Bob paused, waiting for an opportunity to make a turn across traffic. Because he wasn’t looking at her, she let herself gaze at him. He had a little break in his nose, clearly very old, and a hole in his ear where he used to wear an earring. She felt tension pulling her ribs together, and decided to focus on the corners of his mouth instead. They lifted up, creating successfully distracting dimples.

He said, “You’ll like Edward, he’s great. He’s literally a world expert on soil, and his family is one of the largest horticultural dynasties in Europe.”

Laura laughed and hoped he didn’t notice the shake in her voice when she said, “Are there a lot of horticultural dynasties?”

Bob looked serious. “Yes. But the Bloem company has been dealing in flowers since before the Dutch tulip mania.”

“The what now?”

Bob shot her a glance, then explained. “In the seventeenth century, people in Holland became obsessed with tulips.”

“The flowers?”

“Yes. Different varieties, different colors. It was a national obsession, then a problem, as people bought and traded bulbs and flowers at vastly inflated prices. Eventually the market collapsed, and people lost fortunes. The Bloem company managed to keep going, and still does.”

“Huh,” said Laura, not sure what else to say. “How weird.”

Bob shrugged. “I find it easier to understand getting obsessed with plants than cars, or the latest phone. People are weird.” He looked across at Laura.

“I guess.” She fell silent, and then, as she became aware of the sound of the road under their wheels, said, “And you don’t mind helping him out with this kind of thing?”

“Not at all,” he replied, noticing her voice seemed a little tight. He tapped the brakes gently. “First of all, I like doing it. I’m much happier outside, I’ve never been good at being indoors.”

“Me neither,” said Laura, “but I haven’t done much gardening.”

“No problem,” said Bob easily. “I’ll tell you what to do.” He paused. “I mean, you know, I’ll let you know . . .” Nooo, his brain said, stop talking before it’s too late. “Not, like, you know, a boss, but . . .”

She looked over at him and laughed, feeling her tension abating a little. “It’s cool, I know what you meant. I’m here to help, right?” She spotted another potential topic. “Hey, what’s that crazy tree?”

He looked. “That is a weeping bottlebrush tree, for obvious reasons.”

Laura said, “You mean because of those bright red things that look exactly like bottlebrushes?” The tree had long, bright red blooms with hundreds of tiny hairlike stamens. They reminded her of something Dr. Seuss might draw. “Los Angeles is far more colorful than I expected.”