Page 4 of Love Grows

“Hi! How can I help?”

“Oh! I saw your ad in the window looking for another staff member and I’d like to apply if the position hasn’t been filled?” The woman lifted the end of her sentence and her eyebrows at the same time, and the effect was rather lovely. “My name’s Stephanie—Steph Wa—Thatcher. Sorry. I should have led with that piece of information.” She gave an apologetic-sounding, kind of nervous quick laugh and stuck out her hand. I held her beautifully-manicured hand briefly in my own. A very classy person inquiring about a not so classy job, which was interesting. I was more curious about why she’d stuttered over her own name. Maybe recent name change due to divorce? I pushed my curiosity away. It really didn’t matter.

I sized her up. Slim, my height but maybe a touch taller.

“Hi, Steph. I’m glad I chose to go with the local ad-in-the-window yesterday because it has certainly brought quick results. I’m Angel Whitlock and the owner of this place, Dig It.”I swept my arm about. “So you’ve come to the source.” I grinned. “Let’s do a doorstop interview. Key points of the job and all that.” I pushed one of my wooden pallet creations towards her. “Here. Grab a stool.” We ended up like two chess players without a table, our knees nearly touching.

I held out three fingers. “Point one is that you dislike killing plants.”

Steph smiled, then smothered the smile with a soft bite on her bottom lip. She nodded seriously. “Got it.”

“Point two is that you have a sense of humour. Essential because plants aren’t funny and it’s boring using up your best lines on a eucalypt. People are much more responsive.”

Stephanie allowed her smile to bloom. It was friendly, rather genuine—I had a good radar for genuine smiles equalling genuine people. It boded well for the humour content in point number two.

“What’s point three?” she asked.

“I need someone who knows what they’re doing with native plants besides not killing them.”

Stephanie laughed softly, then pulled an A4 paper from her satchel. “Here’s my resume.”

I took it and scanned over the relevant details. Steph Thatcher. Thirty-two. Degree in Business. I raised an eyebrow at that. A degree in business was not plant-related unless Steph had worked on ensuring that kentia palms were installed in every office on her floor of the skyscraper she’d interned at. Then I noticed it: a reference from Kirk Monash.

“Kirk Monash,” I said nodding slowly. “Impressive. I know him just in passing, because he buys his natives at the same wholesaler as I do. His company is always featured in the top landscaping magazine.”

Steph beamed. “He’s a really nice guy. He helped me understand a lot when it comes to plants like these.” She tipped up her chin to encompass the entire space.

“All right, well, if Kirk says you’re all good when I chat to him later, then I reckon you’ve got the job.”

I studied her. “Point four, though. I’m a bit worried about…” I circled a finger at Steph’s heels and designer clothing. “Working in a nursery means dirt in odd places.”

Steph stared down at her feet. “I truly debated about the heels.” She grimaced at me.

I chuckled. “And not the squizzillion-dollar jeans and shirt?” Then I gestured at her clothes again. “I’m serious, though. People won’t trust you if you look like you’re pretending to be here for an ethnographic study.”

A look that resembled anxiety crossed Steph’s face, and I figured she was either concerned about presenting an ethnography report or finding a new wardrobe.

“Don’t worry too much. We wear aprons to ward off all nature attacks, but plain old jeans and a T-shirt or something is fine.” I pulled my phone out of the apron top pocket. “I’m going to give Kirk a ring if you don’t mind me doing the reference check now.” I raised my eyebrows in question, and Steph beamed.

“That’s absolutely fine. I’ll hang out with the plants and reassure them that if I get the job, I’m contractually obliged not to let them die.”

We grinned at each other, which was rather nice in a weirdly flirty manner. I blinked then whirled around and hurried to my office, shut the door, sank heavily onto the chair, and dialled Kirk’s number.

“Kirk Monash speaking.”

“Hi, Kirk. This is Angel Whitlock from Dig It.”

“Hi there! What can I do for you, Angel?”

“I have Steph Thatcher here applying for a job.”

“Steph Thatch—oh! Steph Thatcher. Right.”

I frowned. “Kirk, she’s written you down as her referee.”

“Yeah, yeah, all good. Yeah, Steph’s worked at quite a few of our jobs. Usually the high-end, crisp-and-clean landscaping, but she’s really shown her love for natives. Steph’s all about planting for sustainability to match the ecosystem that’s present in the area.”

“Excellent. What else can you tell me?”

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