Page 63 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"A few."

His eyebrow rises.

"Hart."

"Okay, fine. Several."

"Vegetable police."

"I'm a chef. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"A significant one."

His mouth twitches.

"Go ahead. Look around."

I walk toward the first row. The scent reaches me before I get there. That unmistakable green smell of tomato vines warming in the sun. Then I see the fruit. I stop. I look at the tomatoes. Then at him.

"Are these...?"

"Yes."

I smile before I can stop myself. I move closer and gently turn one in my hand. Firm. Heavy. Beautiful color.

"By the way, I only came back because my mother really did need tomatoes."

"Of course."

"She did."

"Never said she didn't."

I give him a look. He's enjoying this far too much.

Then I see the broad leaves in the next bed.

"Are those the squash you wanted me to try?"

"They are."

I turn toward him.

"Which, by the way, were incredible."

The teasing fades from his face.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. The flavor was concentrated, almost nutty after roasting, and the texture held beautifully. It didn't turn soft or watery."

Something changes in his expression. Pride, maybe. Quiet pride.

I look from him to the rows stretching ahead of us.

"Martinez, what you're doing here is remarkable."