Chapter 2 #2
The local high school’s agriculture class was coming for a tour next week, her first official educational outreach.
The thought simultaneously thrilled and terrified her.
What if they thought she was a fraud? After all, what did she really know about growing things?
She’d only been doing this since summer.
Stop it, she scolded herself. You’ve read every book. Taken every online course. These plants are thriving because of what you’ve learned.
Colton’s voice echoed in her memory from their conversation last night: “You’re a natural. Those kids are going to be blown away by what you’ve built.”
Warmth spread through her chest at the thought of him. Former major league baseball star Colton Matthews, who somehow saw past her insecurities to the person she could become. Their relationship had developed slowly over the past few months, each of them carrying their own baggage, but now...
A knock on the greenhouse door interrupted her thoughts. Ally looked up to see her mother peering through the foggy glass, a steaming mug in each hand. She waved her in with a smile.
“You missed my omelettes this morning.” Tara pushed the door open with her shoulder, careful not to spill the coffee. “Thought you might need this,” she said, offering one of the mugs. “It’s getting serious out there.”
“I woke up early and wanted to get an early start.” Ally accepted the mug gratefully, wrapping her hands around its warmth. “How many inches so far?” She put the mug down to brush potting soil off her jeans. At least she’d remembered to throw on an apron over her Grinchy sweatshirt this morning.
“About three, with another three expected by tonight.” Tara moved carefully between the rows of seedlings, her eyes bright with interest. “These look great.”
Her mom looked younger, happier. Will was good for her.
.. no, they were good for each other, and Ally was happy her mom had reconnected with a guy she’d known back in high school.
He was a widower, had lost his wife to cancer, and apparently had never forgotten her mom.
It was so nice to see them together, to see how they brought out the best in each other.
So different from the relationship she’d observed between her mom and dad over the years.
“They’re doing well.” She took a sip of coffee, letting the rich flavor wash over her tongue. “I’m experimenting with a new organic fertilizer blend. So far, so good.”
Tara reached out to touch a tiny seedling. “I still can’t believe how quickly you’ve taken to all this. It’s like you were meant for it.”
“I think I was,” Ally admitted. “I just didn’t know it until I came here.” With a grin, she pointed to the right. “How about BLTs for lunch?”
“I didn’t know the tomatoes were ready.” Her mom smiled. She’d dressed for the cold in an ivory cable sweater and flannel-lined jeans. “Looks like plenty for sandwiches, and how about homemade tomato soup?”
“That sounds perfect.” She grabbed a basket and picked the ripe tomatoes for her mom. Soup and a sandwich were the perfect winter lunch.
“I almost forgot the reason I popped over. Will’s clearing a path with the snowblower. Said he’d do your walkway next.”
“He doesn’t have to do that,” she protested, though the offer touched her.
“Try telling him that.” Tara laughed, the sound warm in the humid air of the greenhouse. “You know how he gets about snow removal. Methodical and thorough, like everything else he does. He’s already mapped out the whole property in his head.”
That was Will Dixon. Deliberate, thoughtful, with hands that could craft beautiful furniture or clear a driveway with equal care. Ally had watched him slowly rebuild her mother’s trust over these past months, never pushing, always steady.
Her mom picked up the basket of tomatoes. “There’s a package for you in front of the garage. Just arrived.”
“A package?” Ally frowned, setting down her coffee mug. “I didn’t order anything.”
“Maybe it’s from Colton?” Her mom suggested with a knowing smile.
She shook her head. “He’s in Chicago until tomorrow for that sports equipment expo.”
Curiosity piqued, she followed her mother out of the greenhouse, the cold air hitting her like a wall after the tropical warmth inside.
The snow was falling steadily now, large flakes drifting down from a sky the color of pewter.
The sound of Will’s snowblower echoed across the property, momentarily drowning out the peaceful silence of the winter morning.
The driveway was clear, and there it was, a large cardboard box, unmarked except for her name printed in block letters on a simple white label. No return address, no shipping company logo, no tracking information.
“That’s odd,” she murmured, circling the box cautiously.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Tara asked, holding the tomatoes and their mugs.
She knelt beside the box, pulling a pair of scissors from her apron to carefully cut through the packing tape.
Inside, nestled in biodegradable packing peanuts, she found an assortment of supplies: a smoker, a hive tool, protective gloves, and a full beekeeper’s suit still in its packaging.
Beneath these were several books on beekeeping, their covers showing colorful images of hives and honeycomb.
“What in the world?” Ally lifted out a beginner’s guide to beekeeping, a note fluttering from between its pages.
Thought you might like bees for all your lovely flowers. The hives will arrive in the spring when the weather warms. — Your Secret Santa
“The Secret Santa,” Tara breathed, peering over Ally’s shoulder at the contents of the box.
She ran her fingers over the high-quality equipment, stunned by the thoughtfulness of the gift. Just yesterday, she’d been talking to Sean at Sweet Magnolia about possibly adding beehives to diversify her business. Had someone overheard? Or was it just a remarkable coincidence?
“How would they know?” she wondered aloud. “I’ve only mentioned it to Sean, and maybe to Ryan and Christina at dinner the other night.”
“Word travels fast in small towns,” Tara reminded her, picking up one of the books. “Remember when you sneezed at The Lonely Pen, and three people called to ask if you needed chicken soup?”
Ally laughed, the memory of her first cold in Blueberry Hill still fresh. She’d been overwhelmed by the community’s response. Offers of homemade remedies, soup deliveries, and even Mrs. Collier showing up with a strange-smelling tea that had tasted awful but cleared her sinuses immediately.
“Still, this is...” She gestured at the box, at a loss for words. “This is expensive. And so specific.”
“Someone believes in you,” Tara said simply, squeezing her shoulder. “Just like the rest of us do.”
The realization settled he Ally like a warm blanket. She belonged here, in this town, in this life she was building. Someone had seen her dreams and wanted to help them grow. After years of feeling invisible in Milwaukee, the sensation was as novel as it was overwhelming.
“I should probably learn how not to get stung first,” she said, picking up a book titled The Gentle Beekeeper.
Tara laughed, moving toward the kitchen. “One step at a time. For now, how about we get started on lunch?
The sound of the snowblower stopped, and Will appeared around the corner, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, snowflakes clinging to his dark hair.
“Path’s clear to the greenhouse and your tiny house,” he announced, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled at Ally. “What’s all this?” He nodded toward the open box.
As she explained about the mysterious beekeeping supplies, Will’s expression shifted from curiosity to thoughtful consideration. He ran a hand along his jaw, a habit Ally had noticed he fell into when he was working through a problem.
“You know,” he said slowly, “I helped old Mr. Thornhill with his hives years ago, before he passed. Still remember most of what he taught me.” He picked up one of the books, flipping through it with practiced ease. “Come spring, I could give you a hand setting them up.”
“Really?” Ally felt a surge of gratitude. “That would be amazing.”
“Your brother offered to build hives.” Will shrugged, as if offering to help with a complex and potentially painful task was nothing.
“It’s good to have bees around. They’re the unsung heroes of any garden.
” His eyes lit up with quiet enthusiasm.
“Mr. Thornhill used to say a garden without bees is like Christmas without carols—technically possible, but missing all the sweetness.”
Her mom smiled. “Evan said he’d help Ryan build the hives.”
Ally closed the box. “Together?”
“I know, right?”
Her brother hadn’t taken to Ryan right away. It had been a shock for all of them, finding out they had a half-brother. That their dad had been cheating on their mom for years. But it wasn’t Ryan’s fault. He was a good kid, and it looked like he was slowly winning Evan over.
The phone rang, the sound cutting through their conversation as they went inside the cottage. Tara picked up her cellphone, her expression shifting as she listened to the caller.
“Yes, he’s here,” she said, holding the phone out to Will. “It’s Todd from the high school. Something about the vocational program and the weather.”
Will took the phone, moving toward the living room as he spoke in low tones about construction schedules and the impact of the snowstorm.
Ally watched him go, noting the way his shoulders squared as he shifted into problem-solving mode.
He’d probably turned his phone to silent again and hadn’t heard it ring over the snowblower.
“I’m going to take this to the greenhouse and then I’ll be back to help you make the soup.
” She smiled at her mom as she lifted the box into the wagon in the garage.
From the apartment upstairs, she could hear her sister talking, probably to one of her social media clients.
Maybe she should ask Christina to help her work on her ideas for next year?
* * *