Chapter One
Birdy
I tuck three Café au Lait dahlia tubers into a box and check them one last time before closing the lid and sticking the shipping label on top. It’s crazy how, in just a few months, these ugly clumps will turn into gorgeous dinner-plate flowers with creamy peach and soft pink colors. Magic, if you ask me.
“Hey, Birdy,” Nell, my boss and the owner of Timber Peak Petals, says as she steps inside the large greenhouse. “Did the crate with hardy perennials for Becky’s Blooming Blushes go out yet? She just called to ask us to add fifty extra mint plants to her order. Apparently, there’s some kind of viral trend going around on social media where people make a minty cocktail. Demand has gone through the roof.”
“Fifty extra?” I ask.
“I know, crazy, right? She already ordered two hundred and fifty plants.” Nell’s eyes shine. “If we manage to sell out this year, I’m doubling your seasonal bonus, Birdy. You’re my best employee.”
I laugh as I move through the narrow aisle of the greenhouse to find the extra mint plants. “I’m youronlyemployee.”
“True, but you’re still the best,” she says, already checking another list on her clipboard.
She looks as if she hasn’t slept for weeks, but her eyes are always bright. Her flower farm is her passion and her entire personality. I don’t mind. I love flowers and plants myself, and it’s nice to see someone go after their dreams and smash their goals.
Nell’s flower farm isn’t some big, soulless company. It’s got heart and that specific Timber Peak Valley small-town vibe that attracts customers from all over the country.
“Once you’ve got Becky’s mint sorted, take the rest of the afternoon off. You’ve been packing tubers for six hours straight,” she says.
“I’m fine, Nell. There are still lots of orders to pack. We need to get these tubers out in time for dahlia season.”
She puts her hand on my arm. “It’s okay. One afternoon won’t ruin us. Besides, I have to run to the hardware store for more chicken wire. The girls have escaped. Again.”
“Your chickens are such cheeky adventurers. But are you sure that’s all?”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Are you sure you don’t have a spare roll of chicken wire lying around? I have a feeling you’re heading to the hardware store in the slim chance of running into Reid.”
“Of course not. He hardly ever comes into town. Sometimes I wonder if he’s glued to the top of these mountains,” she says, her voice an octave higher than usual.
“One of these days, you’re going to have to talk to him,” I say, stacking the trays of mint on the packing shelves and pulling off my gardening gloves. “I won’t stop nagging you about it until you do.”
“He’s not talkative. And I’m not interested in him,” she protests, her cheeks growing redder by the second.
“Uh-huh. Sure. You’re so busted, Nell.”
“Go and enjoy your afternoon off before I change my mind,” she says with a shake of her head, but she’s grinning nonetheless.
“Thanks, Nell,” I say as I grab my coat from the hook by the sliding door. “See you tomorrow. Fingers crossed Reid needs something from the hardware store too this afternoon.”
I slide the door closed behind me and shiver. Outside, the temperature is way colder, despite the sun being out. When you’re spending so much time inside a warm greenhouse, you tend to forget how chilly it still is at this time of year.
I shove my hands into my pockets and take the road back to town. It takes me about fifteen to twenty minutes. I know every crack in the asphalt, every mailbox, and the exact spot where the Wheelers’ dog charges the fence before losing interest. I honestly hardly ever register it anymore since I’ve walked it so many times.
I slow my pace. Maybe I should enjoy this walk more. The afternoon sun gilds everything in soft gold, and I almost missed it because I was just going through the motions.
I tip my head back and look at the mountains on either side of the valley. They always look wise and unhurried, like they’re Yoda and they’re trying to tell me something.
Which is ridiculous, of course. They are mountains.
Why do I feel like I’m living on autopilot? Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. It’s the best one I could ever have asked for. Nell is wonderful. My rented studio apartment has an east-facing window that floods my living room with gorgeous light every morning. My family loves me, even though they live three hundred miles away. It’s a good life. But it still feels like it’s not completely mine. Like what I’m doing is living the wayotherpeople, or society, expect me to. I’m always trying to be a good girl. But what if I’m more than that?
To the right, a trail marker peeks out from the tree line.
Ridge Path Loop — 3.6 miles.