“Wow.” I lift both hands in mock amazement. “Look at you, and how far you’ve come. Letting a reporter into the store and smiling when she arrived. Agreeing to photo shoots. We’re really evolving, aren’t we?”
Juliette rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Relax. I’m learning that the world is not against me, okay? One step at a time, buddy.”
“I don’t know,” I say solemnly. “Next thing you know, you’ll be waving at paparazzi and signing ficus leaves.”
She snorts, turning back toward the counter just as the bell jingles again. A woman breezes in, mid-thirties maybe, clutching a sad-looking fern like it’s personally offended her. She scans the shop, zeroes in on Juliette, and makes a beeline.
“Hi,” she says quickly. “I have a question about this plant because I’m ninety percent sure it’s dying out of spite.”
Juliette opens her mouth to respond as the shop phone rings. She freezes. Her eyes drop to the screen, then lift to mine with an apology already forming.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, juggling the fern situation and the phone. “It’s a supplier we’ve been trying to connect with, and I need to take this.”
“No problem,” I say automatically, stepping aside for her as the woman turns to me instead.
“Oh,” she says, hopeful. “Doyouwork here?”
Juliette mouthssorryand puts the phone to her ear, and I look down at the fern. The fern looks back at me. Accusingly.
“Define work,” I say.
The woman squints. “Do you know plants?”
“Ah,” I nod. “Yes. Plants. Big fan.”
She waits. I wait. This is happening. I have to do retail.
“Okay,” I say, clapping my hands together like that will summon competence. “So what seems to be the problem?”
“It droops,” she says.
Of course it does.
I crouch down to inspect it, because committing is important, and think of what Charlie might do. “Have you tried playing classical music for it?”
She nods. “I do that.”
“You could also give it encouragement,” I clarify. “Positive reinforcement. Maybe a nickname.”
Juliette snorts from behind the counter, still on the phone.
The woman considers this. “I did name it Kevin.”
“Strong start,” I say. “Kevin looks like he needs more light and possibly less hydration.”
She laughs, and emboldened, I keep going, some of the education Juliette and Charlie have been giving me staying at top of mind. “How often are you watering Kevin?”
“Whenever he looks thirsty.”
“Ah ha.” I peer at the soil. “Kevin is drowning.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” I say gently. “He’s more of a ‘leave me alone, but also love me from afar’ kind of guy.”
Juliette reappears, phone gone, eyes sparkling as she takes in the scene. Me on one knee. The fern. The woman nodding seriously. Sawyer Stockton. Plant consultant.
She leans on the counter, watching me with that look again. The one that says she’s amused and impressed. I’m realizing that’s the look I’m living for these days.
