Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“That would be good.”
“Everything comes with a care page. I will get those for you if you buy anything. They even have handy-dandy charts showing you what terms like ‘indirect’ light even mean practically. It took me forever to figure that out myself, so I figured everyone else should benefit from that learning curve of mine.”
“You weren’t always into plants?”
“I never had a single plant until I took this place over for my grandmother a few years ago.”
“Oh, wow. You had a lot to learn then.”
“My grandma eased me into it too. She also started me slow with these beginner plants, then worked me up. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the Fiddle Leaf,” I said, gesturing toward the towering tree that was threatening to outgrow the ceiling of the shop in the next year or two, “until I hadn’t killed anything for months.”
“You’ve killed plants?”
“I tend to be better with plants that either require borderline neglect or complete obsessive care. All the plants that like something in between took me a long time to figure out.”
“Seems like you’ve got it down now,” he said, turning in a circle to take in the rows of tables, then the towering shelves up the walls. “Lotta lights.”
“Yeah. The shop only has that big front window,” I said, nodding toward where the bay seat was covered in a bunch of plants. “And a lot of these plants have high light requirements. So we supplement. They make it pretty idiot-proof. We also sell the lights, if you think you’re going to need them. And pots, watering cans, water globes, humidity testers, fertilizer…”
“I had no idea having plants was so complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Plenty of people stick a spider plant in their kitchen, water it every now and again, and move on with their lives. But if you’re already that ‘into’ plants without having any yet, I have a feeling you’re going to become a plant person. In which case, you’re going to want everything.”
“Do you have everything?”
“Everything,” I admitted.
“Plants included?”
“Well, no. I’m not a succulent or cactus person, so I don’t have any of those. But, yes, my house is packed. I keep telling myself I’m done… then a new type of plant hits the market and I have to have it.”
“How often do new plants like that come in?”
“Well, I get a shipment each month,” I told him. For the first time, my stomach didn’t tighten at the mention of that. “But they’re not always new plants, just new stock. At least once or twice a year, though. It would be more often than that but new varieties cost an absolute fortune.”
“How much is a fortune?”
“I think the most I’ve seen is over thirty grand. But most of them average three or four hundred until they are more widespread and cultivated by other sellers. So when a fun new plant comes out, I usually just buy one for the shop, wait for it to get big enough, and take clippings to root my own.”
“So, what’s the most expensive plant for sale right now?”
“The most expensive ones just came in, but they’re in quarantine. But… oh, the Philodendron Pink Princess is about fifty,” I told him, picking up the small starter plant with dark green leaves and splashes of vivid pink.
“A Philodendron, huh?” he asked, gears turning.
“Fair warning, I almost killed mine when I first got it. It did come back, but it was super finicky.”
“I’ll think on it then. Any chance I could get a peek at the greenhouse?”
“Oh, sure. Yeah. It’s disgusting in them, but we can check them out,” I said, moving down the aisle to make my way toward the door.
This guy was about to follow me, but he heard a little bellow coming from Ernest as he dreamed, making him seek out the sound.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, his voice going a little singsong.
“Ernest,” I said.
“Ernest,” he repeated, a smile cracking that gorgeous, chiseled face of his.
“It’s from a movie,” I admitted. “He’s friendly, if you want to say hi. But he probably won’t even look at you.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, walking over to my dog, crouching down, then stroking his hands down Ernest’s long, velvety ears.
To my surprise, Ernest opened his eyes to watch the stranger as he jiggled his face fat and neck wrinkles.
“Look at all this skin, man,” he said as Ernest yawned. “Hate to say it, but you might need a little nip and tuck, my friend.”
A little laugh escaped me at that.
“Sometimes, when he lays upside down, he looks like he’s melting,” I admitted.
“I can picture it. Well, nice to meet you, Ernest. Your mom is gonna take me outside now.”
At the ‘O’ word, Ernest perked up. Then he did the slowest stretch ever before standing next to the man.
“Can he come with us?”