Chapter 6 Reed
Reed
I pull into Eliza’s gravel driveway, my hybrid sedan jolting over potholes that could probably be classified as calderas. She never responded to my three texts about today’s schedule, which means I have no choice but to manage this situation in person.
I’m also not entirely convinced she hasn’t tried to leave town.
Her house appears held together by optimism and paint that might have been teal once upon a time.
I’m surprised to see a number of different buildings—a real urban farm right in the middle of Pittsburgh’s north side.
Of course, Eliza has tools scattered across her porch haphazardly, along with mismatched watering vessels and roaming cats that probably have fleas.
But then I step out of my car and see the view.
Pittsburgh spreads out below me in the winter light, the downtown skyline crisp and gleaming in the sunrise.
From up here, I can see the three rivers converging, the bridges spanning between neighborhoods like delicate steel vines.
It’s the kind of view that adds a few zeroes to a property’s value, assuming anyone could navigate her driveway to appreciate it.
My gaze drifts to a large structure behind the house—some kind of barn or workshop that looks almost solid. With those south-facing windows and roof angle, it could easily be converted into a state-of-the-art growing facility. Climate controlled, properly ventilated, solar powered…
I’m mentally calculating square footage when an ungodly sound erupts from the building. I imagine an air horn mixed with a garbage disposal.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Eliza’s voice carries from somewhere I can’t see, tinged with surprise and irritation.
I blink and look around. “I couldn’t get ahold of you and needed to confirm our start time for today.”
A head pops up from behind a wooden fence, dark hair escaping from a messy bun and dirt streaked across one cheek, despite the early hour. “I said I’d be there.”
“You didn’t say when.” I hold up my phone, displaying the unanswered messages. “I came to discuss logistics.”
Eliza vaults over the fence with casual athleticism that makes me suddenly aware of my own physical limitations.
She’s wearing overalls again, these ones patched at the knee but clean, paired with work boots that have clearly seen actual work.
It’s alluring in a way that startles me. I… don’t like women like this… usually.
“I was feeding animals,” she says, wiping her hands on a rag. “Some of us don’t check our phones every five minutes.”
“I don’t check every five minutes. I check at regular intervals to maintain effective communication. And I’ve been reaching out since we left Bramblewood.”
She stares at me until I have to check if I’ve just admitted to speaking fluent Elvish. “Right. Okay, professor.”
I pull up my schedule on the tablet. “We need to establish a timeline for greenhouse shifts. The optimal growth window requires precise environmental controls, and I can’t have you improvising when—”
“Hold up.” Eliza raises a dirt-caked hand. “I need to finish feeding these guys and putting out fresh water or they’re going to revolt. They should have been staying overnight at Bramblewood, but…”
She bites her lip in acknowledgement of yesterday’s disaster.
“You’re supposed to be helping me.” I tap the screen. “According to my calculations, we need to maintain sixteen-hour photoperiods with specific wavelength adjustments every—”
An even louder bellow interrupts, this one definitely closer and significantly more threatening. Through the fence slats, I catch a glimpse of something large and gray moving with hostile intent.
“If you give me half an hour, we can get going.” There’s something mischievous in her expression. It makes me nervous.
I groan. “Fine. I’ll meet you at the facility in…” I check my watch. “Forty minutes.”
I’m halfway to my car when I hear hoofbeats behind me. I turn just in time to see a black and white goat charging directly toward me with the enthusiasm of a rabid golden retriever.
“She’s just being friendly,” Eliza calls, but her definition of friendly differs dramatically from mine.
I step sideways, tablet clutched protectively to my chest, trying to avoid the goat without actually running. My foot hits a patch of what I really hope is mud, and suddenly physics takes over.
The landing is significantly less dignified than I’d prefer.
I’m flat on my back staring at a gray November sky while a goat investigates my hair with aggressive curiosity. My tablet lies face-down in a puddle three feet away, and I can hear someone fighting a losing battle against laughter.
“Oh my god.” Eliza appears in my field of vision, her hand pressed to her mouth. “Are you hurt?”
“My dignity has sustained irreparable damage,” I mutter, not moving. “But physically, I appear to be intact.”
That completely destroys her composure. She doubles over, laughter spilling out of her. “I’m sorry,” she gasps between giggles. “I’m so sorry. It’s just… I have this thing where I laugh when people fall, and I know it’s not okay.”
The goat chooses this moment to lick my cheek. “This is exactly why I work with plants.” I sit up to assess the damage to my clothes. “Plants don’t have vindictive personalities.”
“Here.” Eliza extends a hand to help me up, and I notice she’s stopped laughing. “Cruella’s actually the sweetest one. She was just curious about the stranger.”
I accept Eliza’s hand, surprised by the calloused strength of her grip. She pulls me upright with minimal effort, and suddenly we’re standing much closer than necessary, her face turned toward mine with an expression I can’t quite decode.
I gesture toward the goat. “You named her after a villain?”
Eliza tilts her head. “The villains weren’t always evil.” Something electric passes between us. Awareness maybe, or just the aftermath of shared ridiculousness.
“Your tablet,” she breathes, but doesn’t move to retrieve it.
“It’s waterproof,” I say, but don’t move either.
We stand there for a moment, the morning air suddenly feeling warmer despite the chill, until another voice interrupts from the direction of the house.
“Eliza? Everything okay out here?”
A woman emerges from a van, and I immediately recognize the family resemblance—same dark hair, same direct gaze, though this sister moves with a different energy. More purposeful somehow. Gentle.
“Eden.” Eliza jumps like she’s been caught doing something inappropriate, which is ridiculous; we were just standing there. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Checking the hives before the weather changes,” Eden says, but her attention is clearly focused on me. She takes in my mud-stained clothes and soaked tablet with obvious amusement. “You must be the tree scientist who’s got my sister all beside herself.”
Eliza’s dark brows furrow. “This is Reed Saint Nicholas.” She puts extra emphasis on the second word, which I don’t understand.
“My middle name isn’t Saint,” I say, attempting to brush dried mud off my shirt with limited success, wondering what Eliza has said about me. Eden appears amused as Eliza releases an exasperated noise. I clear my throat. “And I won’t be a tree scientist much longer unless your sister gets moving.”
“He’s very particular about schedules,” Eliza says, and I genuinely can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or appreciative.
Eden grins. “Perfect. Liza needs more structure in her life.” She dodges the handful of mud Eliza throws at her. “Speaking of structure, you should come to our cookie exchange next Sunday. Very civilized, very scheduled. Right up your alley, Reed.”
“I don’t really do social gatherings,” I say, which is true but sounds pathetic when said out loud.
“Neither does Eliza,” Eden says. “You have that in common. Sunday at two, Esther’s house. Liza will send you the address.”
And then she’s gone, disappearing around the side of the house like she didn’t just meddle in her sister’s personal life.
“She seems…” I struggle to find words.
“She’s butting in,” Eliza mutters, obvious affection in her voice. “You don’t have to come. The Storm sisters can be overwhelming.”
“It’s fine,” I hear myself saying, which is strange because I definitely meant to decline. “I like cookies.”
Eliza stares at me for a moment, then shakes her head.
She nods at my tablet, now flashing with alarms for watering the plants. “Still works.”
I begin explaining the wonders of waterproofing and realize something unexpected. The mud on my clothes doesn’t bother me as much as it should. The chaos of this place—goats wandering freely, tools scattered, sisters coming and going—should trigger my anxiety.
Instead, watching Eliza listen intently to my explanation while Cruella chews on my shoelaces, I feel genuine curiosity about what comes next.
The realization overwhelms me to the point that I start sweating.
I awkwardly snatch the tablet from Eliza and stomp my feet against the cold.
“Well.” I look up at the sky. “You said you need to feed your beasts something other than shoelaces.” I wiggle my foot to dislodge the goat. “I’ll see you at the lab.”
I hurry into my car and get it turned around, but not before catching a glimpse of Eliza Storm’s face, eyes dark with an indecipherable emotion.