Page 65 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"Healthy soil changes what a plant can do. What was grown here before matters. So does what you put back into it. Water matters. Timing matters. Minerals, nutrients, even things you can't see happening underneath the surface."

I watch the soil slip through his fingers.

"You can really taste all of that?"

"If I do it right."

I look at him. He's not teasing anymore.

"Most people grow for size and yield," he continues. "We need yield too. The farm depends on it. But I don't want something to look perfect and taste like nothing."

Something in me lights up.

"Yes."

His eyes meet mine.

"Exactly that," I say, pointing toward him. "As a chef, I can make a plate look like art, but if the food doesn't taste good, none of it matters."

"Same principle."

I stare at him.

"That's why the squash tasted like that."

"Partly."

"And the tomatoes."

"Yeah."

"What else do you do?"

He looks amused.

"I'm genuinely asking."

"I can tell."

He rises and brushes the soil from his hands.

"Come on."

I follow immediately. We walk from the garden toward a smaller field. He shows me how different crops are rotated through the beds and explains why some plants take more from the soil while others help put something back. Most of it is completely new to me. And fascinating.

I ask questions. Lots of questions. But for once, Martinez doesn't seem to mind answering them. He shows me the irrigation system and explains why too much water can dilute flavor. He points out plants that look almost identical to me but apparently behave completely differently.

The more he explains, the more animated he becomes. Not dramatically. He's still Martinez. But I see it. The way he touches the plants as he talks. The certainty in his voice. The quiet pleasure when he explains something he has spent years learning.

And somewhere along the way, I stop noticing the sweat on his shirt. Mostly. Because his mind is considerably more distracting.

We reach a bed of herbs. I recognize basil, rosemary, thyme, parsley. Then something catches my attention.

"Is that lemon thyme?"

"Yeah."

I rub one leaf gently between my fingers and lift them to my nose. Bright citrus rises over the familiar earthiness.