After dressing in my gardening best—cut-off shorts and the standby Columbia tee—I run out for coffee, grabbing a latte for myself and an iced coffee with milk for Jack, and I’m back before the man even rolls down the stairs.

Because I’m going to need easy access to water, I set up shop in the kitchen once again, spreading out the plastic seed trays and hauling over the big-ass bag of soil I purchased at a nearby nursery earlier this week. I label the trays before scooping dirt into each of the small compartments, taking frequent coffee-sip breaks while I work.

Jack comes downstairs just as I’m filling up a pitcher of water.

“Good morning! Your coffee is in the fridge.” I nod my head in the fridge’s general direction; you know, just in case he forgot where it is.

“Should I even try reminding you that you don’t have to get me coffee every time you go out?” Jack runs a hand through his still sleep-rumpled hair. Though to be honest, it pretty much always looks sleep rumpled.

“No. Unless you have some caffeine allergy or something, I’m never not going to bring you coffee.” What kind of roommate does that? Of course, in the past, my roommates equally bestowed coffee upon me, but since I haven’t seen Jack leave the house once since I moved in, I’ve kind of given up hope there.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” He grabs his coffee from the fridge and pulls up a seat at the peninsula. “Do I want to know what all this is?”

I clap my hands together. “Today is germination day!”

“Is that supposed to sound like a good thing?”

“Yes. Because it is.” I hold up one of the tiny seed packets I bought earlier this week. “Today we plant the seeds, and then over the next few weeks, they germinate and grow roots. Then, when these little babies are toddler aged, we take them and move them into their new homes in the garden, where they will live long, healthy, nurtured lives.”

“Should I be disturbed by the level of reverence in your voice?” Jack pokes one of the compartments and comes away with a finger covered in damp soil.

“Hobbies are healthy, I’ll have you know.” Opening the first seed packet, I shake four little spores into my palm.

“And how did this come to be yours?”

I’m starting to catch on to Jack’s game here. Rather than leave me the opportunity to ask him deep, probing questions such as “What do you do for a living?,” he’s found a workaround. He asks me a million questions about myself, already knowing I physically can’t keep myself from answering them.