Page 31 of Matthew
The driver hopped out. Young guy. Ball cap, clipboard, standard uniform. He waved like they should know each other.
“Delivery for Morgan Creek,” he called. “Got three trays of starter plants and one compost mix from the Gonzales run.”
Callie didn’t move.
Matthew stepped forward, his voice calm but clipped. “You have an order number?”
The driver blinked, thrown for a second, then flipped through his paperwork. “Uh, yeah. Right here. Ordered by a Les Hutchins.”
Matthew took it and scanned the sheet. The order was legit. Dated two days ago. Placed by a staff member named Les, not Callie.
Callie stepped forward then, slow and steady, her voice low. “Les shouldn’t have placed anything without running it through me. Especially not this week.”
Matthew handed her the clipboard. “The timing stinks.”
She quietly signed the sheet with a quick flick of her wrist, pocketed her copy, then turned to supervise the drop-off.
The driver stayed friendly. Oblivious. Unloaded the trays without issue, gave a cheerful goodbye, and drove off.
Once the truck disappeared down the lane, Matthew looked at her again. “You okay?”
Callie stared at the plants for a long moment before answering. “I thought I was. Guess not.”
There was no humor in it, only quiet frustration.
He didn’t tell her it was normal to be on edge. He didn’t tell her she was handling it fine. Instead, he bent slightly and lifted one of the trays, balancing it easily in one hand.
“I’ll help you move these.”
Callie hesitated, then she bent to grab the second tray.
They worked in silence, side by side, until the last one was stacked inside the shade tunnel. Sammy followed, curling up in a corner patch of sun with a big yawn.
Matthew set the final tray down and turned in time to see Callie swipe a knuckle beneath her eye. She wasn’t crying, not exactly. But she looked like she appeared to be trying very hard to stay ahead of a wave.
His gut twisted at the sight.
He stepped forward.
Close.
Not touching her.
Not yet.
“You’re doing everything right,” he said quietly.
Her gaze lifted to his, searching for something.
Whatever she found there, it held her in place.
Callie didn’t look away.
Not this time.
There was something in her eyes—stormy, searching, stubborn—that locked him in place more effectively than any command ever had. She stood there, still as stone, yet humming with restrained energy, and it hit him harder than it should have. She wasn’t shaken anymore. She was on edge, yes, but holding herself together with sheer will. And he couldn’t look away.
Her breath came slower now, quieter, as if she were trying to catch it without making a sound. Her lips parted slightly,the corner of her mouth twitching like she was about to say something. But she didn’t. Neither did he.
