Chapter Two #3
"That's appreciated by the whole row."
Tyler leaned on his shovel and said, "Community service is cheaper than therapy, I guess."
Daphne bent over the mulch bag and smoothed the crinkled label with one gloved hand. "That depends on the quality of the therapy."
Gus tugged weeds along the fence. "Some weeds need consequences."
Daphne's hand stilled around the rake.
She recovered fast.
Not fast enough.
By noon, the heat had sharpened. The sky was white-blue and hard above the pines. The beds smelled like tomato leaves and bark dust. A thin line of sweat ran down my spine under my shirt, and my shoulders ached from hauling two bags of mulch and resetting the old wheelbarrow tire.
Daphne stood near the east row with the rake braced in both hands. Dirt streaked her cheek. She didn't know it was there.
I wanted to wipe it off with my thumb.
I grabbed the empty mulch bag instead. "You can stop there."
She looked over. "There's still a bare patch by the end."
"I'll get it."
"I can do it."
"I know."
Her chin lifted. "Then why are you taking it?"
"Because you've got ten minutes before sign-out, and your hands are shaking."
She looked down.
Her gloved fingers trembled around the rake handle. Not much. Enough.
"Oh," she said.
No joke came after it.
I crossed the path, took the rake from her, and set it against the bed. "You're not in trouble for getting tired."
"I know that."
I waited.
She looked toward the shed, then back at the row. "I don't like stopping before something's finished."
"Most people here can't wait to stop."
"I'm not most people."
"No," I said before I could stop myself. "You're not."
Her eyes came to mine.
The short strip of path between our boots turned hot and still. Daphne's lips parted.
I could've stepped closer. It would've been easy.
Too easy. One step, maybe two, and I'd know if she tasted like coffee and sun-warmed skin.
I'd know if that quick mouth went soft when she stopped joking.
I'd know how she sounded when my hand wasn't over hers for a tomato vine but at the small of her back, pulling her where I wanted her to go.
The empty mulch bag crackled in my fist.
Daphne heard it.
Her gaze dropped to my hand, then rose again.
I stepped back.
"Sign-out," I said.
The word scraped on the way out.
For a second, she didn't move. Then she nodded. "Right. Hours."
"Hours," I said.
The hours sheet was the line, and wanting Daphne didn't change what I owed her.
She walked ahead of me to the shed.
I stayed behind her, which was a mistake for several reasons, all of them shaped like soft curves, dirt-streaked olive pants, and the stubborn set of her shoulders.
Inside the shed, the air was dim and hot. Dust floated in the slice of sunlight through the open door. Daphne set her gloves on the workbench and flexed her fingers.
I took down the clipboard.
"Four today?" she asked.
"Four."
"So I'm at eight total."
"Eight done. Twelve left."
She let out a slow breath. "That sounds better than sixteen."
"It is better than sixteen."
"Math and emotional support. The P-Patch really is full service."
I wrote the date, start time, end time, and hours. "Don't tell Birdie. She'll make a sign."
Daphne laughed softly.
I handed her the pen.
She leaned over the clipboard to initial. A strand of hair slipped forward against her cheek, and the dirt mark near her jaw stood out darker in the shed light.
"You've got dirt," I said.
She froze. "That's not specific enough to be helpful anymore."
"Cheek."
She lifted a hand toward the wrong side.
"Other side."
She swiped with the back of her wrist and made it worse.
I should've let her keep trying.
I didn't.
I took one clean rag from the shelf, dampened the corner from my water bottle, and held it out. "Here."
Daphne reached for it.
This time, our fingers brushed.
She went still.
So did I.
The shed held the heat around us. Dust drifted through the sunlight. Outside, Tyler dropped something metal, and Gus told him, "Try not to lose a fight with the lid."
Daphne took the rag slowly. "Thanks."
"Sure."
She dabbed at her cheek and missed the spot again.
A laugh moved in my chest before I could stop it. Not much. Just enough.
Her eyes narrowed. "Is the dirt winning?"
"It's putting up a fight."
"I respect that."
"Give me the rag."
The words were out before I could pull them back.
Daphne looked at me for one long second.
Then she handed it over.
I stepped closer.
Close enough to see the tiny flecks of gold in her green eyes. Close enough that her breath caught. Close enough that my hand had to stay careful.
"Hold still," I said.
Her voice came out quiet. "I'm trying."
I touched the damp cloth to her cheek.
Cloth to skin. One practical swipe at a streak of dirt.
It still hit me like a fist.
Daphne's skin was warm from the sun. Her lashes lowered, then lifted. Her mouth stayed parted, soft and too close. I wiped the dirt away and dropped my hand before I forgot exactly why I had to be careful.
"There," I said.
She swallowed. "Did I survive?"
"Barely."
Her smile came back, but it trembled at the edge.
I stepped away and hung the clipboard on its hook. "Same time tomorrow?"
"If my legs agree."
"Stretch."
"Still garden advice?"
"Still common sense."
She picked up her tote. "You're very committed to sense."
"Somebody has to be."
Daphne looked at me then, really looked, and the joke faded from her face.
For one reckless second, I thought she might say something that would make the room even smaller.
Instead, the workbench lit with another message.
Fletcher's name glowed on the screen.
Daphne's gaze flicked toward it, then away. "I should go."
I turned the phone facedown. "You're signed out."
She nodded. "Then I'll see you tomorrow, Zane."
"Tomorrow, Daphne."
She walked out into the hard noon light, and I stayed in the shed doorway with the damp rag still in my hand.
At the gate, Birdie lifted her basket. "Bring those shoes back tomorrow. I want to see if they make it three days."
Daphne laughed. "They're very brave."
"They're very doomed," Birdie said.
Daphne waved to Gus, stepped around whatever Tyler was doing with the compost lid, and disappeared past the P-Patch sign in her once-white sneakers.
The workbench lit again.
I didn't look down.
I watched the gate long after Daphne was gone, then turned toward the far fence, where my land ran down to Beargrass Lake and my brother wanted what I'd already told him he couldn't have.
Daphne had twelve hours left on her sheet.
Fletcher wouldn't stop pushing.
I stood there with the damp rag in my hand, wanting a woman I had no business wanting and feeling the place where I'd touched her cheek like it was still warm against my thumb.