People clustered around the bowls, already eating and commenting on the unique flavor. Horace Greenfield had managed to get one of the bowls and would surely spare her a few. How was it that people like Horace were always in the center of things?

“Horace?” she asked. She didn’t care if it was rude, she was going to get some of those pistachios. She barely came up to these peoples’ shoulders, but she gamely angled through them. Horace noticed and extended the bowl to her. She would likely only get one shot, so she scooped up a hefty amount.

She sampled a single seed as she wandered toward the back of the room. Oh my, what an odd flavor. It had a soft texture, smooth and earthy. Nutty? Well, obviously, but different. She wasn’t good at putting a name to flavors.

Could she smuggle a few of these to Gray? He’d probably never tasted a pistachio, and she instinctively wanted to share them with him. They were plump and rare and exotic.

The familiar dart of pain squeezed her chest, for Gray would never again take a single thing from her—not an apology, nor an explanation, and certainly not a pistachio. She had to stop thinking about him every time she saw a rare fruit or tasted a new spice.

Still, he would be fascinated by these pistachios. Maybe she could figure out a way to send them anonymously. It was such a shame he couldn’t sample them. . . .

Stop! She was being ridiculous and impulsively tipped the entire handful of nuts into her mouth. Done! Now she could quit toying with the idea of sharing them with a man who hated the sight of her. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the flavor to get the full experience.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. “Miss Larkin?”

Her eyes flew open. David Fairchild stood directly in front of her, trying not to laugh as she struggled with a huge mouthful of pistachios. She chewed and swallowed as quickly as possible.

“Hi,” she said inanely. “Thanks for the pistachios.”

He nodded. “Of course. Dr. Norwood told me about you. Can we step outside to talk?”

Her stomach clenched at the mention of Dr. Norwood. Nevertheless, she followed Mr. Fairchild down the hall and out to the experimental garden. His white canvas jacket hung on his frame, making him seem painfully thin. Rumor had it that he’d contracted typhoid on his first trip overseas, and given his pallor and gaunt frame, it was probably true. The Department of Agriculture had several men out in the field to gather specimens. Were they all destined to catch such diseases? Gray certainly battled his share.