Page 81 of Wild Flower

“This isn’t about one’s ability to afford your proposed rate,” Ned interjects, pulling out another folder and opening it. “It’s about the market, competitive alternatives, and what you’re willing to compromise to keep your tenant.” He covers the table with photographs of the various plots of land I’ve visited with rent and mortgage rates listed at the bottom. Ned goes into a detailed explanation of my options, pointing out how easily it would be for me to move to a new location. Not that I think it would be easy, but he makes it sound like a cake walk. He concludes by opening up the contract to discuss the tabs he’s marked, making it seem like there’s no other option than to negotiate if they want to rent me the farm.

Ned talks through several tabs, crossing off language and rewriting it in my favor, and with every strike of Ned’s pen my mother’s scowl deepens. She’s no match for him, not in this arena at least. Ned turns to the next page of the contract, and my mother snaps, no longer able to stay silent.

“Are you telling me you would actually move?” my mother hisses in my direction. “After all that we’ve done for you?”

“My client doesn’t owe you—”

“Your client is mychild!” she cuts back. “I appreciate that you’re doing your job, Mr. Voss, but I’d like to address my daughter, thank you very much!”

“I represent Birds of Paradise, the business—”

“That’s owned by my daughter!” my mother insists. “Becca? Seriously?” She focuses on me. “This is enough. Let’s go home and discuss this privately, without—”

“Mom, stop!” I interrupt. “You can’t give me a contract and expect me to sign it. I have to do what’s best for my business.”

“Your business?” Mom’s lips purse together. “The business that wouldn’t exist without our generosity all these years. Are you saying your business is more important than—?”

“I’m saying this isn’t a back-handed deal we make in an alley,” I snap, and my mother frowns at the implication of that statement. “I love you, Mom, but this—” My throat gets tight as I motion to the contract and all the baggage that comes with it. “This feels like a slap in the face. So yes, if I have to, I’ll move the farm.”

My mother glowers at me like I’m a teenager who wants to emancipate herself, but I’m not a child anymore—I’ve hired a lawyer.

“Please continue, Mr. Voss,” I say softly, looking at the jumble of text on the contract and avoiding my mother’s glare.

“Rebecca Evangeline Laurel, this is really—”

“Patricia, please,” my father says quietly, putting a hand on her elbow and silencing her. “Let the man finish going over their proposals.”

“I don’t like any of—”

But my father silences her again. “Then let’s go back to letting her use the land for free and forget all this.”

My mother’s countenance hardens. She’s not going to show weakness, even if my father is willing to go belly up and submit. “Please continue, Mr. Voss,” she says tight-lipped, and she doesn’t look at me again. Not once for the rest of the meeting.

47

FINN

Iwalk under an arch of pink trumpet vines into Becca’s shop. Exotic blooms are everywhere and it’s instinct to pull my camera from my hip and take a few images.

“She isn’t here,” comes the voice of my cousin. I stop taking pictures and turn to Miranda who’s sitting behind the counter framed by hanging plants. “But of course, you probably know that,” she huffs, “because Becca tells you everything before she tells me.”

“It isn’t like that,” I defend, walking up to the desk. “In fact, you’re one of the few people who knows about us.”

“Becca and I tell each other everything,” Miranda says with a pout. “I was there holding her hand with every tattoo. This just feels so big, and I didn’t have a clue.”

“It’s big for all three of us,” I admit. “Trust me, it wasn’t personal.”

“Plus, you were my inside man!” Miranda points an accusing finger at me. “I just didn’t know howinsideyou were.”

I scrunch up my face. “I’m not giving you details of my love life.”

“Oh my God, Finn! No thank you!” She returns my face of disgust, but then leans forward with a smile. “But when I forgive Becca, she’s going to tell me everything, and I meaneverything. When. Where. How long. And Iwillblackmail you at family gatherings, so watch your back!”

“Classic Miranda.” I shake my head. “Did you ever consider thatthisis why we didn’t tell you?”

Miranda pouts for a second, taking that dig way too seriously. “It feels like everything’s changing so quickly, and I’m just running to catch up,” she admits, dropping her blackmail act. “Becca’s at the bank talking about a loan. I’ve been telling her to move out of her parents’ guest house for forever, but when did everything get so serious? Moving the farm?”

“If it feels big to you, just imagine what Becca’s going through.”

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