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"Oh, that's beautiful."

When I look up, Martinez isn't looking at the thyme. He's looking at me.

"What?"

"Nothing."

I narrow my eyes.

"You do that a lot."

"So do you."

Fair. I look back at the herbs.

"I could do something wonderful with this."

"Like what?"

And there it is. A question from him. I tell him. A roasted chicken dish with lemon thyme, garlic, and a pan sauce. Maybe something lighter with fish. I start talking about what I'd pair with the squash, then the tomatoes. When I finally stop, he's watching me differently.

"You like this."

"What? Food?"

"That too." He gestures toward the rows around us. "This."

I look at them.

"Yes." The answer comes easily. "I really do."

His expression softens. Just slightly.

His phone buzzes. He checks it.

"Emma's ready."

I look toward the distant barn.

"Already?"

He shows me the time. I blink. We've been out here nearly an hour.

"Oh."

His mouth curves.

"Time flies when you're interrogating vegetables."

"I was not interrogating them."

"Me, then."

"Maybe a little."

We start toward the barn. I'm disappointed. Which is ridiculous. I came here to help Emma with the dogs. I wasn't even supposed to be in the growing fields. And now I don't want to leave them.

"Martinez?"