“Steven!” she called. She looked around, not seeing him among the vegetables, bedding plants, shrubs or fruit trees.

“In here!”

Her eyes looked toward the greenhouse where the nursery grew exotic and indoor plants. She hesitated, thinking it might be better if he came out, but then dismissed her concerns as paranoia, and walked over to the small building.

Steven was misting some orchids at the far end of the room. He put down the mister as she approached. “Hey,” he said.

“I told you, I don’t want you texting me,” she told him.

Steven smiled, held up his hands. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to overstep my bounds. The loving hubby didn’t see it, did he?”

“And I want you to stop calling him ‘the loving hubby.’”

Steven frowned. “Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on here? I’m getting kind of a vibe.”

Anita took a deep breath, hoping this would go well but afraid that it wouldn’t. “I think we need to stop,” she said.

“Stop? Stop what?”

“This,” she said, indicating the air between them. “Whatever is going on here.”

The frown deepened. “What’s going on here…” He waved his hands in a mockery of her motion. “…is a mutual—”

“Was a mutual—”

He nodded, smiling tightly. “I get it. I know what’s happening. You’ve come by to end it.”

“There’s nothing to end.”

“That’s not what you said at lunch the other day.”

Anita reddened. “Okay. You’re right. But I’m ending it now. It’s gone far enough.”

“Is it the text? I admit, maybe I was a little forward, or a little too enthusiastic, but you’ve got to admit, we’ve had some pretty—”

“It’s not the text. Or not just the text.” Once again, she breathed deeply. “I made a mistake, okay? It’s my fault. But now I’m correcting that mistake.”

“That’s what you think we were? A mistake?”

He walked out from behind the orchid table, and she gasped. He had undone his pants, unbuckling, unzipping and spreading open the front of his jeans, and his penis was sticking out, completely erect. A week ago—two days ago, even—she might have been amused or even aroused by such a gesture, but now there seemed something threatening about it, and she took an involuntary step backward.

“A lot of things grow in here,” he said. There was an insistence in his smile that caused her to gauge how far it was to the exit. “Come on. You know you want it.”

Any thought she had of being strong and standing her ground fled, and without another word, Anita turned tail and ran. She sped out of the greenhouse, past the potting shed and the register counter, into the parking lot, where she scrambled into her car and started the engine. Filled with panic, she dared not even glance toward the nursery, but kept her eyes on the rearview mirror as she swung the car around then determinedly faced forward as she drove out of the parking lot onto the street.