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“Grab that Pothos.”
I picked up the compost cell container with heart shaped leaves and gently pulled out the plant, careful not to damage the roots. Nothing went to waste in my father’s greenhouse. It was either composted for soil or reused.
I dug a little hole in the loose dirt my dad had already put in the dish and settled the plant inside, letting the roots breathe.
“And tuck the Nerve Plant there around it. That’s it.”
Following instructions was easy. I’d put together dish gardens back in my teen years by the hundreds. There was a familiarity to it that unbunched some of the muscles in my shoulders I hadn’t realized had been tense for days. I chose a handful of bamboo shoots to fill in the back half of the planter then gathered river rocks as decoration, but also to help with drainage.
“See, there you go. Just like the old days.”
I fussed with a few of the shiny leaves until it made a U-shape. “Maybe something with color in the front?”
“You still got it.” My dad gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Some Calathea should do the trick.”
The trailing purple color of the tiny leaves brightened it up. My dad snipped one of the bright pink blooms off the potted rose bush he’d been grafting from. He tucked a beaker sized bud vase among the bamboo stalks to stabilize it, and settled a stem inside with a trio of blooms on it. One in full bloom and the other two just buds. Then he added a splash of water and plant food to the beaker.
“There we go. Grab one of the cards from the counter and you’re golden.” He picked up his discarded mac and cheese and hummed around another forkful. “Definitely payment enough with this. Don’t you let Jackie quit because of that scoundrel.”
I pulled the clay dish forward. “Stone isn’t a scoundrel, Dad. He’s a three-star Michelin chef.”
“That girl is better,” he said around another bite. “Henry is fine, but…” He hummed out a sigh. “Good stuff.”
“I can have dinner sent over to your place a few times a week, you know.”
He waved me off. “Don’t worry about your old man. I get by.”
I made a mental note to add him to the rotation of deliveries as I washed up at the sink. Takeout had exploded in the last few years with more and more people running out of time to cook.
“There’s some barbecue to go with that pasta,” I said over my shoulder.
“I’ll have that for dinner.” He waggled his eyebrows at me and perched his glasses back on his nose. “Now go on. I have to work on this graft so I can get her under the sprayers in the greenhouse.”
I leaned against the sink as I dried my hands. “Trying for a new hybrid with your Perfect Pinks?”
“Yes.” He fussed with the stems, lightly sinking toothpicks in to stabilize the grafts. “Some rumblings for brighter colors these days. Gotta keep with the times, Mase.”
“Don’t I know it.” I went around the bench again and gave my dad a quick hug. “Thanks.”
“Oh, what’s this?” He patted my back. “Getting mushy on your old man?”
“Maybe a little. Seeing Emma—Miss Hauser—give birth was pretty wild. Made me appreciate things a little more. Especially since Jared and Bee just did it too.”
He peered at me over his cheaters. “Getting that baby bug?”
“God, no. Just in awe, that’s all.” The idea of a baby in my life right now made my back slick with a cold sweat. I hugged the dish garden to my chest. “Stop by The Mason Jar. I’d love to show you the boat.”
“I will.”
He wouldn’t until I dragged him over there myself, but I took the win for now. “Thanks, Dad.”
I headed back through the doorway to the main part of the flower shop and out the door. A woman in a brightly colored dress and sporting glittering rings and chains was just climbing out of her car.
She gave me a wide smile and sailed past me in a cloud of expensive perfume. She looked vaguely familiar, but even I didn’t know everyone in this town these days. And I didn’t have time to figure it out. I’d already spent more time than I’d intended to at my dad’s shop.
I buckled in the dish garden in the passenger seat, then plugged in my phone to use the car play to call Gina.
She answered on the first ring.
