In a New York Minute(48)

“Okay, so you saw the photos of the table I sent? All repurposed wood.”

I nodded. “I loved it.”

“Great, so that goes here.” She walked forward, outlining the shape of a long rectangular table with her steps. “Two benches. You can have meetings or lunch out here, or people can just come out to take a break. Two lounge chairs.” She waved over to the small corner nook. “And then the garden area.”

She turned back toward me to assess my reaction to her plan, a giant grin on her face. Her excitement was so palpable it crackled off her. I’d never realized that just the idea of placing a table and chairs somewhere could ignite someone like this, but then again I’d never met someone like Franny before. The sight of her mixed up the signals in my brain, like they were shaken together in a tumbler, making the most intoxicating cocktail ever.

“So what do you think?” she asked, her face flushed.

“I’m in,” I said. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“You’re cool with me bossing you around?” she asked, brows raised playfully.

“Why else am I even here?” I rubbed my hands together and then worried I looked ridiculous and put them in my back pockets. “I’m ready to work.”

“Woo!” She raised her hands triumphantly, tossing her head back as she laughed, her curls bouncing along for the ride. “Okay, well, the first thing I need you to do is drag those big-ass bags of soil out here and stack them in the corner so they’re as close to the garden boxes as possible.”

I gave her a quick salute and made a move for the bags as she began unpacking the vertical hydroponic lettuce garden from its box. Dusk settled in around us. When the last bag was stacked in the corner, I wiped my arm across my brow and made my way back to where she was working, assembling a giant white tower that contained a dozen or so pockets for plants.

“Okay, I’m ready for my next assignment,” I said, admiring her laser focus on the task in front of her.

“Wow, I never imagined you’d be such an eager student.” She pressed her lips together in thought as she looked at me.

“My professor’s a hard-ass, but I like her,” I said, and when this got a laugh out of her, I felt like I’d won prize.

“Well, you get an A-plus for ass-kissing,” she said as she waved for me to follow her. “Let’s do the seedlings together.”

We walked over near the doorway, where rows of seemingly identical sprouts were lined up next to each other. “Are they all the same?” I asked.

“Excuse you, how dare you insult these beautiful plants that way,” she said as she bent down to grab one. “There are five different kinds of salad greens here.” She began pointing at each one. “Romaine, arugula, butter lettuce, red leaf, Little Gem. Plus basil, cilantro, mint, and parsley.”

“I’m impressed,” I quipped, and she turned away, but not before I caught a small pleased smile on her lips.

“You should be,” she answered, but her voice was quiet and she still wasn’t looking at me. And then something clicked. Could she be feeling the same pull that I was feeling when she was around? It seemed impossible. She was sunshine, and I was…Well, I wasn’t sure who or what I was anymore, other than a guy who spent too much time staring into the blue-light abyss of his laptop.

Back at the planter, she stood at my side, the teacher to my student. “Okay, it’s easy,” she explained, eyeing me to make sure I was following along. I was, sure, but I was also distracted by how her hair seemed to smell like the ocean in winter, crisp and salty and clean.

“Here, hold this.” She gently placed the seedling, sticking out of a small mound of soil, into my hands. She pressed her hands around mine so that my palms closed around the plant, and then smiled. Her hands were warm and soft, and I wanted them to stay there for the rest of the night. Instead, she turned her big eyes to me. “Good?” she asked.

All I could do was nod.

“’Kay. You just push the soil aside like this.” She reached into the planter and dug a small hole. “And then you’re going to want to tuck that little guy in there, and make sure the soil covers enough so that it’s secure.”

“Where did you learn all this, anyway?” I asked, genuinely impressed.

She shrugged like it was no big deal. “My stepdad is very into gardening. Occasionally, I paid attention.” She gave me a pat on the back and then got to work, grabbing more lettuce seedlings to plant.

Minutes later, she piped up. “Oh my god, Hayes!”

“Yes?” I said, confused at what could be so urgent.

“I forgot to tell you the best part.” She was peering around the side of the planter, and she looked like a kid at a birthday party about to devour a cupcake. “I got you a compost bin!”

Before I could respond, she added, “Two, actually. A gorgeous, sleek one for the kitchen—you’re going to love it—and then a worm-farm composter for out here.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this excited about worms before.” I put my hands on my hips and watched as she practically rocketed off the roof in delight.

“Well, you’ve clearly never hung out with anyone who loves worms as much as I do,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re the key to a successful garden.”