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I nodded. “Good for you. Lucky everything worked out like that.”
“Lucky?” Hunter narrowed his eyes. “Hardly. I appreciate what my parents did, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t luck that made the business a success.”
I realized I’d misspoken, but before I could jump in to explain or apologize and defuse the situation, Hunter had already begun speaking again, ticking items off on his fingers defensively. “The first couple years, I did everything myself. Planted every seed, then loaded up the truck and sold plants directly to locals at farmer’s markets and the like. There’s a lot of demand for organic houseplants—especially the kind I focus on, which aren’t toxic to pets—so I kept building the business year after year. I kept reinvesting my earnings. Now, I have five full-time employees, and we still run a booth at the Thicket market every summer Friday just to keep a hand in, but the bulk of our business comes from floral shops and garden centers. We’re one of the biggest plant suppliers in Middle Tennessee… so far.” He blew out a breath like he was calming himself down. “There’s more opportunity in the Thicket than you might think, but you don’t need luck to find it. You just need to be committed to staying and willing to work hard.”
The last part of this statement felt like criticism, and suddenly, I was feeling defensive too. “I just meant you’re lucky that your dreams were a good match for the Thicket, that’s all,” I explained. “It’d be pretty hard to be an astronaut here. Or an artist since there are no galleries. Or some Silicon Valley–type technology inventor.”
Hunter huffed out a laugh. “You think?”
“I know,” I said firmly. “I’m not trying to take anything away from what you’ve done, because it’s amazing. It is. But it wouldn’t work for everyone or even most people.”
“You’re not close to your cousin Buck, are you?”
I had no idea what one thing had to do with the other. “Not really,” I admitted. “He’s from the Grapeseed branch of the family—Grapeseed was Uncle Amos’s brother, just like my grandfather Ephron—and they’re a little offbeat, even for Nutters.” I frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh… no reason,” he said airily, though the smirk on his face said he knew something I didn’t. He stretched out one leg so that his booted foot was mere inches from my ankle and gave me an assessing look. “So what is it you do, exactly? Town rumors only say you’ve got a fancy title and you make rock-star money, but I’m not sure which rock star they mean. Are we talking Beyoncé? Or Willie Nelson after the IRS got him?”
A startled burst of laughter escaped me. “Somewhere in between? I’m the vice president of distribution and logistics for one of the largest industrial kitchen supply companies in the Midwest,” I said with a little tinge of pride. When Hunter’s brow furrowed, I explained, “Distribution means I oversee the movement of supplies from one place to another. From the manufacturer to a warehouse sometimes, or from the warehouse to the clients.”
“Ohhhh. Is that what distribution means? I get it now.” Hunter tucked his tongue into his cheek. “You sell pots and pans, like down at the Cozy Kitchen, but for professionals.”
I was distracted by the way golden afternoon light spilling through the window glinted off his beard, and for a moment, I couldn’t process what he was saying. “No. I-I mean, yes. I mean… I don’t do the selling. I, ah… I move the stuff around after it’s sold?”
“Ah, so more like a truck driver!” He nodded aggressively. “Gotcha, gotcha. My uncle Pete was a long-hauler for a while. That’s lonely work, buddy—”
“Not like a trucker,” I snapped. “I manage the people who coordinate the transportation. Sometimes it’s trucking, or cargo ships, or freight trains, or expedited aviation. The options are endless, depending on the parameters of the client’s budget and the urgency of the, ah… need,” I finished in a small voice. It sounded kind of pathetic when I described it out loud.
And the laughing gleam in Hunter’s eyes said he’d been teasing me.
Again.
“Fuck off,” I muttered, kicking his foot.
“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist,” Hunter said, holding up his hands in surrender. “You were just so earnest about the ‘distribution means’ thing.” He rubbed his palms against his thighs. “Seriously, though, you’re in distribution, managing coordinators who send the stuff to… other places. But do you at least get to try out the stuff? Do you believe in the company? Are the products good?”
“I assume so. I’ve never seen any of it before. I don’t work at the warehouse, and they don’t give out samples. And, well, I don’t cook much anyway.” I pulled at the neck of my T-shirt distractedly.
“No?” Hunter gave me a soft smile that did things to my stomach. “Well, as long as you know the clients like it, I guess.”
