It didn't. Instead, around three in the afternoon, I heard the now-familiar rumble of his truck coming down the road. I was in the garden, pulling early spring weeds, when the sound reached me. Despite my best intentions, I found myself straightening up, watching as the blue truck slowed near my driveway.
Garrett rolled down his window, revealing a face streaked with sweat and dirt, his hair pushed back from his forehead in damp spikes. He looked tired but satisfied, the kind of exhaustion that comes from physical work well done.
"Afternoon," he called, his voice carrying easily across the distance between us. "Sorry about the noise. Lot more overgrowth than I expected." I didn't want to engage. I didn't want to encourage this—whatever this was. But something about his apologetic tone and genuine expression made me respond.
"It's fine." I brushed the dirt from my hands, trying to look unbothered. "Land needs work after being empty so long."
He nodded, seeming pleased by my response. "That it does. Place is a mess, but it's got potential." He paused, then added, "Your jam was delicious, by the way. Best I've had in years."
The compliment caught me off guard. I wasn't used to people commenting on my products beyond the basic transaction at the market. "Thanks," I managed, feeling awkward.
"It's blackberries from my property," I said, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "They grow wild at the edge of the woods."
Garrett's smile deepened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Well, they're amazing. I practically licked the jar clean this morning."
The mental image made something flutter in my stomach—not entirely unpleasant, but unsettling all the same. I looked down at my dirt-covered hands, suddenly aware of how I must appear after hours in the garden.
"Anyway," he continued when I didn't respond, "I just wanted to apologize for the noise. I'll try to keep the worst of it between reasonable hours."
I nodded, still not meeting his gaze. "Thanks for the heads-up."
There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable. I risked a glance up to find him watching me with that same perceptive look from the market—like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
"You know," he said finally, "I could use some advice about what to plant once I get the land cleared. Someone with your green thumb probably has opinions about what works well around here."
It was such an obvious attempt to extend our interaction that I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, I found myself saying, "Mostthings grow well if you pay attention to the soil. Depends what you're looking to harvest."
"That's just it—I'm not entirely sure yet." His tone was thoughtful, genuinely curious. "The property came with some old apple trees that might be salvageable. Beyond that, I'm open to suggestions."
I hesitated, torn between my instinct to end the conversation and an unexpected spark of interest. Gardening was the one topic I could talk about without feeling exposed. "Apples are good. Low maintenance once established. Blueberries would do well too, if the soil's acidic enough."
Garrett nodded as if I'd shared profound wisdom. "Blueberries. I'll keep that in mind." He drummed his fingers against the door of his truck, then added, "Maybe I could stop by sometime this week? Get a closer look at what's working for you?"
My guard snapped back up immediately. "I don't think?—"
"Just professionally," he clarified quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Strictly agricultural curiosity. I promise not to overstay my welcome." I should have said no. It would have been easy enough—a simple refusal, a clear boundary drawn. But something in his expression made me pause. There was no pressure there, no expectation. Just an open question, one I could answer however I wanted.
"Wednesday," I heard myself say. "Morning's better for me."
The surprise that flashed across his face suggested he hadn't expected me to agree. It was quickly replaced by that easy smile. "Wednesday morning it is. I'll bring coffee."
Before I could protest that I hadn't asked for coffee, he was already shifting into gear. "Thanks, Daphne. I'll see you Wednesday." I watched as Garrett’s truck faded around the bend, my heart thumping against my ribs. I tightened my grip on the shovel resting against my hip, the cool metal biting intomy palm as if it could steady my racing thoughts. I’d agreed to a visit—an appointment of sorts, with a neighbor I hadn’t wanted. What had I been thinking?
The sun hung high in the sky, its warmth pressing down like an unwelcome blanket. I turned back to my garden, the familiar scents of damp soil and blooming herbs swirling around me. The ground felt solid beneath my feet as I plunged the shovel into the earth with purpose, digging deeper, frustration fueling each movement.
But the rhythm of my work was broken by a nagging sensation at the back of my mind. I’d done this all before—built walls and set boundaries, only to be interrupted by the insistence of others. The thought of Garrett so easily stepping into my space rattled me. He seemed to disregard the careful distance I had cultivated over the years, like he didn’t see the walls I had erected.
I jabbed the shovel down again, the sound of metal striking dirt echoing in the stillness. If I was going to continue living in this quiet place, I’d have to remain firm. A visit was just that—a visit. No invitations for friendship, no opening the door to something I had chosen to leave behind. But as I worked, my thoughts kept drifting back to that easy smile, the way he looked at me like I was more than just some recluse tending my garden. It made my skin prickle, a mix of irritation and something else I dared not name.
The sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden. I wiped the sweat from my brow, pausing to scan the tree line marking the boundary of my property. The stillness of the air was punctuated only by the distant call of birds settling in for the night. No sounds of chainsaws or trucks. Just silence.
I focused on my plants, their vibrant greens and earthy browns grounding my thoughts. The tomatoes were starting toblossom—small yellow flowers peppering the vines like stars in a night sky. They would flourish with time and attention. I could nurture them, keeping my world small, but still bountiful.
As I finished my work for the day, a soft breeze whispered through the leaves, carrying the scents of my garden—the sweet notes of blooming basil and the sharp, invigorating scent of mint. This was my peace. This was what I had fought to protect.
I glanced at the porch, taking inventory of the jars and crates I needed to prepare for the upcoming market. But the thought of Garrett’s visit loomed like a shadow over my plans. I didn’t want to entertain the idea of sharing my patch of land with someone who seemed so effortlessly charismatic.
With a resigned sigh, I set about organizing my things, the familiar motions providing a distraction from the growing tension in my chest. Each jar I stacked was a reminder of my solitude—the life I had built remained untouchable, even as someone threatened to breach its boundaries.
