1
Colt
Lying in my warm bed,I watch the clock hit 5 AM, and my alarm rings. Smacking it off, I throw my legs over the bed and stretch for a good minute. I can hear my automatic coffee maker percolating from the kitchen when I turn on the shower and brush my teeth.
Ten minutes later, I stand at my kitchen window, staring at the dawn sky changing color, refilling my cup. Sitting down with my laptop, I review this upcoming Saturday's market orders and customer requests so I can plan the day. After checking my trusty weather app, I jot down this morning's harvest priorities.
With my third cup of coffee in hand, I step outside just as Benjamin pulls into my driveway at 6 AM on the dot. You could set a watch by my farmhand's impeccable timing.
"Morning, Colt," he says, stepping out of the truck.
"Morning, Benny," I say, and he follows me to the processing barn where I review today's top priorities.
"So we need double the rosemary order for Corvid Valley Steakhouse this time. They must have a special menu itemcoming up. And Corvid Valley Harvest ordered quadruple the lavender from us."
"That place is so fucking good."
"You're vegan?" I ask, surprised.
"Nah, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy good food. You should check it out."
We head out into the crisp September morning air to do our initial field walk. Benjamin pulls out his worn notebook and starts jotting down which beds need attention while I check the irrigation lines running through the rosemary and lavender patches. The dew is still heavy on the plants, making everything smell more intense in the cool air.
"Looks like the basil took a hit from that cold snap two nights ago," Benjamin says, crouching down to examine the blackened edges on some leaves.
"Yeah, we'll need to harvest what we can salvage today before it gets worse," I reply, running my fingers through a clump of oregano that's thriving despite the temperature drop.
We walk the rows methodically, Benjamin calling out notes while I mentally calculate what we can realistically get ready for Saturday's market. The cilantro is at the perfect time, and the sage is fuller than it's been all season. I grab a sprig and crush it between my fingers, the earthy scent hitting my nose just right.
"The thyme's ready for a second cutting," my farmhand observes, making another note.
"Good eye. We can get that done after lunch."
While we're at the edge of the property and Benjamin is making a note about the mint that's trying to escape its designated area again, a soft melodic chanting on the other side of the fence grabs my attention. Peering through an opening, I see my curvy neighbor, Serena Tuttle, with her graying auburn hair tied up into a high bun, tending to her herb garden and chanting something softly while she harvests herbs. After livingnext to the Kaufmans for so many years, it has taken me for a loop to have an unconventional neighbor now who behaves as if she was just transported in time from Haight-Ashbury.
Lost in my thoughts while I watch her, Serena's dark eyes suddenly snap to mine, and my instant reaction is to disappear from view. Annoyed that I was caught staring, I rub the back of my neck, which now feels like it was set on fire.
Fucking focus, Colt.
We spend the morning preparing for this weekend's farmer's market. Benjamin washes, bunches, and packages the herbs while I sort through my supplies, making sure we have enough rubber bands, twist ties, and the small brown paper bags customers love for the dried herb blends. The smell of wet rosemary and fresh mint fills the processing barn as my farmhand works with his usual efficiency, his hands moving quickly but carefully through each bundle. I help him load the non-perishable market supplies into my truck, checking off items on my list twice because forgetting the card reader or price signs would be a disaster. After lunch, he helps load the hardier herbs that can handle overnight storage in the truck.
In the afternoon, I only get an hour to myself after Benny leaves for the day before Tessa Perkins-Mendoza is dropped off at the end of my driveway. I step out onto the patio to greet her, but see my curvy neighborhood witch takes her attention at the edge of our property. The teen's laugh echoes down the driveway while I watch them chat together like old friends.
When my high school helper says goodbye and starts walking toward me, Serena looks up and offers me a friendly wave. I force myself to give her a half-assed wave in response, which causes Tessa to shoot me a bemused look while she walks up my patio steps.
"Why don't you like her?" Tessa asks instead of saying hello.
"What? I don't even know her."
"Yeah, but you don't like her. Why don't you like her?" she needles.
"I just find her very unconventional, and I'm not into that hippie witch shit," I say.
The heat rises up my neck from swearing in front of my friend's kid, but Tessa bursts out laughing, shaking her head.
"She's beautiful, don't you think?" she says, and the heat travels from my neck to my cheeks when I shrug.
"You're blushing, Colt," she says, pointing a finger my way.
