I parallel park on Soleil Drive, one of the wealthiest parts of Vista City. Each property is impressive for one reason or another, and their inhabitants are no different. Famous actors, athletes, and musicians all call this street home. I gaze in wonder at the mansions around me as I come face-to-face with the reason I’m here. 2446 Soleil Drive. When I was texted the address and promised an entire living room of plants to care for, all I saw was the payout. I couldn’t pass it up. As long as it’s not some old crotchety celebrity, I expect a decent tip. Maybe that’s my problem though. I operate on unrealistic levels of optimism.
I knock on the door, but there’s no sound inside. No dogs barking, no radio blaring, just silence. And then it opens. My jaw nearly hits the Tuscan-inspired pavers below. Ty Brewster stares down at me, his lips pressed into something that I’m assuming he thinks is a smile. Regardless, he’s still kind of intimidating.
And then I remember my contract. I take a step back, wondering if I should make a getaway to my car. “I’m sorry, I?—”
A dog barks on the sidewalk behind us, pulling his owner as he spots Ty. The woman whips her head in our direction, and I panic, ducking around Ty and into his expansive foyer. Causing a scene in the last place I’m supposed to be isn’t exactly the way I want to start my day or end my dance career with the Kings before it even starts.
“Afraid of dogs?” Ty asks as he shuts the front door.
“What?” Ty clears his throat, nodding his chin toward my shoes. Without thinking, I plop onto the floor and pull them off. “Afraid of dogs? Oh yeah, terrified. Especially little curly ones like that.”
“You’re scared of Peaches?”
My gaze follows his arm to where he gestures out the window as Peaches and the woman stop half a block down the sidewalk.
I shrug, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear. “Aren’t you?”
His brow scrunches, but he doesn’t answer my question. “What are you doing here?”
“Me? You texted. You said you needed a plant sitter.”
“Yeah, but notyou.”
I tilt my head. “What’s the business called?”
“Sprout Sitting by Avery.”
I cup a hand around my ear. “By who?”
“Avery.”
“Avery Joy Hinkley, at your service. I don’t know what you were expecting, but I’m it. I’m the plant sitter.”
He runs a hand down the back of his neck. “Yeah, I figured you’re Avery, but I thought that maybe there was someone else who?—”
“Someone else? My little fledgling business is barely off its feet. This is a one-woman operation.” Ty stares back at me. Unblinking. Slack-jawed. “Where did you get the number anyway?”
“I found your card. Fell out of your car door.”
“Well, lose it!”
He snorts, and his nonchalance makes me groan.
My stomach tightens. “Do you realize how much trouble I could be in for being here? How much troubleyoucould be in?”
“I’m sorry. It’ll just be this time, I didn’t know?—”
“Yes. Just today, then no more.” I clap my hands together, changing the subject. “So, I heard you have plants to water. You know, I was expecting a maid or assistant or something to let me in. Usually the owner hires me because they aren’t around. Wait, you are the owner, right?”
He nods and turns to walk down a long hall. I stand there staring at the pendant light chandelier dangling overhead before I realize he expects me to follow. Dodging the foyer windows, I hustle to catch up.
“What kind of plants do you have?” I ask, my steps echoing in the minimalist—almost too minimalistic—house.
He clears his throat as we step into a bright window-lined living room. He nods toward the lengthy windowsill that sits basically on the floor. A collection of green leafy and flowering plants is lined up like little soldiers waiting for orders. They’re all still in their plastic containers from the store, which surprises me.
“These new?” I ask, noting the barcode stickers slapped on each pot.
He runs a hand down the back of his neck. “No.”
