Page 15 of Love Grows

Ipassed the frowny-shaking-your-finger-you’ve-been-naughty letter back to Craig, and grinned.

“I reckon that’ll put the wind up them,” I said cheerfully.

Craig Grady, the lawyer who had taken on our official complaint pro bono, smiled in return. “It should do. It’s not the first time a large firm has ridden rough shod over small businesses.”

“Well, I can’t thank you enough. I wasn’t convinced that a law firm like yours would take on such a trivial thing.”

Craig had phoned me on Monday and explained how his friend Kat, who was friends with Steph, had asked if he had the time to do a favour for her, which he did, so would I meet with him at his office on Thursday? I hadn’t quite believed him, even more so when I’d turned up not half an hour ago at a beautiful heritage-listed house that had been converted into six offices. The brass plates at the front door announced a variety of professions, including an architect, an accountant, a creative media agency, a consultant—that label sounded exquisitely vague—one law firm, and then another law firm: Cooper, Marks, and Grady. I could tell from the law books and what looked like journals bound in leather on the oak bookshelf that lined Craig’s office—a Booktokker’s wet dream of a green screen—that the firm was successful. I was very glad that Steph knew people.

“It’s pro bono, Angel. We like to look after community. It’s what makes the world better, doesn’t it?” He quirked a smile, and I smiled in return. Craig was good people.

Back at the nursery later that day, I thanked Steph profusely.

“Craig’s a top bloke. He’s looking after everything, but he said to wait until the final week of the ninety days so the warehouse is stalled as much as possible.” I beamed with happiness.

Steph laughed. “Lawyers know all the loopholes and tricks of the trade. Particularly how to put the wind up local councils.”

* * *

Steph workedevery day that week, despite being a casual employee. We seemed to have an influx of customers, double the amount we normally had mid-week, so I was glad she was around. To attend to customers. That’s all. Not because I liked looking at her. Our customers came in groups: one from another retirement village and another from a care facility which looked after young people with special needs who were mostly in wheelchairs. That group was thrilled at the wide aisles which I had set up so Kahlia could navigate easily amongst the plants. I smiled to myself when all the kids exclaimed at the spiky ferns, the furry flowers of the kangaroo paw, and the pungent scent that was released when they rubbed the leaves on theEucalyptus kruseana. Then my eyes grew moist at how they were thrilled to purchase a living souvenir of their visit. One of the girls had run a string of happy face emojis on her touch pad which I was overjoyed to see when the carer turned it my way. I looked up to find Steph watching me, a smile on her face and a look of…something. Admiration? No, more like contemplation. Maybe affection. Whatever it was, I enjoyed the feeling in my veins.

I was starting to feel things for Steph, which was silly and irrational. Affection wasn’t that quick, surely. Attraction, sure. But bigger feelings?

Unfortunately, there’s always one customer who tries really hard to make their interactions with society very trying and ruins my musings. During the week, a husband and wife—I know this because he called her ‘my wife’ at the register—strolled in to investigate the stock. She grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the display of small-leaved Tamarinds.

“Gerry! Look at these! They’d look wonderful in that sunny part of the lounge room,” she enthused.

I didn’t quite hear all of a Gerry’s reaction, so I wandered over to offer my help.

“The Tamarinds are great indoors, particularly with muted sunlight.”

“See, Gerry?” She peered at my name tag. “Angel thinks it’s a great idea.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m sorry but the prices are inflated here, Susan.” He ignored me. “We’ll get one when that Walker’s opens. You’ll get your little plants there.” He picked up the pot plant I’d indicated and peered at the label. “Not just better prices but less boring plants, I’ll bet.” His smirk took in both of us.

I saw red. Not only because he’d just dismissed the small-leafed Tamarind which was an epic little shrub, but he had dismissed his wife who had excellent taste in plants, then he’d stood right there and insulted my nursery.

I levelled a glare at him.

“Well, that small-leaved Tamarind you’re holding is from northern New South Wales and thrives under indoor sunlight. It grows to be a small, dense bush that produces large red/orange fruits with a delicious, tangy pulp which is perfect for jams. Did you know that it has been recognised as part of the First Nations diet, and even though it often looks drab, the Tamarind is strong and has cute little cream-brown flowers in November to January, but by all means, wait until you can shop in the Walker’s nursery where all the noticeably half-dead potted varieties will be more to your?—”

A pair of arms wrapped around my torso and dragged me back a step. Then Steph appeared in front, facing Susan and Gerry, who were staring, their eyes darting between me and Steph.

“I’m sorry. Angel is needed in the office to sign some urgent paperwork so I’ll take her to that paperwork now and be right back.”

Steph spun around and grabbed my hand, leading me quickly to the office door. Tough looked up from his water bowl.

“Stay,” she whispered. Both Tough and I blinked and froze. Then Steph hurried off to assist at the counter where clearly Susan had won the debate and was purchasing her plant.

Steph bustled back to me, and I folded my arms.

“That was?—”

“That was necessary. I’m sorry I manhandled you a bit, but?—”

“A bit?” I glared. “I wasn’t finished with?—”

“Oh, yes, I really think you were.”

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