The Cascadia Series | Book 2 | World Between by Fleming Sarah Lyons

Author:Fleming, Sarah Lyons [Fleming, Sarah Lyons]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Published: 2021-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

26

ROSE

Because stupid Mitch put ideas in my head, I can barely look at Tom before I move to the raised beds. No matter how badly I may want something to happen with him in theory, I’m relieved that, in reality, it’s been pushed into the future. I’ve worked myself into a tizzy, to the point where I’m afraid I’ll end up on the floor if he tries anything. The only things that stave off a panic spiral are time, a whole lot of alcohol, or both.

I pick up the broccoli seed packet, squinting to read the directions and muttering when I can’t. Tom crouches on the other side of the bed. “Why don’t you use your glasses? Since they’re on your head.”

I touch my head. Sure enough, they are, along with my sunglasses. “Why did no one tell me I have six pairs of glasses on my head?” I ask.

“Probably because it’s you, so it doesn’t seem that strange.”

I carefully detangle my sunglasses from my hair. It was washed yesterday, so it’s not the usual frizz bomb it is by day three or four, and I want to keep it that way. I don my glasses and read the fine print. “Half an inch deep and three inches apart. Once they’re seedlings, thin to twelve inches.”

“Want help?”

“Sure.” I dump seeds into my hand and pass the packet across the bed. “We’ll do four rows, starting in the middle. I’ll probably kill these the way I do everything, but maybe Mother Nature will take pity on me.”

“How do you kill everything?”

I drag the trowel across the bed in two fairly straight lines, then poke my finger into the soil at the end of a row. “It’s a mystery. Or a curse. If there’s a blight, it blights me. If there’s a fungus, it’s among us. There’s overwatering and underwatering and a thousand other things, all of which I’ve done. The next time, I’m careful not to do those and find a new way to screw up.”

“If there’s anything I’ve found, it’s that there’s always another way to screw up,” Tom says. He dips a finger in the soil, then deposits two seeds.

“As long as it isn’t broken, there’s usually a way to fix it,” I say. “You’re good at fixing things, with and without duct tape.”

Tom smiles, and we continue planting with only the sound of tree leaves rustling in the wind. My nerves have quieted, and by the time we move to the next bed, I’m downright peaceful. I turn over soil, exposing a worm, and watch it wriggle deeper until it disappears. “Sorry, Wormy.”

“You talk to worms,” Tom says.

“Don’t you?”

“Sure, all the time. I’m just surprised you do, too.”

I laugh. He watches me as though I’m some odd but fascinating thing. I’m hardly that intriguing, but he makes me feel like I am. Maybe that’s what every good relationship is—ordinary people who find each other extraordinary.

When our eyes have held for too long, I return to the seeds. There are two more beds, but between fencing and gardening, my body is tired.

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