Page 32 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"She really didn't believe you grew the vegetables?"

"Do you have work?"

"Yes."

"Go do it."

He starts away.

"Your Highness."

"Cole."

He runs. Atlas watches him go. I look at the dog.

"Don't."

His tail moves once. Unbelievable.

I finish checking the tomatoes and move to the squash. Three Zephyr plants are ready for another harvest. I crouch beside the first one. And think about Madison. Again. Not Madison exactly. The way she looked at the produce. That's different.

Most people come to the stand and see vegetables. They see dinner. Maybe a salad. Maybe something they're buying because their doctor told them they should eat better. Madison saw details. Weight. Color. Texture. She smelled a tomato before she asked me a single question. Then she started talking about restaurant quality and distribution like she'd forgotten she was annoyed with me. That part interested me.

I know chefs. We sell to a few restaurants within driving distance. Most of them care about consistency, price, delivery. Important things. Madison cared about flavor first. I liked that.

I pull a squash from the plant. Then another. She didn't want these either.

You will, I said.

I probably shouldn't have put them in her bag. Definitely shouldn't have refused her money. But giving them to her had nothing to do with winning an argument.

Lily had been a friend to all of us at the farm. She started volunteering when Noah was younger, helping whenever she could and however she could. Some days that meant working beside us. Other days it meant bringing food, helping organize something, or showing up with Noah and finding a job that needed doing. Her condition meant there were days she couldn't do as much as she wanted. She showed up anyway. Not because anyone expected her to. Because that was Lily.

She believed in this place. In what Jack was building. In the veterans who came here looking for somewhere to land. Somewhere along the way, she stopped being a volunteer. She became one of us. And Noah did too.

He learned where food came from in these fields. The first time Lily brought him out here, he spent twenty minutes trying to convince me carrots were manufactured already clean. I showed him otherwise. He was horrified. Then fascinated. After that, he wanted to know everything. Lily used to stand back and laugh while he followed me from row to row asking questions faster than I could answer them.

Noah should still have his mother bringing him here. He should still have Lily. Instead, he has an aunt who dropped everything and came home when he needed her.

I look down at the squash in my hand. Madison may insist this isn't home. But she's still here. Three weeks later, she's still here.

I put the squash into the basket. Atlas gets up and comes closer. His shoulder brushes my leg.

"I'm fine."

He stays. I rest a hand briefly against his neck.

"I said I'm fine."

Atlas has never cared much for lies. I let out a breath.

"Yeah."

He sits beside me. For a while, neither of us moves.

The next morning, I'm in the greenhouse before seven. Atlas lies near the open door while I check the herb trays. Basil is good. Cilantro needs thinning. The second rosemary bed is finally recovering after Cole decided a little more water probably couldn't hurt. It could. It did.

I'm checking the temperature log when Jack walks in.