a deal. I’m allowed to live here rent-free in exchange for a plant hybrid I’m growing for her. And that’s, you know, a key selling point because I don’t have the money! I lost my job, and I’m trying to get back on my feet, so, my apologies, but I’m not going to be run off! Not by you or your son or anyone else!”
Lily hrmphed, but her intensity deflated. She turned to look over the plants with a casual air like they hadn’t just argued, the two of them, complete strangers. She wandered to a tray and poked at the dirt.
“Could you please not—”
“The plant hybrid for Linda Fitzgibbons… what does that mean?”
Her tone was nicer now. Curious. But Tim didn’t trust her past the end of her nose. “It’s a rose,” he said sullenly. He regretted it once he’d said it. But Lily Beaufort didn’t know anything about Roots of Life or Marshall, or where Tim had gotten the rose hips. There was no reason not to tell the truth.
“We have yellow roses in our yard,” Lily said. “They must be strong, because we never do a thing to them. They’re pretty but they get spots.”
“That’s probably blackspot. Or possibly fungus. Do they get full sun?”
Lily shrugged. “They’re against the front of the house, which faces east.”
“If they’re against the house, they get shade at least half the day from the house’s shadow. If they get four hours of sun a day, they should be all right, but there’s some organic spray you can get for blackspot. It’s worth it. Also, be sure to clean up any fallen leaves regularly, because the disease harbors in the leaves.”
Lily looked at him assessingly, but she continued to stroll away, looking around. “So these roses you’re growing are yellow roses? Red?”
“With a hybrid, you breed two different rose species, so you don’t know exactly what you’ll get until the hybrid plant blooms. But yes, I have some nice crosses that should be yellow. The one I hope to get for Mrs. Fitzgibbons, though, is a cream with lavender tips.”
“Sounds nice.” She didn’t look very impressed.
“It will be, if I succeed. It’s really hard to get. Plants with tips are almost always red or pink. No one’s ever done a tipped lavender . Not the shade I’m going for anyway . If I pull it off—” Tim shut his mouth. No point getting into that. Mrs. Beaufort would probably think he was just some loser wannabe, and he wasn’t about to recount his awards and stuff. Anyway, why was he telling her anything?
Lily turned and gave him a smile. “You know, plants have always fascinated me.”
“They have?”
“Oh, yes! Green things! Growing! Life!” Her nose did a weird little quiver. “I’d love to hear more about all this. What do you say we go in and have some coffee and coffee cake? I can see you’ve been working like a slave, Tim. You deserve a break.”
“Well, I—”
Lily grabbed the coffee cake, linked her arm in his, and led the way.
Over coffee and coffee cake, Tim told Lily about Roots of Life.
He told her about Purple Passion Pepper and the awards.
He told her about Marshall, the bastard, and the profits he’d kept for himself and the copyrights he’d filed and how that meant Tim couldn’t grow his own hybrids .
Tim had seen a documentary once about how certain carnivorous plants lure in food with tiny, fine, hair-like cilia, which wave and wave and gradually draw the speck of food—or fly as the case might be—down into their gullet. Talking to Lily Beaufort was like that. Her eyes were like information vacuums and her sympathetic little murmurs were like the tiny waving cilia hairs drawing out his life story with seductive ease.
And maybe Tim had been in need of someone to talk to, because he could not shut up.
They drank a pot of coffee and ate the entire coffee cake. Lily had quite an appetite for being such a petite little thing.
“You’re going to be a huge success,” Lily said matter-of-factly, as she cleaned the last crumbs
Lily hrmphed, but her intensity deflated. She turned to look over the plants with a casual air like they hadn’t just argued, the two of them, complete strangers. She wandered to a tray and poked at the dirt.
“Could you please not—”
“The plant hybrid for Linda Fitzgibbons… what does that mean?”
Her tone was nicer now. Curious. But Tim didn’t trust her past the end of her nose. “It’s a rose,” he said sullenly. He regretted it once he’d said it. But Lily Beaufort didn’t know anything about Roots of Life or Marshall, or where Tim had gotten the rose hips. There was no reason not to tell the truth.
“We have yellow roses in our yard,” Lily said. “They must be strong, because we never do a thing to them. They’re pretty but they get spots.”
“That’s probably blackspot. Or possibly fungus. Do they get full sun?”
Lily shrugged. “They’re against the front of the house, which faces east.”
“If they’re against the house, they get shade at least half the day from the house’s shadow. If they get four hours of sun a day, they should be all right, but there’s some organic spray you can get for blackspot. It’s worth it. Also, be sure to clean up any fallen leaves regularly, because the disease harbors in the leaves.”
Lily looked at him assessingly, but she continued to stroll away, looking around. “So these roses you’re growing are yellow roses? Red?”
“With a hybrid, you breed two different rose species, so you don’t know exactly what you’ll get until the hybrid plant blooms. But yes, I have some nice crosses that should be yellow. The one I hope to get for Mrs. Fitzgibbons, though, is a cream with lavender tips.”
“Sounds nice.” She didn’t look very impressed.
“It will be, if I succeed. It’s really hard to get. Plants with tips are almost always red or pink. No one’s ever done a tipped lavender . Not the shade I’m going for anyway . If I pull it off—” Tim shut his mouth. No point getting into that. Mrs. Beaufort would probably think he was just some loser wannabe, and he wasn’t about to recount his awards and stuff. Anyway, why was he telling her anything?
Lily turned and gave him a smile. “You know, plants have always fascinated me.”
“They have?”
“Oh, yes! Green things! Growing! Life!” Her nose did a weird little quiver. “I’d love to hear more about all this. What do you say we go in and have some coffee and coffee cake? I can see you’ve been working like a slave, Tim. You deserve a break.”
“Well, I—”
Lily grabbed the coffee cake, linked her arm in his, and led the way.
Over coffee and coffee cake, Tim told Lily about Roots of Life.
He told her about Purple Passion Pepper and the awards.
He told her about Marshall, the bastard, and the profits he’d kept for himself and the copyrights he’d filed and how that meant Tim couldn’t grow his own hybrids .
Tim had seen a documentary once about how certain carnivorous plants lure in food with tiny, fine, hair-like cilia, which wave and wave and gradually draw the speck of food—or fly as the case might be—down into their gullet. Talking to Lily Beaufort was like that. Her eyes were like information vacuums and her sympathetic little murmurs were like the tiny waving cilia hairs drawing out his life story with seductive ease.
And maybe Tim had been in need of someone to talk to, because he could not shut up.
They drank a pot of coffee and ate the entire coffee cake. Lily had quite an appetite for being such a petite little thing.
“You’re going to be a huge success,” Lily said matter-of-factly, as she cleaned the last crumbs
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