Page 9 of Matthew
Maggie arched a brow. “You just realized this?”
“No,” Callie said, pushing off the bench. “But I didn’t expect basil boy to be the one to remind me.”
Her sister’s grin returned, bigger, brighter, and infinitely more annoying. “That’s because you don’t believe in signs. But I do. And I’m telling you, when a handsome stranger with sexy forearms shows up on your turf, talking herbs and grinning like he’s got secrets? That’s the universe whispering,“Girl, go flirt.”
Once again, Callie marveled at how Maggie could so accurately describe Matthew without even seeing him.
It was a gift.
An infuriating one.
She snorted. “Then the universe better be ready for compost if he comes back.”
Maggie raised her coffee in a toast. “Can’t wait.”
Right on cue, Tater trotted over, let out a joyful bark, and flopped dramatically into the nearest patch of mulch as if it were his fainting couch.
Sammy, ever the calm counterpart, padded over and settled beside him with a soft chuff, head tilted, silently judging the theatrics before resting his chin on his paws.
They were on the side patio of the nursery’s main building, a shaded space Callie had set up with mismatched benches, a pair of old rocking chairs, and a repurposed potting table that now served as an outdoor break spot. Wind chimes tinkled gently under the eaves, and baskets of trailing petunias swayed in the breeze. Beyond the fence, rows of potted plants stretched in neat lines, and the greenhouse roofs shimmered under the afternoon sun.
Callie shook her head. “See? Even Tater’s rooting for chaos.”
“’Cause he’s smart like his mamma,” Maggie said, smirking as she took a sip of her iced coffee and nudged the scone box closer.
“Don’t you mean aunt? Or grandma?” Callie countered, leaning back against the wooden bench.
“All of the above.” Maggie grinned. “Don’t mess with a Morgan girl.”
Callie nodded. “You know it.”
“True. I do,” her sister said. “I also know it’s Tuesday night, which means line dancing at Tex Pub.”
Callie blinked. “Already? Feels as if we were just there.”
“We were. Seven days ago,” Maggie said cheerfully. “Don’t even try to wiggle out of it. Mom told me you’re caught up on work and have no plans tonight. And if you do, I’m here. We’ll knock it out.”
Well, there went the excuse she’d been about to toss out.
Callie narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been talking to Momandspying on my schedule?”
“I do the books for this place, remember? And the antique shop.” Maggie grinned, unbothered. “I know exactly how many orders went out, how many invoices came in, and how many sad little excuses you’re currently hoarding.”
Callie crossed her arms. “You’re not supposed to weaponize your spreadsheets.”
“Oh, please. I keep this whole family enterprise running. The least I get is first dibs on your free time.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t love line dancing. She did. But some nights, she liked lingering in the nursery after closing, checking seedlings, watering the back rows, or sketching new landscape layouts as the sun sank low behind the oak trees. Tasks she didn’thaveto do but enjoyed doing. At her pace. On her terms.
“Callie?” Maggie arched a brow. “You promised. Tuesdays are sacred. Plus, we’re supposed to meet Emily and Holden.”
True. It would be good to hang out with her childhood friend and her husband again.
“Work stops when the CLOSED sign flips and the boots come out,” her sister continued. “You need to let loose.”
She sighed. “It’s not work if you love it,” Callie said, brushing her hand over Sammy’s golden head as he leaned against her leg. “And I love what I do.”
The planting, the cultivating, the designing…they were all in her blood. Her rhythm. Her peace.
