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"Yes."

"You grow these?"

His gaze settles on mine. "That's generally what 'I am' means."

I look at the tomatoes again. Then at him.

"The basil too?"

"All of it."

I pick up another tomato.

"These are restaurant quality."

"Good to know."

"Better than restaurant quality, actually."

That gets the faintest shift in his expression.

"I know several chefs in New York who would pay top dollar for produce like this."

"Do you?"

"Yes. If your grower is interested in expanding distribution, I may have a proposition for him."

His eyes narrow slightly.

"My grower."

"Whoever handles the growing operation."

"I told you. I do."

I look at him. He looks at me. Neither of us moves.

"Could you please get whoever is in charge?"

For the first time, I think he might smile. He doesn't.

"Cole," he calls out.

A young man unloading crates looks over. "Yeah?"

"Go get Jack. Pronto."

Cole straightens.

"Pronto?"

He blinks.

"Isn't that the emergency code?"

He looks directly at me. "He'll understand."

Cole heads off.