Something warm fizzes through my veins. “Maybe he left it to you on purpose.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy, and I give her a once-over. Mary’s not exactly radiating with health, and she’s standing in the middle of a crumbling back room. The money thing wasn’t an accident; it was because she looks like she needs it.
And for some reason, Ty can’t seem to help himself when he thinks someone is in need.
“Do you know his name?” I ask.
She shakes her head, and her tight curls shiver. “No. No, just another handsome face without a name. Reminds me of my first husband, with the tattoos n’ all. He was a sailor. Have I told you that?”
I smile. “Yes, I think I’ve heard about Gregory a few times.”
“Forgive this old bird for repeating herself. Every year I age, I lose a memory. His hasn’t left me yet. My mind isn’t what it used to be.”
Her words strike me right in the heart, tingeing my elation at being here with sadness. “Oh, stop it, Mary. You’ve memorized almost all of the barcodes. You’re amazing. I wish I was half as bright as you.”
“You’re bright, Avery. And we both know it. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you.”
I cock my head to the side. “I’m notplaying dumb.”
“Pfft. I heard you with that customer the other day. You let him talk your ear off about what time of year was best to plant his new roses, and we both know he was wrong. You just smiled and nodded.”
I sprinkle a little fertilizer in with my potting soil. “He told me his wife left him that morning. Being right made him seem happy.”
“You didn’t do that man any favors by blowing smoke up his butt. Like I’ve told you before… A smile isn’t a solution, Avery. Don’t you forget that.”
My lips wobble before pressing into my usual grin. “Noted. Thank you.”
“If you weren’t so darn lovable, I’d smack you.”
I gasp. “Did you finally admit out loud that you love me?”
“Love is a strong word. A loaded one. I suggest you use it sparingly… like me.”
I want to press her more—razzing Mary is one of my favorite pastimes—but the bell chimes up front, and the faraway look in her faded eyes shuts off. “Stop pestering me and move those fertilizer bags. The good Lord knows I can’t lean over that far anymore.”
She grabs her cane and disappears through the swinging door to help the customer. As I slip on my gardening gloves in preparation to move the bags, I can’t help but consider her words.A smile isn’t a solution.Of course it isn’t, but it’s a balm. To me. To those around me. My pearly whites have gotten me out of more than a few mishaps.
Moving fertilizer isn’t as glamorous as doing my hair and being cheered on by thousands of people, but it’s gratifying in its own way. Honestly, at times it’s hard for me to choose between the two. After years of waiting on my dance dreams, I started forming other ones. The thought is a little concerning. The Avery who decided to leave home and move to Vista City could never have guessed hauling around fertilizer bags would ever be part of something she enjoys. But here I am, sore legs and stinging arms, moving flower food around and loving it. Some days, when I’m sweating my face off learning a routine, I find myself daydreaming about what kind of plants will go in my future garden. If my mother knew, she’d die. I’ve spent too much time—too much of her money—pouring it into becoming part of a professional team. But the thing is,though I haven’t quite admitted it yet, during my wait, I changed in a lot of ways. I’m not quite sure what all of them are yet, but I have.
I think that’s the scariest part.
I pour every drop of my anxiety into the chicken piccata. A chef I am not, but I did watch a five-minute tutorial earlier while scrolling. Except I forgot to pick up capers on my way back from Mary’s today, so instead I chopped some green olives I found in Ty’s mini-bar in his study. Who knew he had a study? I didn’t. Who would have guessed he liked olives in his drinks? Not Me. Ty a garnish guy? Never. Apparently he’s not much of a tour guy either because somehow every turn I take in his house I’m still finding something new.
Since I moved in a few days ago, Ty has been pretty hot and cold. His hours have been weird, and I haven’t forced him to hang out with me. With my practices beginning in a few days, I figured it doesn’t hurt to carb up. Everyone else may be following strict food guidelines, but half the time I get so focused on what I’m doing I forget to eat anyway. Though I know that’s unhealthy.
I stir my pot of boiling water. I only had a box of mac and cheese, so I ditched the sauce packet and kept the noodles. All in all, my dish is coming out like I’d anticipated. At least it smells good so far.
Outside, the garage door opens, and Ty’s steps echo through the empty space as he makes his way toward thekitchen. The door flings open, and I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t.
“Hey,” I finally say, staring into the bubbling water.
Ty grunts.
“How’s it going?” I try again.
“It’s going.”
And then nothing but the shuffling of him removing his shoes fills the kitchen. When I turn around, his eyes are locked on his forearm as he peeks under some white medical tape.
