"I survived the conflict."
Her eyes warmed. "Barely."
Tyler made a sound that could've been a cough if a man had never heard a cough before.
I looked at him.
He turned toward the compost. "I love compost. Compost is my purpose now."
Gus shook his head and headed for the south fence.
Daphne pulled on the gloves, flexing her fingers into the leather. The movement was practical. I still remembered how her hand had felt under mine on the hose nozzle. Small compared to mine. Warm through the glove. Tense for half a second before she'd laughed.
I picked up the tomato ties. "Come on."
She followed me down the row, careful on the path. The garden was already awake around us. Bees moved through the purple flowers near the gate. The air smelled like wet soil, pine sap, and the sharp green scent of tomato leaves. Sun pressed against the back of my neck and lit the fine hairs escaping from Daphne's twist.
I stopped beside the split cage I'd fixed the night before. "These vines are getting heavy. We're going to tie them up before they bend."
"I feel emotionally aligned with the tomatoes."
"You're bending?"
"I'm carrying a lot."
I looked at her.
She looked back at me, then down at the plant. "That sounded less dramatic in my head."
"Most things do."
A laugh escaped her, soft and quick. "Rude but fair."
I crouched beside the bed, caught one sagging stem between two fingers, and lifted it toward the cage. "You want the tie loose enough that the stem can grow. Too tight and it cuts in."
Daphne crouched across from me. Her knees touched the edge of the soil, and she made a small sound like she'd already negotiated with her thighs and lost.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yesterday introduced me to muscles I've apparently ignored for twenty-eight years."
"Stretch before you leave today."
"Is that a suggestion or a command?"
"It's garden advice."
"From my supervisor?"
"From the man who doesn't want to fill out an incident report because you fought a tomato and lost."
Her gaze lifted.
The tomato tie hung loose between my fingers. Her eyes stayed on mine, my hand stayed on the stem, and the air between us warmed like July had leaned closer to listen.
I looked back at the plant. "Knot goes outside."
"Right," she said, quieter. "Knot outside."
