The Last Garden in England(95)

“Please, but just the one. I drove over.”

“From where?”

She arched a brow. “You didn’t ask why when I told you I was taking the day off.”

“I was giving you space. Hold on.” He ducked down into the cabin and reemerged with a wineglass. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” She took a long sip. “I was in London.”

Her friend let the silence stretch until finally he said, “Are you going to make me ask?”

She took a deep breath. “I had a job offer.”

“You’re not really dressed like a gardener today,” he pointed out.

The head of conservancy position… it didn’t really feel like a job for a gardener. She would have a team—not a crew. She would set policy for the Royal Botanical Heritage Society. She would consult on high-profile, special projects and have some media responsibilities. She would need to speak to donors.

She sat there in William Rotheby’s office listening to him speak enthusiastically about the guidance her real-world experience could bring to the organization and the conservation education program they wanted to start for small garden-design businesses like Turning Back Thyme. She could mentor members of staff, even teaching some of the professional courses herself if she liked. There would be a generous salary, perks, and benefits.

But she wouldn’t be a gardener any longer.

“I was at the Royal Botanical Heritage Society.”

“Loraine Jeffers told me they’re interviewing again. They called her after the hiring freeze thawed,” he said, naming one of their competitors. “If Loraine was up for it, I knew you must be in the mix.”

“I was headhunted for it just after the New Year.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to worry you or the crew if nothing came of it. We had the big job at Highbury, and Turning Back Thyme was my main priority. I didn’t want all of you to worry about where your next paycheck was going to come from.”

“Emma, I work for Turning Back Thyme because I like working here. I could get another job if I wanted to. People have offered.”

“They have?” she asked.

“You numpty, of course they have. I can run a crew. That’s valuable.”

“I’m sorry. Of course you can. I guess I was afraid that if I said anything, it might ruin our friendship.”

“I’d be a bloody awful friend if I was more worried about my job than your happiness. If the head of conservancy job is the right move for you, take it. I want you to be happy.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah, but it’s going to take me a couple weeks to get over the fact that you didn’t think I would be.”

“That’s fair.” She went quiet for a moment before saying, “I should take the job. They’re offering so much and it would be much less stress than running the business. It would be dumb not to.”

“But… ?” Charlie prompted.

She looked out over the water and the field dotted with cows on the other bank. “Those people in the office said such nice things and told me about the staff I’d have and what I could do. And do you know the only thing I could think of? How I wanted to be back in the winter garden, digging up the main bed.”

Charlie grinned. “You can take the girl out of the garden—”

“But you can’t get the dirt out from underneath her nails. I told them I didn’t want to move forward with the hiring process,” she said.

“Then you’re still in business?”

“Actually, I thought it’s time that we went into business. Together.”

Charlie’s chin jerked up. “What do you mean?”

“I should have asked you to become a partner years ago. You’re as much a part of Turning Back Thyme as I am.”

“Are you asking me to business marry you?”

She grinned. “I think I am. If you’ll have me.”

“You just want me to take care of the clients you don’t like,” he said.

“And payroll and a good seventy-five percent of the logistics and planning,” she said.

“You don’t enjoy it. I do,” he said.

“I was also thinking, we could run two jobs at once if we expanded to a second crew. It would mean twice the revenue and help protect against lean years. That is, if you want to do it. You can have some time to think on it.”

“As though I’d need to think on it, you numpty.”

She made a show of putting one hand on her hip. “You really need to stop calling me a ‘numpty’ if we’re going to stay friends, you deranged Scotsman.”

“Stuck-up southerner,” he threw out.

“I’m from Croydon.”

“Still the South. As business partner and best friend, can I give you some unsolicited advice?” Charlie asked.

“Doesn’t asking if you can give it make it solicited?” she asked.

“Shut up, Emma.” He laughed.

“Tell me,” she said.

“There’s been something different about you this year.”

She nodded. “I have pots.”

“You have pots. I’ve seen you going up to the house for a cup of tea with Sydney or talking about the remodel with Andrew. You like them, and you like that village and that little house. You feel at home in Highbury.”