He turns around, the icy and withering wind messing his hair. Now he’s facing me, my heart feels like it’s stuck in my throat. Words get tangled up in a huge knot. I try to swallow to unravel them.

I truly want to say something. Anything.

But my tongue doesn’t care. It continues to be stubborn and glues itself to the roof of my mouth.

His brows don’t furrow. He doesn’t seem to ask himself what the fuck is she doing here, not talking.

Or if he does, he’s hiding it well.

“He’s the best patient, so far,” he smiles and when he does, the corner of his eyes crinkle.

Not having to start the conversation takes ten pounds off my shoulders. While there is a ton more to go, it feels a little easier to breathe.

I lift the corner of my mouth in reply and point at the utensils on the ground.

“Oh, those?” he asks.

My gaze wanders over his body. Tight jeans, a white t-shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, black boots, and a jacket that enhances his arm muscles. It reminds me of the one he gave me, which I still have in the house. I should give it back to him before he leaves tonight.

Realizing how far my mind has wandered, I shake every thought away.

Instead of nodding, which I’d usually do, I whisper a quick yes. It doesn’t seem like my short reply bothers him. On the contrary, he smiles.

He gets down on his knees, inviting me to do the same.

“That’s the resin.” He shows me the small cup full of something that looks like red sand. “When you cut the tree, it looks like blood.”

His love for plants shines through in every word he says. His green eyes lock onto mine as he speaks. It’s almost like he’s looking for reassurance or is checking to see if I’m still interested.

And I am. Not sure if it’s about the knowledge he has or the way he’s presenting it to me. No matter which, he’s great at it. I feel like he’s talking in another language. I only understand bits of the conversation, but it’s enough to make me realize how important this is for him and how dedicated he is to fight for it.

The time passes with me delivering short answers and Elias wrapping up my grandma’s tree in beautiful stories. Stories I’ve never heard. If grandma were here, she’d marry him on the spot.

She always used to say that plants love us back. I guess him saying they have feelings is pretty close to that.

We sit with our backs to the trunk of the tree, him looking at me and me looking anywhere but him. The conversation eventually comes to an end.