Page 33 of You, Me, & Après-Ski
Nestled close to the tree line, my iron and glass greenhouse beckoned to us. As we walked inside the warm air, the verdant scent of growing things enveloped us in a humid hug. While Nolan weaved among the beds of tomatoes, zucchini, broccoli, and butter lettuce, I knelt to inspect a row of peas to give myself something to do besides fidget, but as the silent seconds ticked by, I gave in to the urge to fill them.
“During my first week at Hale’s Peak five years ago, I found it hidden in the trees, reclaimed by the forest,” I explained. “Mr. Huxby had planned to tear it down, but I convinced him to let me use it instead. There’s just enough space to grow some seasonal vegetables for the restaurant and for Rocco when he visits. It isn’t much but…”But it’s mine, I had been about to say. But claiming ownership, even over this small victory, made something in my stomach twist. Because rather than seeing the small win for what it was and celebrating it, I only saw the mountain of unfinished tasks and how far away I was from my true dream of a fully-functioning farming cooperative that could supply year-round food for the entire area.
“It’s peaceful here,” I continued, “surrounded by all of this life in the wintry weather. I feel like I’m in a different world. A world where I can do anything I want.” I hadn’t meant to say the last part, but allowing Nolan here into the heart of my dreams had unlocked a secret door inside of me. With him listening with quiet reverence, it was easy to say these things to him. “Do you like it?” I asked, echoing his words from last night.
I’d brought him to my favorite place, to my safe haven, and I so desperately wanted him to like it. To accept it. To acceptme.
When he finally looked at me, a wash of agony painted across his face, quickly replaced by a raw, uncharacteristic look that I didn’t know what to name. “This greenhouse belonged to my mother,” he said, his voice rough.
My heart lurched in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I had no idea. I shouldn’t have—”
“Stop,” he said. “She would have wanted someone to continue her work here. I’m happy that it’s you.”
Andthathad my jumbled-up insides flitting into a frenzy. As a charged silence floated between us, I felt my face heating and turned back to my plants.
“What got you interested in farming?” he asked, watching me work with an assessing expression.
Pulling a few pesky weeds from my pristine rows, I explained, “I spent summers at myabuela’sranch and she taught me the importance of growing our own food. The Medfords—they run the community center in town—have been family friends since I was a child. So when I started working here, I also pitched in with the weekly craft fairs and farmers markets. It’s what gave me the idea to revamp the greenhouse and use it to feed the guests. My ultimate goal is to build a local network of farms supplying seasonal produce. It could make a small but meaningful dent in getting trucks off the roads, not to mention local food is more nutrient dense and has a longer shelf life.”
I felt like I was rambling again, but Nolan watched me with rapt attention, so I kept going. “But since it’s just me, I can only do so much. My first step is to expand the greenhouse and partner with some local farmers to grow their crops here at a reduced rental rate. I just need to convince Mr. Huxby to find room in our very limited budget or get some grants to branch out and do it on my own.” That last bit had my insides squirming, the imposter syndrome coming on strong.
When Nolan didn’t respond, I peeked up at him, surprised at the deep frown etched into his forehead. “What?” I asked.
“You’re doing all of this in addition to your daily responsibilities?” He asked the question like it pissed him off.
“Is that a problem?”
“Yeah, it’s a problem,” he said, sliding his phone from his pocket and tapping the screen. “You should be compensated for the extra hours of work you’re doing here. I’ll rectify it immediately.”
Taken aback, I could only blink at him. “That’s not necessary—”
“I’ll decide what’s necessary.” With a swooping sound that matched the feeling in my stomach, his phone fired off an email, then he refocused on me. “This week’s paycheck should reflect the adjustment.”
Still reeling, I said, “Thank you. But I don’t do it for the money. I enjoy playing in the dirt.” I grabbed another weed in demonstration.
“If you’re good at something, don’t do it for free.”
“Spoken like a true businessman,” I chuckled, dusting off my hands and taking a seat on the bench by the supply shelves.
“It’s an impressive idea,” he said, joining me. “How else can I help?”
“You…want to help?”
“If you want my help, that is. It’s your idea and your vision. But if there is anything I can do, all you need to do is ask.”
A warm kernel of hope glowed within me. I knew my idea was good. Had always known it, even under the layers of self-doubt and anxiety that shouted negative thoughts into my head all day. But hearing someone else provide that validation? Yeah, it felt good. And it didn’t hurt that it came from the mouth of a man who’d been training to run a business since he was in diapers, probably.
“Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot.” He returned my smile, but from the tense set of his shoulders, I could tell he had something else on his mind.
A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again. “Who is Juanito?”
The non sequitur hit me like a gut punch and my throat constricted until I felt like I was breathing through a straw. “How—?”
“You said his name last night.”
“He’s my littlebrother,” I said. “He—” I pressed a hand to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut.Blistering pain as my head smashes into the airbags. A ragged scream ripping from my throat.
A warm, strong hand gripped mine and pulled me back into reality. Opening my eyes, I saw Nolan’s large hand enveloping mine in a firm grip.
