Chapter 8 Juliette
JULIETTE
Social media. Unbelievable. It’s not even been forty-eight hours since we put up the first post and the bell over the door won’t stop ringing.
It’s not the polite, one-customer-at-a-time ding it usually is. It’s a full-blown doorbell panic attack. Ding-ding-ding, like the shop itself is trying to tell me we have a situation.
“I promise,” I say, holding up a glossy green leaf to the woman in front of me, “your snake plant is not mad at you. It just likes being ignored. Think of it as the plant version of a mysterious introvert.”
She squints at it. “So I don’t water it every day?”
“Absolutely not. If you water this every day, it will file a restraining order.”
That earns a laugh, which is good, because there are three more people hovering behind her, all clutching their phones like they’re waiting for backstage passes.
“Okay,” she says, nodding. “Low water. Bright light. No emotional neediness.”
“Exactly,” I say. “You already speak its love language.”
As soon as she leaves, another woman slides forward, eyes darting around the shop. “Um…is Plant Daddy here today?”
I choke on my own air.
“Pardon?”
“You know,” she says, waggling her phone. “The hockey guy? From the video?”
Oh, I know the video she speaks of….and thanks to the hockey guy, and the little video we filmed, my bell is now in grave danger of dinging its last ding today from overuse alone. But, I don’t care. I’ll happily buy a new bell for that door if we stay this busy.
Honestly, I never would have thought that having Sawyer with his sleeves rolled up, digging in some dirt and explaining how to repot a snake plant would have caused this much traction.
However, I guess when you film your bit with the confidence of a man who not only understands chlorophyll, but also drinks it for breakfast, it does something to the people who see it.
They believe it and feel like if he’s got that plant, then they want it, too.
The funny thing? After we filmed it, I froze.
I wasn’t going to put the video up. Doing so was going to either bring the people in, or fall flat like other ad campaigns and promos I’d tried before.
Of course, Mr. Sunshine wasn’t having any of that.
He’d texted me yesterday morning before he left for his away games, threatening to sic his PR people on me and the store if I didn’t get it up.
Reluctantly, I hit post and closed my eyes. Crossing my fingers felt too trite.
Now, apparently with the helpful charm of Sawyer, the entire city of Alexandria has decided they desperately need a snake plant—and possibly a charming professional athlete to hand it to them.
“Plant Daddy is on the road,” I say wryly, trying not to think about the way his smile had gone crooked when Theo asked him the other day if he thinks plants get lonely. “Away games.”
A dramatic sigh ripples through the small crowd.
Which consists mostly of women. Women wearing Dominion logos on everything.
Shirts, sweatshirts, of course, but there’s a woman near the ficus section holding a dog that’s got a Dominion bandana wrapped around his little neck.
We’ve become the literal green room for Dominion fans.
“Well.” From behind the counter, Charlie clears his throat. “I am also a daddy of plants.”
I glance over. He’s polishing a leaf like he wants to take it out to dinner. And dancing.
“Uhhh…” The woman’s eyes flick to him. “No, we mean the other Plant Daddy.”
Another woman standing beside her holds up a magazine with Sawyer on the cover. “This Plant Daddy.”
“Ouch.” Charlie presses a hand to his chest using his own theater experience now. “That’s brutal.”
“But true,” she adds with a little shrug as she heads to the stationery, murmuring something about journaling her day over a cup of ceremonial matcha when she’s done with us.
“I told you,” he says in a hushed stage whisper, as if this isn’t insane and hilarious all at once. “The moment you bring a handsome athlete into a plant shop and shout it to the world he’s here, everything changes.”
As if to prove him right, the bell rings again, and in walks a pair of women—clearly best friends, probably overly caffeinated, arms linked and looking like they are here on a mission.
“Bet you ten bucks one of them wants a snake plant,” Charlie whispers as they head our way.
“I’ll take that bet,” I whisper back as I pull ten bucks out of the register and place it on the counter. “They’re here for a hanging basket, it’s a present.”
“We’ll see,” Charlie laughs as the pair comes to a stop in front of us, giggling.
“Do you sell snake plants?” one of them blurts.
I stare at her, and then I laugh, shaking my head as I slide the ten bucks into Charlie’s happy palm.
“Yes,” I say. “We sell snake plants.”
“Best ones in the area,” Charlie adds, punctuating the end of the sentence with a wink and a little pop of his hip as he slides my ten dollars into his pocket. “Thanks.”
“Thank goodness,” the other one says. “We drove here from Baltimore.”
From Baltimore. Over an hour drive, on major highways, from one city to another. For a plant. Because a hockey player touched some dirt? It can’t be, so I put Charlie’s theory to the test.
“Happy to show you what we have left,” I say, pointing to the display that’s rapidly disappearing. “May I ask how you found us?”
“I follow Sawyer Stockton, from the Dominion, on Instagram,” the first woman says. She pulls out her phone and shows me his account. “He posted this video last night.”
After Charlie gives me his best told you so look, I watch the video playing on the woman’s phone. It’s not the one we filmed, but a new one. One he’s done alone.
In the clip, it looks like he’s in the locker room of some arena.
Could be the Birdcage, could be another arena.
I feel like they would all look the same.
He’s got a bank of lockers behind him and he’s pulled his phone close, talking to it, to the viewer, like he’s a bestie.
The feel of it makes the conversation more intimate than it should be, but I guess that’s why some people make social media work and others are like me: awkward and too cranky to post.
“Hey, guys. Okay, so quick check-in.” He glances off-camera, like he’s remembering what he needs to say, and his smile softens just a touch.
“So, in my off time, I’m spending a few weeks hanging out at Leaf I know he just scored.
Theo leaps off the couch. “YES!”
And wouldn’t you know it, suddenly I find myself smiling, too. Somewhere between bites of my sandwich and the rhythm of the game, something could be shifting. I look at my son, who I know loves this game, but I'm not just watching for Theo anymore.
I’m watching him. And that’s the problem.
Because this feels like the beginning of something I am absolutely not ready for.