"What if it didn't?" he asked finally. "What if someone just... wanted to help because they respected what you were doing? No expectations, no strings."
I looked at him then, really looked at him. His expression was open, earnest. There was no guile there, no hidden agenda that I could detect. Just genuine curiosity and something else—something that looked almost like hope.
"That's a nice idea," I said quietly. "But it's not realistic."
"Why not?" Garrett asked, frown prominent on his face.
"Because people always want something, Garrett. Always." I moved past him toward the door, needing air that wasn't thick with greenhouse humidity and his proximity. "The coffee's getting cold. We should head back."
He followed me out into the morning sunshine, and I felt the weight of things unsaid hanging between us. Part of me wanted to explain, to tell him about the reasons I'd chosen this life. But a larger part—the part that had kept me safe for five years—knew better than to open that door.
We walked back toward the cabin in silence, sipping our coffee. Mine had gone lukewarm, but I drank it anyway, grateful for something to do with my hands.
"The Henderson property," I said, grasping for safer ground. "You said you had apple trees that might be salvageable?"
Garrett seemed to recognize the olive branch for what it was—a chance to step back from dangerous territory. "Yeah, four of them. They're old, probably haven't been pruned in decades. But they're still alive."
"You'll want to prune them soon then, before they put too much energy into new growth. Cut away the dead wood, thin out the branches so air can circulate." I paused on the porch steps, finally looking at him directly. "I could... I could take a look at them. If you want. Tell you what needs to go and what should stay."
His face lit up, and I immediately regretted the offer. "Yeah? That would be amazing."
"Just agricultural advice," I added quickly. "Professional consultation."
"Of course." But there was a smile playing at the corner of his mouth that suggested he knew exactly what I was doing—trying to keep this transactional, impersonal, safe.
"I'll stop by later this week," I said. "When I have time."
"Friday afternoons work for you? I'm usually done with everything by then." His eyes were light up with hope making me want to cringe away.
I nodded, already planning how to keep the visit brief and focused. "Friday afternoon. I'll bring my pruning tools."
"I'll have more coffee ready." He grinned.
Despite myself, I felt my lips twitch. "You're very confident in your coffee."
"It's good coffee," he said with a grin. "You admitted it yourself."
Had I? I didn't remember saying that out loud, but the warmth in his eyes suggested I must have. Or maybe he was just that good at reading between the lines.An uncomfortable silence stretched between us, the kind that felt heavy with possibility. I cleared my throat, searching for words to end this visit before it strayed any further from "neighborly consultation."
"Well," I started, "I should probably?—"
"Daphne." His voice was soft but stopped me mid-sentence. "Thank you. For this morning. For putting up with my questions. For..." He hesitated, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that was becoming familiar. "For giving me a chance, even though I can tell you didn't really want to."
The honesty in his words caught me off guard. I'd been prepared for charm, for the easy smoothness that seemed to come naturally to him. But this—this raw sincerity—I didn't know what to do with.
"It was just a garden tour," I said weakly.
"It was more than that, and we both know it." His gaze held mine, steady and unflinching. "But I'll take what you're willing to give. No pressure."
No pressure.The words should have reassured me, but instead they made something twist in my chest. Because the truth was, I could feel the pressure—not from him, but fromwithin myself. The pull toward something I'd sworn off years ago, the dangerous temptation to let someone in.
"I'll see you Friday" I said, retreating toward the safety of my cabin. "Afternoon. For the apple trees."
"Friday afternoon," he confirmed, backing toward his truck. "I'll be there."
I watched as he climbed in and started the engine, watched as he raised a hand in farewell before pulling away. The rumble of his truck faded into the distance, leaving me standing alone on my porch with an empty coffee mug and a head full of thoughts I didn't want to examine.
"It's just agricultural advice," I muttered to myself, heading inside. "Nothing more."
