Page 7 of Seeds of Love
Before heading back into the party, I take a swig of his abandoned drink.
Ergh.
Mistake. I spit it out immediately.
He must’ve been holding it for a while, because it’s warm—warm. The taste lingers, bitter and unpleasant.
I glance at it again, considering a second try. I need a bit of liquid courage before rejoining the party. Ethan is clearly in one ofthosemoods, which means the night’s going to end with the four of us wasted, listening to old Beatles albums with Ethan opening up about how “Love would be a fine thing.”
A soft cough breaks the silence. I turn to see a girl perched on the porch steps, looking like she’s trying to blend into the woodwork.
“Didn’t see you there,” I say, taking her in. She’s cute, in a “mom’s love me” kind of way.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “I’m sort of hiding.”
I ease down next to her, noticing how she shifts away slightly. Ouch. Am I really that intimidating? She takes a slow sip from her cup.
“Whatcha drinking?” I ask, trying to sound friendly, but pretty sure it comes across as creepy.
She eyes me warily. “Same as everyone. Beer from the keg.”
“Can I have some?”
She glances at the bush where I just sacrificed my last drink and eyes me. “Are you going to spit it out?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I promise not to disrespect your drink.” I flash her my patented charm-the-pants-off-you smile, the one that usually has girls tripping over themselves. “That last one was cursed. Probably that guy’s failed attempt at jungle juice.” I point my thumb in the direction of the car.
She doesn’t swoon. Doesn’t even blink. Just hands me the cup without a word, like I’m some kind of drink-tasting peasant. Her attention is fixed on a tree swaying with the wind.
The beer slides down my throat, cool and crisp. It’s actually decent, which is a miracle at this point for me. I take another swig, because hey, I paid for it anyway. Or at least 1/4 of it.
“Are those wildflowers?” she asks suddenly, pointing to a patch of what I’d written off as weeds near the porch steps.
I turn, squinting into the darkness. “Uh, probably just haven’t mowed in a while.”
She shakes her head, and for the first time, I see a spark of real interest in her eyes. “No, look—those are Rocky Mountain Bee Plants, the tall purple ones? And those yellow ones are Blanket Flowers. Someone must have planted them deliberately.”
“Yeah, well we only just moved in. We were all in dorms last year; it was probably the previous students. You know your flowers,” I’m actually impressed.
“They’re crucial for native bees,” she continues, warming to the subject. “We’ve got over nine hundred species of bees in Colorado, and most of them are solitary—they don’t live in hives like honeybees. They need these late-blooming flowers to prepare for winter.”
She takes another sip of beer, then points to a different cluster. “Those little white ones are Yarrow—they’re super tough, can handle our crazy weather. Bees love them.” She glances at me. “Most people see weeds, but these native plants have evolved alongside our local pollinators for thousands of years.”
I find myself oddly captivated by the way she talks about these plants—like they’re old friends she’s introducing me to. It’s weird. Usually, when people try to teach me things, I zoneout. But there’s something about her enthusiasm that’s kind of... cute.
“So you’re telling me our lazy landscaping is actually environmentally conscious?” I grin. “Wait till I tell Troy. He’s been bitching about mowing for days.”
That gets me a small smile. Progress.
“So,” I say, searching for a conversation starter that doesn’t make me sound like a total douche. I get the feeling this chick isn’t going to smile and giggle at my usual line,I have a dog back home, you know, if we become friends, you might get a chance to pet him.
I know. It’s bad. But the thing is, it’ssobad it usually works.
Ethan tried it once, and he got doused with a drink. I told him, it’s all about the delivery. Charming, not creepy.
“Enjoying the party?” I try.
She snorts. It’s cute, in a “I’d rather be anywhere else” kind of way. I notice she’s fiddling with something around her neck—a delicate silver pendant that catches the porch light. Her fingers trace its edges.
