Page 73 of I'll Keep Her Safe

He sighs, looking at me again. His eyes search mine, tired, a little sad, and it plucks at something in my heart.

“I guess… I haven’t felt that connected to my work for a while. I started the company because I loved having my hands in the soil, loved helping people make the most of their yards. Over the years, it’s grown into something else entirely.”

I nod, trying to understand. “What’s it grown into?” Then I pause, adding, “And was that pun intended?”

A laugh rumbles in his chest, and I don’t know if it’s intentional, but his hand squeezes mine. “It wasn’t. And… it’s grown into something different from what I want, I guess.”

“What do you want?” I press. He’s so intent on pushing me to cook, to think about my work, so why can’t I do the same?

“I want…” He thinks for a moment, scratching a hand absently over his beard. “I want more time with my hands in the dirt. More time talking to people about why plants matter. Less of a focus on making these overly styled, manicured yards, and more focus on what I care about, like growing your own food.”

I smile, imagining his veggie patch at the community garden. He twists in his seat to face me properly, becoming animated.

“Can you imagine if everyone in New York used their yard or their rooftop to grow their own food?” he says. “Even a few pots on the windowsill or fire escape. How empowering that would be to give people that skill, that ability. We’re so removed from the simple act of providing for ourselves and we feel powerless.”

Wow. He feels so strongly about this, he’s thought about it so much. But his words make complete sense, especially when I think of the time he spends at that garden, the passion he has for growing his own food. It’s been eye-opening to see what we can use in our kitchen from his garden, and itwouldbe empowering to give people that skill.

Something niggles at me as I think about his yard at the house.

“Why don’t you have a veggie garden inyouryard?” I ask. “You spend a lot of time at the community garden, but you have a huge space where you could also grow food at home. Your yard is kind of…” I pause, wanting to be diplomatic, but he smiles, as if he knows what I’m going to say. “It’s kind of a mess,” I finish at last. “Why?”

He exhales slowly. “I’ve wondered the same thing myself lately. Initially, I set it up to demonstrate my skills as a landscaper, but that was years ago. I have a big enough portfolio now and awards to showcase what we can do. The yard…” He shrugs. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

“You must see the irony,” I point out, and he gives a wry laugh.

“I do.”

I chew my lip, not wanting to overstep, but the words spill from my mouth, anyway. “You should turn it into a thriving vegetable garden, then use it for your business.”

Wyatt’s brows rise with interest. “How so?”

“Well, you could pivot your business in that direction, helping people learn how to grow their own food.” I think back to a class we did in marketing. “Sustainability is really in. And organic food. I bet you could do something awesome with it.”

His gaze moves across my face, then slides away. “I don’t know. It seems risky. It took me years to build my business to this point.”

“But you’re not enjoying it anymore,” I remind him, and he shrugs, as if to suggest that’s irrelevant. “You deserve to enjoy your work, Wyatt.”

He looks back at me, his hand still warm in mine, and I’m reminded of earlier conversations we’ve had. Why won’t he let himself have the things he wants? It’s like he feels the need to prove himself to everyone else, at the expense of his own happiness.

“You deserve to enjoy your work and use your backyard however you like. You deserve to ride your bike and…” I swallow, aware I’m getting into dangerous territory. “And fall in love.”

He inhales slowly, anguish twisting his features as he carefully withdraws his hand from mine. “Poppy, we can’t…”

I knew this already, but it still hurts, and I can’t help but press at the wound.

“We already did,” I point out.

He grimaces, gaze dropping in shame. “I know. And it was wrong. But…” He scrubs his hands over his face, looking at me desperately. “You have to know we can’t be together, right?”

My brow furrows. “Why?”

“So many reasons, Poppy.”

I know. I know. But I need to hear him say it.

“Tell me.”

He blows out a long breath, then lists them off. “I’m too old for you. I’m the father of your best friend. Bailey would kill me if she found out.”

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