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She caught her breath when she saw the moon shimmer along the grubby white tiles of the mosaic’s base. It looked luminescent. She snapped a picture and without thinking texted Storm.

Magic in the moonlight. You’re right. We should create some mystery, unexpected places to explore and discover.

She noticed the word ‘we’ and, smiling, she hit send.

Storm replied with a picture of some glass balls that were solar-powered and a link.

Get some sleep. Early start.

That’s all you got? You in bed already, garden boy?

Was she flirting? Mentioning bed? She thought to recall the text, but thinking of Chloe’s YOLO approach to life that she had utterly lacked, she didn’t. She’d always been driven to please. To achieve. She’d been precise. Careful. Analytical. Safe. Never looked right or left.

“And hated every moment of it,” she murmured.

Storm sent her a picture of what must be his office. Two massive computer screens with various blueprints pulled up. The walls of the office were rough pine, like he was in a cabin or a shed. Two thick, wood shelves hung on the wall in front of the massive desk, and she could see piles of gardening, landscaping books along with a variety of plants.

He’d typedSTILL WORKINGon one of the computers.

So now I’m the slack one wandering around the garden in the dark.

Gathering energy and inspiration.

Storm got it. Her parents never had. If she or her sisters hadn’t been actively doing something—sports, studying, chores, practicing piano, a list of tasks would be scrolled out to accomplish. ‘Lazing around,’ had not been tolerated.

Are the plants talking to you?

She thought he must be joking. Did other people think plants talked back?

Growing up, she’d lie in the grass in Grandma Millie’s garden or in a flower bed or under a tree and stare at something only she could see. Sing songs, write poetry. ‘Be crazy useless,’ her mother would scorn and glare at her father like it was his fault. She’d stopped before she was ten, leaving the communing with nature to Chloe.

She was about to text no, not ready to share her childhood imaginative fantasies, but maybe the plants did talk. She had to listen.

She walked through the grass to what she felt was the middle of the mosaic, closed her eyes and spread out her arms, feeling a little foolish, but why? She was alone, at her home, with acres of privacy.

She held her phone up high and took a selfie, trying to get an angle of herself, the mosaic, the dark, and the glow of the farmhouse behind her. She turned off the flash. Pleased with the result. She sent the picture to Chloe.

Her phone rang. So much for listening to the garden.

“I’m trying to listen to nature like you do,” she said, eyes still closed.

“Are you trying to keep me up all night?” Storm demanded. “You look like a witch. I was about to call it a night, and you look like you’re spell casting.”

“Storm.” Her eyes snapped open, and she bobbled her phone. “Sorry. I was texting Chloe, but I’m on the wrong thread.”

Gosh he looked handsome, his hair wet and slicked back; obviously he’d just taken a shower before bed. “And I don’t cast spells. That would be you pushing me to use that book.”

“Red hair. Black cat.”

“I’m not with a cat.”

“Yeah, you are. Behind you.”

As he spoke, something brushed across her ankles, and Jessica shrieked and threw up her hands, losing her phone.

Her heart leapt and her mouth dried even as she recognized one of the first stray cats Chloe had brought to the barn—an all-black, half-grown, scrawny kitten she’d called Midnight. Now large, healthy and sleekly gorgeous, he slunk toward her and curled around her ankle. Pepper watched a few feet away, just like Storm had said they would. At least if they were here, they weren’t digging at the plants in the barn.

“Jessica, Jessica,” Storm’s voice called out from somewhere in the tall grasses.