I followed them, reading the names of ferns aloud to them. I had no idea there were so many different kinds: bird’s-nest fern, which grew even taller than we were. Bear paw fern. Tasmanian tree fern. I never spent much time thinking about ferns, but the Fernery seemed to suggest we do just that: to study the different kinds of leaves and fern structures, to ask why some of them were as flimsy and delicate as watercolor and why some of them were as robust and strong as marble sculpture.

We stayed as long as we could before we overheated—me before Ros. We made the full loop three separate times and took pictures of both of us coming through the stone tunnel, shrouded in ferns. Eventually we passed through the door again—outside now felt lusciously cool compared with the heat in the greenhouse—and went back into the store.

“That was gorgeous,” I said.

“It was beautiful,” said Ros as we weaved through the greenery inside, making our way toward the door.

“You could write a poem about that,” I said gently.

“Maybe,” Ros said, which I took as a small victory. Normally when I suggested material for a poem, they shrugged and told me they’d think about it. “Are you ready for some ice cream?”

“Definitely,” I said, at which point Jess Orlando emerged from behind some hidden shrub and ruined everything.

She was shorter than I remembered—she barely came up to Ros’s shoulder. She had glossy strawberry-blond hair that was held up in a ponytail, and ears that stuck out slightly, and snow-pale skin with a wash of freckles across her face. She was dressed plainly, in a navy-blue HIDDEN FERN T-shirt that she’d half tucked into cuffed jean shorts that I couldn’t help but covet (I was always on a mission to find the perfect jean shorts, which, so far, had eluded me) and a pair of lace-up work boots. She was holding a medium-size cactus with a bright poppy-red desert bloom on top. I could only assume she was going to use it as a weapon.

“Are you finding everything all—oh—it’s you.”

She was looking right at Ros, happily, I might add, though Ros seemed too stunned to speak.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey,” said Ros, with a kind of new softness in their voice. “You work here?”

“When I’m not punching people in the nose,” Jess said. “Sorry, too much?”

It didn’t look like too much to Ros. Their face wore a crooked grin I’d never seen before. What. Was. Happening.

“It seemed like he deserved it,” Ros said.

“That’s the story I keep telling myself,” said Jess.

“We went to the Fernery,” I said, piping up.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” said Jess, though it seemed like she was speaking to Ros rather than to me. I should never have let them buy those cool pants.