But the words leave my mouth anyway.
“You’re welcome to join me, if you like.” Her brows spring up in surprise, and I add, as if to explain, “I grow a lot of vegetables. You might find something you want to use in your cooking.”
The way her face lights with excitement makes my heart thump.
“That would be great! I could use some fresh inspiration.” She grins, rising to her feet. “When should we go?”
I chuckle, pleased despite myself, and glance outside. It’s bright and hot already, so the sooner the better. “Let’s eat, then go.”
“Great.” She clasps her hands together in delight. “I’ll make breakfast.”
The garden isempty when we arrive, which is unusual for a weekend. Given the heat, it’s possible everyone else has decided to stay indoors and enjoy the air conditioning.
I, however, am happy to be back in my favorite place in the city. Even if it took me twice as long to hobble here, and Poppy had to pull my wagon.
That wasn’t humiliating at all.
Inside the garden, I show Poppy to my patch, then ease myself down onto the bench to rest my aching back for a moment. God, I feel as old as Marty right now.
Poppy takes the opportunity to examine my plants, letting out a little whoop of glee when she spots the eggplant. “I can definitely do something with this,” she says excitedly, touching the firm, purple skin. “Are these ready?”
I nod, trying in vain to massage the knot in my lower back.
“Awesome.” Poppy kneels in the dirt, despite not being dressed for it. “I’m going to pick a couple, okay?”
“Sure.” I watch as she delicately takes a few eggplants, putting them in the basket in the wagon. There’s a creak at the gate and we turn to see Marty ambling into the garden, his basket over one arm.
“Morning, Wyatt.” His gaze moves curiously to Poppy, and he extends a gnarled hand. “Good morning, my dear. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
I chuckle at the way Marty turns on the charm.
“I’m Poppy,” she says, rising to take his hand. “Poppy Spencer.”
“Poppy is a friend of Bailey’s,” I explain. “She’s staying with me for a while.” I hold my breath, expecting Marty to raise an eyebrow at this, but he simply grins as Poppy shakes his hand.
“Martin Somerville, but everyone calls me Marty,” he says, and Poppy smiles warmly. “Lovely to meet you.”
“He’s the reason we have a community garden,” I tell her, since I know he won’t do it himself.
“Wow.” Poppy glances around, impressed. “It’s beautiful. So nice to see a garden like this in the middle of the city. I’m surprised they don’t bulldoze it to put up condos.”
“They tried.” Marty shakes his head, eyes twinkling. “But this is much better, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.” Poppy grins. “Which patch is yours, Marty? Do you grow vegetables too?”
He nods, shuffling past and motioning to his plot beside mine. His Brussels Sprouts are ready to harvest, and Poppy spots them immediately.
“These look fantastic.” She glances at Marty, who eases his creaking frame onto the bench beside me. “Would you like me to pick them for you?”
Warmth blooms in my chest as I watch her kindly offer to help Marty, much like she went out of her way to help me yesterday. She has such a caring side to her, and it makes me so furious to think of someone like Kurt taking advantage of her. Hurting her, when I bet she’s never hurt anyone.
“If you don’t mind,” Marty replies. “And please, take some for yourself.”
Poppy looks thrilled as she fills Marty’s basket, then adds a few to ours. I wrinkle my nose.
“Don’t expect me to eat those.”
She puts a hand on her hip, an amused smile tugging at her scarlet red lips. “Seriously? What are you, eight years old?”