Page 15 of Beneath Southern Stars

I love mornings in this space, and it never ceases to draw a smile from me. After tapping a few buttons, the house comes to life and music fills the air. On autopilot, I walk the rows of beautiful flowers, checking each petal for viability. Violas have always been my favorite flower. Their vibrant colors make me happy and remind me of my grandmother. She never planted for profit, only the pleasure of nurturing something from seed to blossom.

When I was in middle school, I fell in love with science and particularly horticulture. Some girls were learning to apply makeup and mastering the art of flirting while I was researching foliage and blossoms. Through my research I discovered that the violas my grandmother loved were also edible. It fascinated me to know that something so beautiful was also full of vitamins.

Now, it’s that need of knowledge and fascination with all that I learned that has allowed me to live the life I do. It is because of these blooms and how their beauty and unique flavors come together perfectly. Chefs, bakers, and even mixologists use these petals to add something special to their creations. The process of curating the right blossom for the specific order takes patience and time. Uncle Freddy tried to help early on, but he doesn’t have the gentle touch it requires.

Time moves quickly as I work. If it weren’t for Steve and his needs, I’d probably lose complete track of time. Glancing at mysmart watch, I know we need to take a break. Steve has woken from his nap and is currently performing his own version of yoga as I fasten an elastic band around the final order for a bakery in Mobile when I hear a clanking on the side of the greenhouse. Lowering the music I strain to listen for the sound again. My eyes flick to Steve who stops, his little ears perking up when it happens again. Gently, I set the box in the mini fridge and slip outside, Steve quick on my heels.

I’m a southern girl through and through. I grew up in this house with the river as my playground. When I was younger, I often attended a tea party or other frilly obligation in the afternoon only to come home and spend the humid evening hunting frogs. Then I grew up, had one fright of my life and suddenly sounds of scraping and clanking on the side of a building freak me out.

Interesting fact—I am afraid of gators. Not like the average person who may be apprehensive. No, I break out in a cold sweat and like now, my tummy does a weird dip and my mouth goes dry. Basically, I want to vomit. It’s why one of the first things I did when I moved back home was have an electric fence installed. It’s not perfect for keeping gators off the property but it’s a deterrent to be sure. Several years have passed since a gator has been on this property. I couldn’t have Steve out here otherwise. Stinker would probably try to stake his claim on the land and end up as a snack. I shiver at the thought. The sound I’m hearing reminds me of a gator’s tail hitting the siding.

Quickly, I scoop Steve into my arms.

“Laney? Are you in there?”

Ryan.

My heart slows a beat, no longer threatening to escape my chest. Then reality hits me. Just because Ryan’s calling my name doesn’t also mean there isn’t a scaly creature nearby but I’m pretty confident he’s the one making all the noise.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Gulping down my emotions I croak, “Is there anything else over there?”

“Uh, no?”

It may be a question but surely he’d see something else in the vicinity. My steps pick up in pace and I round the building. Leaning over the fence at the property line, Ryan holds a branch and huge smile on his face.

“Howdy neighbor,” he greets with a smile.

Again, I wonder how I didn’t see who he was when we first met. This morning his ballcap is on but it’s also bright outside so I don’t blame him. Does he get his T-shirts specially tailored? It’s like they’re a second skin. If I were to guess I’d say he’s sporting a pair of cargo shorts. Vacation casual for sure.

“Are you hitting my greenhouse with a stick?”

“I didn’t know how else to get your attention. I don’t have your number and when I rang the bell you didn’t answer.”

He’s still talking about something, but I’m stuck on the idea of Ryan Miller having my telephone number. What a weird life I’ve found myself living.

“Laney?”

My eyes blink rapidly like little dragonfly wings as his voice drags me from the romanticized direction that thought could lead.

“Huh?” I clear my throat. “Sorry, I was working. What’s up?”

Ryan turns and tosses the stick, watching until I hear it land before turning back to me. “Are we still getting together with Mattie Lincoln?”

I tug my top lip between my teeth doing my best to withhold my smile. If I’m not mistaken, there may be a little bounce happening on the other side of the fence. Ryan’s enthusiasmabout meeting the famous football quarterback is absolutely adorable. I guess celebrities are just like us after all.

“If you’re up for?—”

“I am,” he rushes out, his cheeks turning crimson. “Er, uh, yeah, that’d be great. Would you mind if we came over to your house? I think Pepper is going a little stir crazy over here. Hopefully a change of scenery will help with the attitude she’s been throwing my direction.”

Now I could tease Ryan about getting attitude from a little human who speaks few words or that he is going to meet his idol. Instead, I pause for a few beats as I set Steve on his feet. Ryan Miller in my house. That’s a core memory in the making.

“Of course. It’ll help with Steve’s curiosity with all the new things he can sniff at your house. We have a bit before Emma and Mattie get here, I’ll shoot them a text and finish up some work before you come over.”

“What is it that you do in that greenhouse at all hours?”

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