Page 37 of Seeds of Love
She laughs, and something in my chest loosens. “It’s perfect,” she says, then adds more quietly, “Thank you.”
I want to tell her that I’d plant a thousand gardens if it meant seeing her smile like that. Instead, I bump her shoulder with mine. “Just wait till spring. This place is going to be buzzing.”
She groans at the pun but can’t hide her grin. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and for a moment, everything feels charged, delicate. But then she’s turning back to the garden, asking about what seeds I chose, and I can breathe again.
“Did you know Colorado has over nine hundred species of native bees?” she starts, and I settle in for what I’m sure will be a very detailed lecture about bees that I’ve probably heard before.
She’s mid-explanation about solitary bees when I can’t hold it in anymore. The real reason I did all of this was to say sorry.
“Listen, Lex,” I start, my tone serious. “About what happened at the lake?—”
“Oh God,” she cuts me off, cheeks flushing. “Can we not? Really, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself. “I was a total jerk. Dad had just called, and the medical bills are…” I trail off, not wanting to dump all that on her. “Anyway, the stuff about the care home—I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at… everything else, I guess. And you were just, like, conveniently there being all passionate and sure about things. It’ll be alright; I’ll graduate with a good job thanks to my degree, and I’ll be able to help them.”
She fiddles with the sleeve of her sweater, not meeting my eyes. “Alfie told me. About your dad calling.”
“Yeah?” Great. Now I feel like even more of an ass. “Still doesn’t excuse me taking it out on you.”
I can’t help but be a little pleased that Alfie had my back though. He’s a good guy, really. The guy's loaded—not that you'd ever know it. He never talks about his family or where he comes from, but the signs are there if you know where to look. Like how he insisted on paying more than his fair share of rent, claiming it was because he'd taken the biggest room. Or how he never blinksat utility bills that make the rest of us wince. The guys and I figured it out months ago, but we never bring it up.
He's subtle about it, but he's always taking care of us in his own weird way. Like how the fridge is mysteriously always stocked with that fancy protein powder Troy’s loves but can’t afford, or Ethan’s favorite imported hot sauce that costs more than my hourly wage. When we try to pay him back, he just shrugs it off with some bullshit about how he “bought too much” or “it was on sale”.
Sometimes I wonder if that's why he keeps to himself so much—maybe it's easier than explaining why he's slumming it with us instead of living in some luxury apartment downtown.
“Freddie, seriously?—”
“No, let me finish.” I take a breath. “You were right about a lot of stuff, and I was being defensive because… well, because sometimes it feels like everything’s getting more complicated. Like nothing’s as simple as it used to be.” I gesture vaguely at the dirt patch that will hopefully become a garden. “But that doesn’t mean your passion is wrong. We need people who still believe in making things better. It still makes a difference.”
She’s quiet for a moment, studying the ‘Home for the Bees’ sign.
“Things aren’t always black and white,” she says finally, echoing my words from that day. “I’m learning that too.”
“Look at us,” I try to lighten the mood. “Growing as people. Next thing you know, I’ll be composting.”
That gets a small smile from her. “Let’s not get crazy. Baby steps.”
“Hey, I just planted a bee garden.”
She rolls her eyes, but the tension’s broken. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet you’re still here, about to tell me more about Colorado’s nine hundred species of bees.”
“Nine hundred and forty-six, actually,” she corrects, then blushes when I grin at her. “Shut up.”
“Didn’t say a word, Lexie. Not a single word.”
ALEX
THEN – FRESHMAN YEAR- MARCH
“I’ve never seen you speechless,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
“I—well— I-I am thinking,” Freddie stutters, looking adorably flustered.
