Sadness touched his face, smoothing his lips, his eyes, his brow. But he didn’t disagree, didn’t pity me or tell me I was wrong. He just watched me for a long moment before finally saying with a quirk of his lips, “Think I can prove you wrong?”

A relieved laugh slipped out of me, along with the phrase of the hour, one I meant more deeply than he knew. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

He smiled fully then, turning to the plastic tray of seedlings. “Wanna plant one?”

“I don’t know,” I hedged, eyeing them like they’d turned into live explosives.

“Here, it’s easy.” His hands stretched out, pausing expectantly with a little seedling in his palms.

I reached out, cupping my hands like his. Mine looked so soft and small and pale next to his, which he lowered, his knuckles brushing my palm. Slowly, he opened them, transferring the cool pile to my hands with a long stroke of connection. I held the plant like it might electrocute me if I moved too suddenly, but Kash’s fingers dug into the earth, spreading the dirt to make a space.

“Go ahead, set it in here.”

I did as he’d said, lowering my hands, nestling them in the dirt before opening them up. “Now what?”

“Press the dirt down with your fingers, not too hard,” he warned, and I backed off from packing it down. “Good. Now, just brush a little dirt over the top to level it out. Don’t leave any space around the … yup, just like that. You just planted your first flower.”

I dusted off my hands. “You grew that from a tiny seed. All I did was dump it in the dirt.”

He shrugged, smirking at me. “You just put that little flower in the home it’ll know its whole life. So I’d wager it appreciates your effort.”

There, in that quiet, mundane moment, the desire to tell him all the ways I wanted him surged in my chest, up my throat, my lips parting to speak. But he’d already stood to move the seedlings out of the way, the moment fading with the motion.

“You ready to become a crazy plant lady?” he asked.

I laughed to cover my nerves. “If you can show me how to keep a plant alive for more than a month, I’ll buy you a commemorative cake.”

“Deal,” he said over his shoulder as he rounded the aisle. “Come on, I set us up back here.”

I followed him, admiring that broad back, his rolling shoulders, the luxurious, dark hair curling gently at his nape. And with every step, I gathered my courage.