Daphne seemed to hear herself a second late. Her cheeks flushed, and she drank water like the bottle might save her.
I turned toward Tyler. “Break’s over in five.”
Tyler stood beside the compost bin with both hands braced on the shovel. “I thought this was the break.”
“This is the warning before work resumes.”
“That’s a cruel genre of break.”
“It builds character,” Gus said.
Tyler pointed the shovel at him. “You said compost doesn’t build character.”
“I changed my mind to make you suffer.”
Daphne choked on a laugh, then coughed. I moved before I thought better of it, one step toward her, hand half-raised.
She waved me off, still coughing but smiling. “I’m okay.”
I stopped.
Birdie saw that too.
I lowered my hand and picked up the tubing crate. “Five minutes.”
The last stretch of the shift went slower.
The sun hardened overhead, bright enough to bleach color from the paths. Heat rose from the soil and pressed through my jeans when I crouched. Daphne stayed with the work, but her movements lost some snap after noon. She didn’t complain. She just went quieter, focusing on each small piece of tubing like the fate of Larch Bend depended on water reaching six tomato plants.
When the final connector clicked into place, Daphne sat back and looked down the row. Water dotted the soil in even dark circles near every root.
She smiled at it. “That looks right.”
“It’s right.”
Her smile grew, quick and pleased.
I wanted to give her more praise just to see what she did with it.
I kept my voice level. “You did good work.”
Daphne looked at me.
The crew noise thinned for a second.
“Thank you,” she said.
No joke came after it. Her voice stayed soft.
I stood and lifted the crate. “Sign-out.”
She nodded and reached for the kneeling pad. “Do I have to return this, or have we bonded?”
“Return it. We need it tomorrow.”
“That’s practical.”
“Usually.”
