“Yeah? Why’s that? I thought people usually movedtoFlorida. Not away from it. Palm trees and dolphins and shit.”
Her lips curled up into a tiny smile. “That’s only when you’re on vacation. Working in Florida is a whole different vibe. It was a good job with a steady paycheck, but completely soul-crushing.”
“Soul-crushing how?”
“Well, it was the same thing every day. I was on autopilot. It got to the point where I woke up one morning and realized I’d been sleepwalking through my own life.”
She traced a pattern on the table with her fingertip. “So I put in my notice, sold most of my stuff, and started driving.”
“Driving where?”
“I don’t know yet. Until I find somewhere that feels different.”
I stared at her. This shy, flustered woman had upended her entire life on a feeling. Quit her job, sold her possessions, and just… left.
That took guts. More guts than her nervous demeanor suggested.
“That’s a hell of a decision.”
“Probably a stupid one,” she admitted with a small shrug. “But I couldn’t keep living like that. I was disappearing into the beige walls.”
“You’re too young for a midlife crisis.” I took a sip of my coffee. “You running from a man?”
“What? No,” she shook her head firmly. “Definitely no man. I’ve had a few tepid dates in the last couple years, but nothing serious. Nothing worth running from.”
The way she looked at me when she said the word tepid made my blood heat. Like she was imagining what a date withmemight be like. Like she already knew I wasanythingbut lukewarm.
“What did you do as a receptionist?”
She told me about the medical office, the doctors she’d worked for, the parade of patients and paperwork. She spoke about it without bitterness, just a kind of tired acceptance that made me understand why she’d needed to escape.
“So what do you want to do now?” I asked. “Now that you’ve left all that behind?”
Her face changed, lit up from the inside in a way it hadn’t when she’d talked about her old job.
“I have this side business. Selling exotic houseplants online. I propagate them myself, growing them from cuttings.” She shrugged her shoulders slightly, as if she was embarrassed. “It’s probably not practical as a real career, but it’s what I love to do.”
“Tell me about it.”
She looked surprised that I wanted to know more. Then she started talking. Her hands moved as she spoke, gesturing with enthusiasm. Her eyes sparkled. This was the real her, I realized. This passionate woman who could talk about root systems and humidity levels like they were the most fascinating subjects in the world.
“Most of what I packed in my car wasn’t actually personal stuff,” she confessed. “It’s my propagation supplies. Grow lights, humidity trays, rooting hormone. And my plant starts. I focus mostly on philodendrons and monsteras, with some pothos for people who want something more affordable.”
“Where are the plants now? They’ll freeze out in your car.”
“Oh, I’m renting a room at the bed-and-breakfast in town. The Summit House.” She grinned. “Nora was very understanding about me turning her guest room into a temporary greenhouse.”
Polly arrived with our food, sliding plates in front of us. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the air, and Amelia made a small sound of appreciation that went straight to my groin when she spotted her stack of pancakes.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The food was good, as always. Marla knew her way around a griddle.
But as I chewed, reality crept back in.
Tropical plants. She growstropicalplants.
Iron Peak had more frost dates than frost-free days. We got our first snow in September, and it didn’t fully melt until May.
No way she could run a tropical plant business here. Which meant Iron Peak wasn’t her final destination.
