The four plants on the top are in various states of distress. A succulent going mushy at the base. A peace lily with brown-tipped leaves, drooping in a pot that's sitting in a tray of standing water. Two small pothos vines, yellowing at the edges.
I look at them for a long moment as the dizzying fear skitters across my skin, trying to take hold in my brain. Making my face hot.
"Do you like plants?" Zane asks.
“Not really,” I murmur.
“That’s ironic, then.” When I turn slightly toward him, my question apparently obvious, he adds, “Because you’re spending all day harvesting kale. And apparently you’re good at it.”
"I suppose you could say my relationship to gardening is complicated."
"Fair enough. Like me and rodeo."
That’s enough to make me turn the rest of the way and look at him. "You still like it? Even though it didn't like you?"
"When I was little—" He pauses, seeming to think about how much to give me. "The rodeo was freedom. I looked forward to that weekend all year. Hyped it up bigger than it was in my head. It’s funny, because now as an adult?—”
I raise my eyebrows when he cuts himself off.
“Nevermind, I was just rambling.”
“No, it’s okay.” I wave in the direction of the laundry. “I’ve got nothing but time.”
“Well, I was just going to say, now it’s just another weekend. I don’t know if you saw the sign on the way into town, but we have some kind of fair every other month. Thanksgiving Harvest Days in October and a Festival of Lights in December. An annual pond hockey weekend in February. The rodeo is in April, you just missed it, and then in June we have one that’s literally just called the Town Fair, capital T, capital F. In August, we have the Raspberry Jamboree. That’s my favourite, so you should stick around for that. There’s a big barn dance and we get really good bands for it.”
“I read about the fair and the jamboree on a poster at The Friendly Table.” And there’s my opening to test him. “We’ll be gone by then, I’m afraid.”
There’s no flare of anger, no tightening of his jaw. “Maybe the Town Fair. No dance, but they do a great funnel cake.”
“Maybe.” I turn back to the peace lily and cup one browning leaf in my palm. We could probably bring this guy back to life before I leave. "When I was little, I thought plants were amazing. I didn’t have a natural green thumb, so I overwatered thefirst few plants I got. But I learned they could bounce back. That if you neglected them, it wasn’t the end of the world. A bit of sunlight, the right amount of water and some nourishment for the soil, in the right order, and they can come back to life. I liked that resiliency.”
“I like it, too. Not that I’ve figured out the right ratio or order of sunlight and water for a small pot—or temperamental plants. I’m much better with pastures of grass.”
“Working with Mother Nature on the sunlight and water thing?”
“You’d think, but it turns out a lot of ranching is irrigation work.” He groans and rubs his forehead. “Fuck.”
Tension yanks my shoulder blades together. “Do you need something?”
“No, it’s nothing. I just…forgot to tell Ridge about a conversation I had with Cash.” He picks up his phone and starts furiously texting someone.
The tension rolling off him is too much, so I scurry back to the romance bookshelf and pull another book out to read the back. This one’s a cowboy romance, with a rugged, larger than life hero on the cover.
He has a moustache.
That’s far too close to reality for comfort, so I return it to the shelf. The next one is a medieval damsel in distress, which is still not far enough from reality, despite the historical setting.
Maybe I don’t need to read anything new tonight.
I turn around and find Zane looking at me. He’s not staring, it’s more of an interrupted glance, and he doesn’t jerk his attention away when our gazesconnect. His phone is still in his hand, like he looked up mid-text.
But as soon as our gazes collide, his glance turns into something more serious.
I can’t look away, either.
You’re safe here. He said it yesterday, and I didn’t hear it. But in his quiet, steady gaze now, Ifeelit.
I take a deep breath, then share a tiny piece of myself. "Until yesterday, greenhouses gave me nightmares."
