I press my lips together, both trying not to laugh at his honesty but also, considering. “Fine. We’ll put an asterisk here and revisit this one.”
An asterisk. The most dangerous punctuation mark. He nods seriously. “Not a no. Just…pending.”
“Exactly.”
He leans closer, scanning the list, finger hovering carefully above the page like he’s been dared not to touch it, which is probably a little my fault. His cologne is subtle—cedar and something clean, not overwhelming. I notice this and immediately hate myself for it.
“Ooh. Youth-focused programs. What if we did something with kids?” he asks, enthusiasm warming his voice. “I’m good with kids.”
“That sentence required bravery,” I say dryly.
He winces. “Fair. But, if we do something to connect the kids with your plants…”
I reread the bullet point. Slowly. Thoughtfully. Wouldn’t you know it, against my better judgment, and the fact curiosity did kill the cat, I need more info.
“What do you mean exactly?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, warming to the idea, “hockey’s all about discipline. Showing up. Learning from mistakes. Growth.” He gestures vaguely between us. “Feels like that could…translate.”
I hesitate. Then nod. “It could.”
His eyes light up. “Goals and growth.”
I grin. “Did you just accidentally brand a workshop?”
“Maybe,” he says. “But it’s a good brand.”
I hate that he’s right.
“Okay,” I say carefully. “That one’s promising.”
“Yes,” he says, standing up a little taller, pleased with himself. Sawyer then points to the next bullet point on the list. “Next: social media content.”
“No,” I say instantly.
Sawyer cocks his head to one side. “Why not?”
“I just—” I stop myself, flip the page. “No.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“No, you’re right it’s not. It’s a boundary.”
He studies me for a beat, then nods. “Okay. Noted.”
I exhale, relieved he doesn’t push.
“Community event,” I continue to the next suggestion. “We could do a planting day with school kids. I feel like it would make Carol happy because she could get the press to come. I could ask Theo’s school?”
“And,” he says, tapping another line, “what’s this? Player’s Pick?”
I follow his finger. “That’s where you choose a plant. We feature it. Customers buy it because you picked it.”
His grin turns sheepish. “Will I need to know what the plant is?"
“I don’t know.” I tilt my head, amused. I’m beginning to see that this is like talking to a larger version of my son. “What do you think?”
He mulls over my words. “I’ll learn. How’s that?”
