“Tell me about the bet.”
Her words were soft but insistent. When I glanced up, she was leaning forward slightly, chin propped on her hand with curiosity written across her features. Not mocking, not preparing to laugh at me—just interested.
I took a long sip of coffee, buying time. But something about the way she stared at me, patient and encouraging, made me want to tell her. Made me want to share this piece of my history.
“Braden said I was too uptight to grow anything that wasn’t practical. No flowers, no pretty plants, nothing that didn’t serve a clear purpose. Just trees and landscaping.”
“Sounds like something a little brother would say.”
“He wasn’t wrong, exactly. My landscaping was all function and no form. Gumbo limbo trees, some grass, nothing flashy.” My ears were starting to burn, but I pressed on. “So I bought a bunch of hibiscus plants. Bright red, the most impractical, purely decorative thing I could find. Planted them to make a hedge right down the edge of my backyard just to prove him wrong.”
“And?”
“And I got invested.” The admission was huge, exposing. “I started researching proper care techniques, optimal soil conditions, fertilizer schedules. I bought a pH testing kit and started tracking rainfall patterns. I likely spent more on those plants than most people spend on their entire garden.”
Iris was trying not to smile now, but I could see the delight dancing in her eyes. “Of course you did.”
“When they finally bloomed, it was…” I paused, remembering the moment I’d walked out to find that first massive flower unfurling in the morning sun. “Spectacular. Bigger and more vibrant than anything I’d ever seen. The blooms were easily six inches across, this incredible deep crimson with yellow centers. Perfect symmetry, perfect color saturation. It was like something out of a magazine.”
“Prize worthy. So you entered some sort of competition?”
“Oh, no. That was another dare from Braden. He said I’d never have the guts to actually show the thing off.”
Braden had gaped at my hedge before turning to me with that irrepressible, shit-eating grin firmly in place. The one that always made me suspect he knew something I didn’t, usually something I wouldn’t like. He shared an excessive sense of humor with our older brother Eli, but Braden’s was milder. Eli’s version occasionally came equipped with sharp teeth.
He made a wild flourish with one arm. “Come on, Austin. Share your floral genius with the world. Blow those little old ladies from the Garden Club out of the water with your brooding botanical brilliance.”
Of course I scoffed, a sound of pure disdain. Me, at the county fair, fussing over flowers like some retired dentist with too much time on his hands? Ridiculous. The idea was offensive to my image of rugged, seafaringsolitude. But, also like Eli, Braden could be relentlessly, charmingly persuasive when he set his mind to it.
I refilled Iris’s manatee mug. “So I cut the best bloom, drove it down to the county fairgrounds, and filled out the paperwork to enter it.”
“And you won!”
“Grand Champion, Division of Horticulture.” I couldn’t quite keep the satisfaction out of my voice or the smile off my face. “Beat out Mrs. Lowry’s roses, which had won three years running. The judge said it was the finest hibiscus specimen he’d seen outside of a professional greenhouse.”
Iris burst into laughter. Not the polite, social kind, but genuine, delighted laughter that filled the kitchen with warmth and light. The sound should have annoyed me, should have made me feel exposed and foolish. Instead, the last residual tension in my shoulders dissipated. Her laughter wasn’t mocking or condescending. It was pure joy, the kind of reaction that made the story funnier and more endearing instead of embarrassing.
“Austin Coleridge, champion hibiscus grower,” she said when she could speak again. “I absolutely love it. I love that you got so invested in proving your brother wrong that you became a hibiscus expert. I love that you won first place with your spite flower.”
“It wasn’t a spite flower,” I protested, but my smile grew.
“It absolutely was a spite flower, and it was glorious. You grew something beautiful just to prove you could, and then you won a prize for it. That’s not ridiculous, Austin. That’s…” She paused, studying my face with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “That’s very you, actually.”
Before I could figure out how to respond to that—to her ability to see something admirable in behavior I’dalways considered slightly obsessive—her emotion shifted, became more serious, though not heavy. The laughter was still in her eyes, but it was joined by something more thoughtful.
I couldn’t respond because I was too busy dealing with a baffling new reality—her teasing didn't make me feel suffocated or uncomfortable. It made me feel at ease.
She looked down at her coffee cup and traced the rim with her finger. “So what does this mean, Austin? Us? Last night?”
The question should have sent me running for the door. But it didn’t. Staring at her, with her robe, messy hair, and earnest blue eyes, all I could feel was a surprising, unsettling need to answer her with the same honesty.
“I’m not sure. I don’t do coffee mornings…” I gestured vaguely between us. “Labels. Complications.”
“Me neither, usually,” she admitted, a brief, self-deprecating smile touching her lips. “My life is complicated enough right now.”
“But,” I continued, the word hanging in the air, “I just know… I like this.” It was a huge admission. The biggest one I’d made to anyone, including myself, in a long time. “Maybe we just see what happens? No labels. No pressure. Just you and me.”
She studied me for a long moment, then another sweet smile returned to her lips. One that reached all the way to her eyes and did something warm and dangerous to my chest.
