"I have time." That earns me another look, longer this time. I shrug. "Plants don't rush. People do."
He smiles for real this time, and heat pools low in my belly. "Is that philosophy or experience?"
"Both." I’ve thought about it a lot since my parents died, but I’m not oversharing.
He nods, as if that's enough.
He finishes tightening the hinge, testing it on the cupboard door, satisfied when it swings smoothly.
I pull the gloves off and reach into my bag, drawing out three small packets wrapped in brown paper, each labeled in my grandmother's careful handwriting.
Chamomile. Lavender. Feverfew.
I set them beside the pots I've prepared, lining them up carefully, forcing myself not to meet his eyes. I haven’t figured out why he’s here yet, but I’m certain he won’t stick around for long now that his girlfriend is here. I don’t want to get too comfortable with him being here. It will only mean adapting to his absence once he has moved on.
I unwrap the first packet, chamomile, and pour a few seeds into my palm. Tiny, almost dust-like. They need light to germinate, so I scatter them across the surface of the soil rather than burying them, pressing gently with my fingertips to ensure contact.
"What is that?" Calder asks, voice quiet.
"Chamomile," I say. "For calming. Sleep. Nervous digestion. The chamomile will need a close eye because the soil tends to dry quickly.” I make a mental note to water in the morning before classes.
I move to the next pot, finding my rhythm when I don’t meet his stormy eyes, and open the lavender packet. These seeds areslightly larger, darker. I press them into the soil, barely covered, enough to anchor.
"And that one?"
"Lavender. For clarity. Helps with restlessness and headaches." I glance up briefly and silently berate myself for not being stronger. "It's hardy once established. Doesn't need much attention."
His mouth quirks slightly.
"My grandmother taught me," I add for no reason.
I wait for him to ask more.
He doesn't.
Instead, he shifts to another bench and begins clearing space, moving broken pots aside, stacking them neatly.
Juniper appears from beneath a shelf, tail high, cloudy eye blinking in the gentle light. She crosses the floor and settles herself squarely between us, as if marking neutral ground.
"Hello again," I murmur.
Calder's gaze drops to her, something softer passing briefly through his eyes. "She's decided this place belongs to her."
"She has excellent taste."
That earns me a huff of laughter, and I smile down at the soil, warmth coursing through me. Is it because I made him laugh? Or is it the way his face lights up when he isn’t so serious?
I focus on the seeds so that I don’t have to think about it.
Time moves differently here. Light shifts. Shadows lengthen. The greenhouse warms, then slowly begins to cool as we adjust to the temperature.
Eventually, Calder wipes his hands on a cloth and steps back. "I can come and make myself useful later in the evenings," he says, not quite looking at me. "If you… want the space."
I swallow the flush of disappointment and remind myself that it’s better this way. For everyone concerned. "Thank you."
He nods once, satisfied.
He’s still staring at me as though he’s waiting for me to prolong the conversation and give him a reason to stay when the door opens.
