Page 72 of Hollywood

The Wilde Roots Greenhouse& Garden Center looked like a big horseshoe—with the storefront in the center and two enclosed bays full of greenery on either side.

“Ready for this?” Matteo asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

Matteo had met me out front, ready to help me transition into my first shift. I’d done a brief phone interview with the owner, Ken Wilde, but tonight I’d officially work at a greenhouse again.

That was something I’d never thought I’d do. But Wilde Roots was much larger than the one I’d run with Dad—less of a start-up and more of a family tradition. Ken had told me he was the third generation to run it.

That kind of stability was appealing. Wilde Roots wouldn’t struggle like our little business had, and I wouldn’t be emotionally tied to the owners, so even if it did…

My gut clenched, and I pushed away the memories ofstress, bad choices, and the consequences that had changed my life. I was starting fresh, just like all those plants inside.

“Let’s get you started then,” Matteo said, clapping my shoulder. “I think you’re going to do great here.”

Matteo was always such an optimist. I guessed he had to be to run a program like Redemption Road—and to give me yet another chance. I’d lost three jobs while in the program last year, but my heart hadn’t been in it then. Now, I wanted to put down roots. Prove to Hollywood I really was here to stay.

We headed inside, the smell of soil and plant life thick in the air. I breathed it in, the scent overwhelming me with memories. Good ones, mostly. Despite everything that had happened with our greenhouse, I’d always loved working with plants.

There was nothing like starting a fresh shoot, tending it, and watching it grow into something beautiful and vibrant. Nothing like the feel of fresh soil under your fingertips, the delicate, velvety blossoms of a new rose, the sweet and relaxing scents of jasmine and lilacs.

The Wilde Roots storefront overflowed with potted and hanging plants, bags of fertilizer, seed packets, and gardening equipment. Matteo led me to the checkout counter, where an older gentleman emptied the register of the day’s take into a zippered bank pouch.

“Mr. Wilde?”

He looked up with a friendly smile. “Well, hello. Nice to meet you all in person.”

He shook Matteo’s hand, then mine, his grip firm.

“It’s good to be here,” I said and meant it. Despite my initial reservations, this was what I knew how to do. If I wanted to put down roots with Hendrix and Ruby, this was a good place to start.

Even if the shift was kind of appalling—7 p.m. to 1 a.m.—it was ideal for now.

I could watch Ruby while Hollywood worked, have dinner with them before I headed here, and still get home in time for a decent night’s sleep. I hated to miss bedtime stories, though, and Holly and I would have even less time alone time together without little eyes and ears around—and right when I’d finally gotten out of my own way and discovered how much fun we could have together.

It served me right for wasting so much time, but Holly deserved better.

“Let me show you around,” Mr. Wilde said, zipping the pouch full of bills shut. “Each night, I’ll empty the register so you won’t have to worry about burglars. No one expects there to be money here at night.”

And he wouldn’t have to worry aboutmerobbing him, either.

I nodded. “Good to know.”

He rounded the check-out counter and led us toward the east greenhouse bay. “There won’t be a lot to do in the store,” he said. “A bit of restocking now and then. The real work will be in here.”

Rows of ornamental plants, flowering shrubs, perennials and annuals, herbs, and seedlings stretched as far as the eye could see. On the far side of the bay, young potted trees waited for their big planting day.

“Wow, this is impressive,” Matteo said. “I should finally get those hydrangeas Allison has been wanting.”

“You really should,” Ken said with a laugh. “We can set you up with a gorgeous flowering garden. On the other side, we’ve got our vegetable gardens, too, if you enjoy growing things.”

“I could start a little garden at home this spring,” I mused. “I bet Ruby would love it.”

“Is that your wife?” Ken asked.

“Uh, no. A little girl I watch during the day.”

It sounded so inadequate. But I couldn’t call her my boyfriend’s daughter. Even if I was ready to tell people I was seeing Hollywood—and the weird squirming of my gut said I wasn’t quite there—I wouldn’t start with my new boss. Ken seemed like an okay guy, but this was still conservative country.