“I have to say, it makes a difference.”

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” She grinned at him.

“Well, what I see looks pretty good. I came down to take a look, and to let you know the town planner said your business license came in.”

“It did? Oh my God. Oh my God, Roy, we’re in business!” She threw her arms around him, made him blush bright red, then swung away to dance.

“She’s a caution,” Roy told Lee.

“I can see that.”

It took most of a week to lay the patio, mortar the joints. Then she dug in, literally.

In Roy’s truck—she’d trade her car in for one of her own when her first job was finished—they loaded her selected plants in the bed. For this job, she dealt exclusively with Joy and Frank. Nothing too fancy. She selected the pots, the annuals, and because it struck her as just right, a good-size wind chime she’d hang on a branch at the edge of the woods.

She ended each day filthy, sweaty, and blissfully happy.

After each completed project, she took pictures. She needed to build her website again.

She dug, planted, placed, pruned, edged, spread the yards of mulch Roy hauled in his truck.

He stood back as she placed a pot on the front porch.

“It looks a picture, Miss Darby. I swear I can’t hardly believe I had a part in it.”

“You sweat—and you bled a few times. You had as much a part as I did. That’s why you’re going to be my first official employee.”

“Oh, now, Miss Darby—”

“I’m not going to take no.” She knelt to fill another pot with the flowers she’d picked. “You already know I’m a good boss, I know you’re a good worker. You’ve got a good eye for this work, too, which is why I’m giving you a dollar raise over what I’ve been paying you. Starting tomorrow.”

“You said we’re done here today. We got no work tomorrow.”

“We will have.” Please, God. “If we don’t, you’re going to go with me to look at that house I’m thinking about. If I buy it for the business, I’m going to need to build a greenhouse. And an equipment shed.”

“You move so damn fast my head’s in a spin most of the time.”

“You can fill out the paperwork tomorrow.” She looked up at him.

She knew he more or less worked when he pleased as a man-of-all-work, had a girlfriend of four years, a mother he visited nearly daily.

“I couldn’t have done this without you. Not just the muscle, Roy. I needed the company, your eye, and your connections. So you be here at seven sharp, ready to work. You’re High Country Landscaping’s most valued employee.”

“You ain’t got but me.”

“I will have, but you’re the first, and the best. See you tomorrow.”

“Don’t you work too late, Miss Darby.”

“Just going to finish the pots, give them a good drink.”

“It sure looks a picture,” he repeated, and got into his truck.

She planted in the quiet, just her and the breeze off the lake, the scents of the heliotrope, the dianthus, the sweet alyssum in her pots wafting up.

Once she’d finished, watered, wandered, cleaned up—because dear God she was a mess—maybe she’d call Emily, ask if she would come down and see how it all looked.

When she placed the pot, she sat, rested her chin on her fist, and looked out at the lake. Lots of boats now on this late afternoon as March moved in. So much green in the woods, on the hills, and wildflowers celebrating.

Yeah, she’d water, clean up, call Emily.

Even as she pushed to her feet, she heard the voices. Emily’s laugh—pure and happy. A man’s with it, warm and easy.

She looked down at herself, thought, Crap, then, Oh well. Then walked down to meet them.

The man—not the chief—had his arm slung around Emily’s shoulders. They looked at each other as they walked, and the love, affection, mutual delight just shined.

Taller than Lee—easily six-three—and somewhere in his thirties by her gauge. A lot of dark hair tousled every which way by the breeze. Jeans covered long legs she imagined could eat up the ground, but he paced himself to Emily’s stride.

Probably the lawyer nephew come home from Raleigh. No one had mentioned said nephew was gorgeous.

He glanced over then, spotted her, gave Emily a little nudge.

“Darby! Zane, this is Darby McCray. My nephew, Zane. He’s barely gotten home, and I’m dragging him out. We were outside when Roy drove by. He called out you were done.”

“Nice to meet you.” She looked down at her hand, decided it was clean enough, and offered it to shake.

“You, too. She didn’t drag me, but apparently Emily’s been waiting until you finished to take a look.”

“I know. First client I’ve ever had who never looked, peeked, changed the plan, or wondered when I’d finish. And now you’re ten minutes early.”

“Early?” Emily repeated.

“I still have some tools out, and I haven’t swept up. But since you’re here … Just—remember, if there’s anything you don’t like, I can change it. If you hate it all, well, I’ll rip it all out, then kill myself. But that’s on me.”

“Pills, the rope, or the bullet?”

Darby couldn’t see Zane’s eyes through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, but decided they smiled. “The lake’s right there. Might as well drown.”

“Let’s take a look, Em, see how long Darby here has to live.”

“God, you two. Now I’m nervous.”

But she rounded the curve in the road.

Darby didn’t hold her breath—exactly. She only mentally crossed her fingers for luck as Emily stopped, stared.

“You see the—” And broke off whatever she’d wanted to say when Emily waved a hand at her.

Then Emily pressed both hands to her mouth as tears swam in her eyes.

“Oh God, please be happy tears.”

“You did this?” Zane murmured.

“Roy and I did this. Emily—”

This time the words cut off when Emily threw her arms around Darby.

“Oh! I’m filthy, and sweaty, and smelly.”

“Shut up.” Emily just hugged tighter. “You have no idea. No idea.”

So Darby hugged back, looked up at Zane over Emily’s shoulder. “No idea’s good, right?”

“Definitely.”

Zane saw the bungalow, so familiar, transformed. The same structure, sturdy and simple, in a setting that turned the sturdy and simple into the charming, the welcoming.

The stone path meandered—the word that came to mind—as if to say nobody had to rush. Flowering shrubs swept along the porch, others kind of danced in and out of the woods. He spotted a pawpaw, one of the few he could name, and heard music.

He scanned, found the long copper tubes of a wind-chime swaying in the breeze. Flowers spilled out of pots on the porch. They just looked happy.

“You painted the porch chairs.”

“It wasn’t in the plans, but once things started going in, they looked a little dull. The lake can get that deep blue color, so I thought we’d bring it into the scheme.”

Emily drew back, kept her hands on Darby’s shoulders. “I got so used to seeing what was, always. We’d update the interior, you have to. But I never thought about this. My boys—you met my boys.”

“Yeah, they’re great. Gabe helped us out a few times.”

“They’d start to tell me what was going on, and I’d shush them because I wanted to come to it finished. I knew it would look better. I never expected it to look amazing.”

She turned to Zane. “You’ve got your phone on you. Can you take some pictures we can send to Grams and Pop? My parents are going to flip, just flip.”

“You haven’t seen the back patio.”

“I forgot about it.” Emily let out that rolling laugh, grabbed Darby’s hand. “What’s growing in the walkway cracks?”

“Irish moss,” Darby said as they walked. “It’s already taken a good hold. You can walk on it, it’s easy to maintain, and it’ll fill the cracks, add to the natural look of the walkway.”

“Everything smells so good.”

“I added some fragrants.”

“Oh my God, Zane, look at this!” Emily broke away to step onto the slate patio.

“You laid the stone?”

Darby nodded at Zane. “Roy and I.”

“Roy’s no stonemason.”

“He’s a good worker, and a fast learner.”

“You built a window box—I love it. For herbs.” Still beaming, Emily brushed her fingers through basil, oregano, sage, parsley, thyme. “I know herbs even if I can’t grow them.”

“You can. I’ll teach you. I thought, some of the guests will want to stay in, cook. It’s a nice kitchen. So you can tell them to use the herbs if they want. And that rosemary against the corner of the house? It’s sheltered there, and will grow to a nice-sized shrub. It’ll smell great, and you can use it.”

“You painted the chairs here, too,” Zane commented.

“So it flows. I used bigger, vertical planters here because it’s more open. They’re all—like the porch pots, the window box—self-watering. They have a reservoir for water, a wicking basket to prevent root rot. Housekeeping only needs to check them every couple of weeks, fill the reservoir as necessary. And we can switch out the plantings seasonally.”

“The little picnic table and benches.”