Page 35 of The Trouble with Flings

Fitz’s reaction is immediate, stepping between me and the overzealous dog.

“Dolly!” a guy hollers from across the yard.

The dog stops running and turns to the man jogging toward us, and then Dolly looks at us again, her tail wagging.

“Dolly?” Fitz crouches, and the dog barrels over. He loves it up. “How’s it going, girl?”

“You know her?” I ask, bending down to pet her, too.

“Yeah, she belongs to a friend of mine.”

“Fitz?” the guy who was jogging over says as he approaches, wearing hemp shorts and a faded T-shirt. He appears to be in his late twenties, with shaggy dark hair, glasses, thick dark scruff, and a warm smile.

Fitz pushes to his feet. “Jagger. I didn’t expect to see you here.” He extends his hand.

“Same.” Jagger pulls him into an embrace, clapping him on the back. “I can’t believe you left the island. Have cows learned to fly? What are you doing here?”

“Attending a conference,” Fitz says. “How about you?”

“This is my friend Victor’s farm. Didi and I are helping him out for a few weeks, teaching cooking classes and holding down the fort while he’s recovering from surgery.”

“Then we came to the right place. We’re here for the class.” As Fitz’s hand lands on my lower back, he says, “Jagger, this is my friend Jennifer.” He turns that smile on me. “Jagger is a farm-to-table expert and a talented musician. His wife, Deirdra, and I grew up together.”

“Small world,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you, Jagger, but fair warning, I’m a disaster in the kitchen. I apologize ahead of time if I burn anything down.”

Jagger grins. “I’m not worried.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I say.

“This’ll be a piece of cake,” Fitz says supportively. “She went from not knowing how to surf to surfing like a pro in one morning.”

“I’m sure she’ll do fine. Either way, you’ll have fun, and that’s what matters,” Jagger says. “Didi’s inside lying down. She’s having a heck of a time with morning sickness.”

Fitz’s eyes widen with surprise. “She’s pregnant?”

“Yeah. We just found out last week. I figured you would’ve heard through the Silver Island grapevine. We’re stoked,” Jagger says.

“I bet. I’m really happy for you,” Fitz says.

“Congratulations,” I say. “My sister Jayla had a hard time with morning sickness during her last pregnancy. She was miserable. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“Didi’s been a real trooper. Hopefully you’ll have a chance to meet her when she wakes up,” Jagger says. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the group.”

Fitz takes my hand as we follow Jagger and Dolly, trotting beside him, toward the gardens, where a small group has gathered.

Jagger introduces us to two young couples, a family with two teenagers who seem less than thrilled to be there, and an older couple. He goes on to share the history of the farm, which has been in Victor’s family for generations. “We’re going to start with a tour of the gardens, where we’ll pick some of the ingredients we’ll need for our meal,” he says. “Everyone grab a basket, and let’s get started.”

We grab a basket to share from a table a few feet away and head into the gardens.

The farm buzzes with life around us. Birds sing, big, waxy leaves rustle in the warm breeze, chickens cluck in the distance, and the din of conversation blends with Jagger’s voice as he gives the tour. Jagger explains everything about the farm, from the uses of the crops, like cacao, yucca, plantains, bananas, pineapples, and other fruits and vegetables, to how they’re cared for and harvested.

As we move through the gardens, Dolly weaves between people and plants, her tail brushing our legs as she sniffs at the earth. The teenagers act like they couldn’t care less about any of it, focusing on their phones, and I catch a glimpse of the older couple. The woman’s silver hair is pinned loosely at her neck. She stops to inspect every plant, while the man stands patiently beside her, a safari-type hat shading his eyes.

Fitz stays close to me. He looks relaxed, but I know he’s committing every detail to memory. As we pick fruits and vegetables and put them in the basket, he tells me about the places on the island where Deirdra’s sister Abby gets farm-fresh ingredients for the Bistro, a little waterfront restaurant I saw when I was there last summer but hadn’t gone into.

He picks oregano and cilantro and holds them up for me to smell.

“Have you done this before?” I ask as he drops them into our basket.