. “It is overgrown, but those cattails help stabilize the edge. And I needed the walkway started today. The pavers are still in the shed.”
Roy stabbed the rake into the mud. “I’ll get to it.”
“You said you’d start this morning,” she said, keeping her voice low and steady.
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “I’m helping. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“It is,” she said gently, “but hacking up the shoreline we need intact isn’t helping. The walkway is.”
He blew out his breath and shook his head. “Maybe if someone wasn’t always gone, I’d know what to prioritize.”
The comment stung.
“Roy, I am working,” she said. “I’m trying to keep everything moving so Dad doesn’t have to worry. I need you to handle the things we actually talked about.”
His jaw flexed. “Fine. I’ll start the pavers.”
“Thank you.”
Roy slogged out of the water and headed toward the shed, but not before tossing the dripping rake into the back of the truck.
