Free His and Hers by Ashley Ludwig

are inside.”
    “Oh, sweetie! How lovely.” Emily threw her arms around his neck. She showered him with kisses. The last of which lingered, long and sweet. She parted, attention only for her husband. “Thank you.”
    Misty hedged her way out of the ornately decorated room and to the front door. Mathew’s voice halted her retreat.
    “Wait!” He looked a foot taller standing in the doorway, shoulders back, head high. “The Flower Field nailed it, again. Thanks.”
    “We aim to please.” Misty beamed, and had him sign the clipboard.
    “This should cover it. Keep a little extra for yourself.” He tucked a fold of bills into her hand. “You managed to save my marriage and make me look like a champ in the process. Thanks.”
    Misty trotted down the stairs back to the van, the door closing at her back. The dense bank of white fog unfolded over Long Valley, a blanket in the late afternoon. Her heart thrilled though the breeze.
    As they drove away, she shared the victory, and the profits, with Diane.
    “Keep that for yourself.” Diane nodded to the tip.
    “No, really. I couldn’t.”
    “You’ve earned it.” Diane folded it back into her hands. “What are you gonna buy?”
    “I think I’ll hit the garden center.” Misty’s heart tangled around thoughts of Cain. His smile, the way he looked lit from inside whenever he spoke to her. “I promised I’d give that little tree he gave me a good home.”

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Ten
     
    Misty stood outside the hardware store, her purchases piled in a wheelbarrow-turned-shopping cart. Sacks of soil, fertilizer, pots of bright gold and burnt-umber marigolds, creamy wax-blossomed dahlias, and climbing red-budded ivy geraniums tucked in, around, and on top.
    “You sure you can get all that in there?” Hank looked uncertain, hands set on his wide hips.
    Misty eyed the ancient car, screwing her lips. The trunk lid heaved open revealing enough room to house a family of four. “Pretty sure.”
    “I’ll have those wine half-barrels delivered in a jiff. Put a call in to my handy man.”
    A sturdy, work worn truck rumbled into the lot. Misty raised her brows and watched as Cain climbed out, dusted off his jeans, a laugh already on his lips.
    “Cain.” She turned back to the hardware store owner. “He’s your handy man?”
    “Sure.” Hank rubbed his jaw, looking from Misty to Cain and back again. “Has been since he was a kid—not sure if he’s a better musician, carpenter, or olive salesman. ‘Spose he’ll decide one of these days.”
    He turned to Cain. “Take those barrels up the hill to the Darling place, will you? Misty’ll show you the way.”
    “My pleasure.” Cain’s mouth quirked at the corners. “Hey, there.”
    “Hey, yourself.” Misty couldn’t help her bubbling laugh as he ambled over. She turned away, popped her open trunk and set in the fertilizer followed by the small geranium pots, and then slammed the lid. “What don’t you do, Cain?”
    “Not a big fan of insects. You need a bug killed, best go find someone else.”
    “Bugs. I’ll remember that.” A dahlia in one hand, the marigold six-pack in the other, she couldn’t help but watch while he worked.
    He rolled and then muscled the well-worn barrel into the truck bed, followed by another. Back sturdy, solid, and strong.
    Her heart jogged.
    Cain heaved the giant sack of soil, his jeans tightening in all the right places.
    She blinked, light headed, like a balloon on a string.
    Dusting off his hands, he turned and caught her looking, though his expression remained even. “That does it. You lead the way?”
    Ten minutes later, they pulled into the drive and set to work. He settled the aged barrels in place, one on each side of the front porch stairs. He crossed his arms, leaned into his battered pickup. “That ought to do it.”
    “Not quite.” Misty filled the first barrel with soil, stepped forward, and plucked the little olive tree from its spot on the front seat. She dug her