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"Sure. Take your time."

I look over the selection. Yellow squash. Zucchini. A smaller pale green variety I don't immediately recognize. I pick one up.

"What's this?"

"Zephyr."

I turn it in my hand. "You grow these too?"

He gives me a long look. "Careful."

"What?"

"You're starting to believe me."

I put the squash down.

"Don't get carried away."

That mouth almost moves again. He picks up the Zephyr squash I just rejected and adds three to the bag.

"I didn't say I wanted those."

"You will."

"Excuse me?"

"They're good."

"That isn't how shopping works."

"It is here."

"You choose what your customers buy?"

"Only the difficult ones."

I stare at him. He keeps filling the bag. I should be annoyed. I am annoyed. I'm also watching his hands. They're rough. Dirt caught beneath one thumbnail. A thin scar crosses the back of his right hand. These are hands that work. Hands that actually grew everything spread across this table. I look away.

"How long have you been growing?"

He glances up. "A while."

"That's very specific."

"You asked."

"I asked how long."

"And I answered."

"No, you avoided answering."

"Different thing."

"Exactly."

Noah wanders around the side of the stand toward Atlas, who is stretched out in the shade.