Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
AVERY
Practice doesn’t start until first thing next week, so I’m cramming in as many of my plant-sitter stops as I can before I’m absolutely swamped—at least mentally—with choreography and new names and trying to find parking at a new rehearsal space.
My brain aches just thinking about it. Isn’t it silly that something as simple as attempting to find parking can produce so much anxiety?
I scroll through my e-mails as I get ready for my newest client, diligently adding and adjusting all of the changes in my schedule for the week.
There’s only one cancellation. It’s disappointing, but there could always be more.
It’ll put me behind on the money I thought I’d be saving, but I try not to dwell on it.
It’s always possible to make up for this.
Hopping in my car, I start it up, cruising down the street as I brainstorm all the possibilities that will surely pull me out of the financial redzone.
This can’t last forever. Everything is temporary, right?
Just because something may feel glum, it doesn’t mean it’s permanent.
It doesn’t mean tomorrow won’t be brighter.
I try to count my little blessings and bright spots as I make my way toward Soleil Drive.
First off, you’ve been hired by someone on Soleil Drive. Whoever they are, they’re probably important, or at the very least rich. Secondly, despite the fact that you have to adjust your schedule, it could be worse. You could be neck-deep in administrative tasks.
A shiver runs down my spine. Administrative tasks are my mortal enemy.
If I could house hop and care for plants and forgo all of the businessy things, I would.
But alas, schedules and finances must be managed.
And as the judge, jury, executioner of Sprout Sitting by Avery—whoa, sounds dark, I know—everything falls back on me.
If I let the boredom of administrative tasks get to me, my business will wither up faster than those pitcher plants did on their mistaken diet of tap water.
I parallel park on Soleil Drive, one of the wealthiest parts of Vista City.
Each property is impressive for one reason or another, and their inhabitants are no different.
Famous actors, athletes, and musicians all call this street home.
I gaze in wonder at the mansions around me as I come face-to-face with the reason I’m here.
2446 Soleil Drive. When I was texted the address and promised an entire living room of plants to care for, all I saw was the payout.
I couldn’t pass it up. As long as it’s not some old crotchety celebrity, I expect a decent tip.
Maybe that’s my problem though. I operate on unrealistic levels of optimism.
I knock on the door, but there’s no sound inside.
No dogs barking, no radio blaring, just silence.
And then it opens. My jaw nearly hits the Tuscan-inspired pavers below.
Ty Brewster stares down at me, his lips pressed into something that I’m assuming he thinks is a smile.
Regardless, he’s still kind of intimidating.
And then I remember my contract. I take a step back, wondering if I should make a getaway to my car. “I’m sorry, I—”
A dog barks on the sidewalk behind us, pulling his owner as he spots Ty.
The woman whips her head in our direction, and I panic, ducking around Ty and into his expansive foyer.
Causing a scene in the last place I’m supposed to be isn’t exactly the way I want to start my day or end my dance career with the Kings before it even starts.
“Afraid of dogs?” Ty asks as he shuts the front door.
“What?” Ty clears his throat, nodding his chin toward my shoes. Without thinking, I plop onto the floor and pull them off. “Afraid of dogs? Oh yeah, terrified. Especially little curly ones like that.”
“You’re scared of Peaches?”
My gaze follows his arm to where he gestures out the window as Peaches and the woman stop half a block down the sidewalk.
I shrug, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear. “Aren’t you?”
His brow scrunches, but he doesn’t answer my question. “What are you doing here?”
“Me? You texted. You said you needed a plant sitter.”
“Yeah, but not you.”
I tilt my head. “What’s the business called?”
“Sprout Sitting by Avery.”
I cup a hand around my ear. “By who?”
“Avery.”
“Avery Joy Hinkley, at your service. I don’t know what you were expecting, but I’m it. I’m the plant sitter.”
He runs a hand down the back of his neck. “Yeah, I figured you’re Avery, but I thought that maybe there was someone else who—”
“Someone else? My little fledgling business is barely off its feet. This is a one-woman operation.” Ty stares back at me. Unblinking. Slack-jawed. “Where did you get the number anyway?”
“I found your card. Fell out of your car door.”
“Well, lose it!”
He snorts, and his nonchalance makes me groan.
My stomach tightens. “Do you realize how much trouble I could be in for being here? How much trouble you could be in?”
“I’m sorry. It’ll just be this time, I didn’t know—”
“Yes. Just today, then no more.” I clap my hands together, changing the subject. “So, I heard you have plants to water. You know, I was expecting a maid or assistant or something to let me in. Usually the owner hires me because they aren’t around. Wait, you are the owner, right?”
He nods and turns to walk down a long hall. I stand there staring at the pendant light chandelier dangling overhead before I realize he expects me to follow. Dodging the foyer windows, I hustle to catch up.
“What kind of plants do you have?” I ask, my steps echoing in the minimalist—almost too minimalistic—house.
He clears his throat as we step into a bright window-lined living room.
He nods toward the lengthy windowsill that sits basically on the floor.
A collection of green leafy and flowering plants is lined up like little soldiers waiting for orders.
They’re all still in their plastic containers from the store, which surprises me.
“These new?” I ask, noting the barcode stickers slapped on each pot.
He runs a hand down the back of his neck. “No.”
Sizing him up, I kneel so I’m eye to eye with a moth orchid.
Tracking my fingers up its stem, the fuchsia bloom snaps clean off.
A strained gasp sounds off behind me. Ty may be shocked, but I noticed the signs.
It was the end of its little lifespan and would have happened now, whether it was here or wherever he purchased them.
I hold back my laugh, turning my attention to him. “Are you okay?”
“Is it?”
I arch a brow. “Considering you’re some kind of orchid hoarder, I figured you would know.”
“They just… looked pretty.”
I soften my tone at his admission. “They definitely are, and you have quite the collection. I didn’t really peg you as a plant guy, but certainly not an orchid guy. I suppose the misters are being charged?”
“The what?”
“Orchids can benefit from an extra misting during drier months. I figured since you have such an appreciation for them, you would know that.”
He squares his shoulders, pushing his hands into his pockets. I can’t read him, but something feels fishy.
“You just bought these, didn’t you?” I press.
“Maybe some of them.”
I shake my head. “Okay, we’ve both lied today. I’ll be honest if you are.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t agree. It’s like he’s made of stone. When the silence becomes unbearable, I do what I’m good at. I fill it.
“To be perfectly honest, I’d rather cuddle Peaches than run from her, but I didn’t want to be seen with you. That’s my truth. Now what’s yours?”
He stands as still as a statue, hands still sunk in his pockets. “After I jumped your car last night, I went straight out and bought a few things.”
I tilt my head, adding everything up. “And then you texted me. Why?”
Finally, he turns away, stalking toward the window as he towers over his line of plants. “Because your car hardly works. It didn’t sound like it’ll last much longer.”
“And?”
“And you were talking about needing work. And it reminded me that I’ve been meaning to get some plants for the house anyway.”
I nod, not completely buying it, but nonetheless grateful. “Good enough answer for me! Where’s your watering can?” When he stares back blankly, I realize just how new this all is for him. “You don’t have one.”
He shakes his head.
Moments later, we’re in the kitchen, and I’m filling an empty coffee pot with water. “You should probably get some supplies for your newly adopted forest. Normally, I’d have some in my car, but my roommate grabbed the wrong box while she was moving out.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It is, but the good thing is that some plants do better with a little coffee grounds in their soil. So in theory, if there’s trace amounts of coffee still in here, some of those plants might like it. I can’t remember which ones. I should probably check.”
Ty stays silent as we walk back to the living room, but in true Avery fashion, my mouth never stops moving.
“I can’t have too much coffee. Makes my stomach hurt.
But it doesn't matter these days anyway because my roommate broke my coffee maker. She has a boyfriend named Lars. Plans to move in with him, so I don’t technically have a roommate anymore either.
She isn’t going to replace my coffee maker anyway.
I was thinking about maybe getting a French press this time around. ”
Ty remains silent as I water each plant, and after about ten minutes, I realize I haven’t stopped talking once.
I clear my throat. “Sorry. I can be a bit of an oversharer. At least when I’m nervous.”
I swear I see his lips twitch. “Nervous? Why would you be nervous?”