Page 82 of Late Bloomer
“About as well as a fish in the desert.”
Bruce clucks his tongue and shakes his head.
That rain washed away my purpose, and I feel hollow at the truth of it. No more competition. No more reason to work with Pepper. No more plotting outrageous ideas just to see if I can get her to laugh.
“That’s a shame. One of the farms up the road I stopped at earlier had a large flower crop too. Said she lost most of it. Luckily, she has some veggies growing in her greenhouses to help her get over the hump.”
“Lucky her.” I bang my head a few more times on the doorjamb before helping Bruce hang a tarp over the crater in the roof.
“Y’all need to get you some of those, I reckon,” he says, jotting a few notes down before packing up his measuring tools. “Greenhouses, I mean.”
Bruce wants to talk about what I need? Let’s start with a hope. A prayer. A few extra brain cells, if I’m being greedy.
“You’re probably right,” I say through numb lips. What’s even the point? I’ve come in here and upended Pepper’s life like the storm, and she made it crystal clear last night that she’s not interested in opening up her doors for any more.
That would be a disaster,she’d whispered. Because she knows. She knows I’m a mess and she’s not interested in cleaning it up. I wish that I still had a chance to show her that I’m good for something, even one thing. Despite her not being interested in my feelings, I still want to do right by Pepper, keep working with her, build something together. I want—
“Wait. Bruce!”
Bruce freezes, one hand paused midstroke of that beautiful mustache.
“You’re probably right,” I repeat, hopping back and forth on my feet, brain revving up with an idea.
His eyes go wide. “Ma’am?”
I plow forward, grabbing his giant hands in mine. “You, my friend, might just be a genius.”
Chapter 28PEPPER
It’s been about a week since the storm, but my mood is as gloomy as ever. I feel so… lost. Directionless. Like my tether snapped and I’m floating through space with nothing to grab on to.
Which is probably why I willingly agreed to spend the day running errands with Diksha.
But by the time we get to our fifth stop—themallof all places—I absolutely refuse to get out of the car.
“You need to update your wardrobe,” Diksha says through clenched teeth as she puts her entire weight into pulling me out of the passenger seat. “You can’t keep wearing the same four pairs of dungarees for the rest of your life and call it a day.”
“That’s exactly what I can do. I’m an adult, dammit,” I say back, propping my foot on the doorframe and pulling against her. “All my clothes are at the perfect sensory texture. I’m not anywhere near stable enough to introduce fresh fabrics.”
“Fine!” Diksha releases my arm, and I shoot backward, head landing in the driver’s seat, the emergency break digging into my spine. She walks around the car, opening her side and staring down at me. “Dress like Chucky for the rest of your life. See how your girlfriend likes it.”
“Opal currently has green hair that’s breaking off by the handful, so I highly doubt she’d have anything to say about me wearing overalls and soft T-shirts.” It takes me a moment to process Diksha’s shit-eating grin. “And she’s not my girlfriend!”
“Excellent recovery,” Diksha says, scooping her hands below my shoulder blades and pushing me to a sitting position. I slump like a rag doll in my seat.
“She’snot,” I mumble, clicking my seat belt. “I’d hardly even call us friends. We haven’t talked much since the storm destroyed all of my hopes, dreams, and prospects.”
“You know what I love about you, Pepper? Your muted and undramatic perception of your life. It’s a gift.” She throws the car in reverse, navigating the crowded parking lot.
I cross my arms over my chest, staring out the window as Diksha drives me home.
“Is the not-talking a mutual thing or are you avoiding Opal like you are your feelings for her?”
“What do you know of my feelings?” I snap back. I hate that she hit the nail on the head with the first part, though. I’ve been skirting around Opal as best I can. The free fall from excitement to disappointment over the competition hurt way too much for it to be reasonable and safe. Nothing about Opalor her big ideas or her ridiculous jokes or the way she makes my heart race is reasonable and safe.
“I know that every time we’ve talked or texted over the past few weeks, you’ve always found a reason to bring her up and go on and on.”
“Out of annoyance, primarily,” I say with a haughty sniff.
