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Spring Sprouts

When I headed off for two years of business school after completing my bachelor’s, I’d dreamed of small business ownership. Starting something of my own, developing a relationship with my customers, and watching that business grow and grow under my watchful gaze. I wasn’t talking about global domination, just a little carved out piece of this world that was mine to nurture and develop with all the knowledge I’d gained through my studies. When I was hired by Donald Faber, the owner of Festive Foods, to take the reins of the grocery store I’d been shopping in with Lindy since I was eleven, it was meant to be temporary. A management position that would season my skills while I got my ducks in a row to start my own venture. But that little store had grabbed hold of my heart and held on, derailing my entrepreneurial plans, or at least delaying them.

The Airbnb was a nice way to scratch the still existing itch, but I also knew I was capable of so much more. I had ideas, ambition, and the work ethic to make big changes at Festive, if only given the proper leeway to do it. Mr. Faber’s arrogance, however, was an obstacle at every turn. He was a man in his late sixties with way too much money. Sadly, his ego knew no limit, and his stubborn refusal to get out of my way at the store was a problem I was still very much working on.

I coasted through the first part of the weekend at work, enjoying my customers and putting the finishing touches on the newest promotion I’d been developing for next year’s spring months at Festive Foods. Planning ahead was my specialty. I was calling the promotion Spring Sprouts, which essentially entailed shining a spotlight on a different produce item every week throughout spring, offering education, fun facts, and trivia. Hopefully, Spring Sprouts would remind our shoppers of items they hadn’t picked up in a while or at all. Cantaloupe, for example, was a favorite that a lot of people forgot about. I was all for championing its cause and had it lined up to kick off the program once March rolled around. All I needed was for Mr. Faber to sign off on the project when he was in the store this afternoon, and I’d get the marketing graphics commissioned, which would leave us plenty of time to get to print. I had a fantastic display idea and was itching to get started.

“I love it,” Buster said as he peered at my screen in the office. He was the employee in our store who knew the most about produce. A true star, and the people loved him. He could talk about not only the optimal season for each fruit and vegetable but what soil was best, what climate they thrived in, and ultimately how to best prepare each one. If there was anyone’s input I valued, it was his.

He pointed at my computer screen. “On that list of interesting facts, there, you could also include that the plural of cantaloupe is cantaloupes . You would be surprised how many people tell me they’re looking for several cantaloupe to take home.” He met my gaze, his brow furrowed as if the crime was too great for him. “It’s honestly rampant and just plain wrong. This is our chance to make a difference.”

I nodded, smothering a smile, and earnestly typed a note. “Good tip, Buster. That’s why I always consult with you on anything in the produce section.”

He inflated. “I’d be happy to answer any questions about the spring sprout of the week. I could make sure I lap through produce more often. Maybe three times an hour. Or even four. Would that be good?”

“I think it’s a great plan. I love the idea of you as our ambassador and was hoping for your help on this.”

He beamed and clapped his hands once loudly like a football coach. I could tell I’d made his day and was happy to recognize him and his expertise. He was already standing two inches taller. You’d have thought it was his birthday. “I hope you know how much I value your contribution.”

He beamed. “I’m just so thr—”

“All right,” a loud voice said—no, bellowed . “I’m here, Savanna. What in hell do you need?” I turned. Faber. He wore a blue windbreaker track suit like it was the eighties, fighting wind harder than anyone had ever fought. I truly disliked this man but knew that without his approval, my project would be dead in the water. He required me to run any marketing expenses by him personally, and it was rare he listened for more than thirty seconds before expressing his usually off-base opinion. Exhausting.

I forced myself to send him an enthusiastic smile. More bees with honey and all that. “Perfect. Hi, Mr. Faber. Come on in.” I offered my most confident smile. He was a businessman, and I needed him to see me as someone who had the best interest of the store in mind. “I asked you to swing by because we don’t have anything special planned for spring just yet and I wanted to show you the new promo I’d like to roll out in March.” Buster offered me a nod and secret thumbs-up sign behind Faber’s back before fleeing my small office. None of the employees were fond of him. Faber had never been kind to any of them, treating them like cattle who happened to be in his way at every turn, which made them feel underappreciated. I worked double-time to convince them otherwise.

“All right. All right. Show me.” He had the courtesy to take the toothpick out of his mouth as he strolled to my laptop. He frowned at the screen. “What? You’re saying it’s a little fruit stand-up thing? What am I looking at? I don’t get it.” He seemed really bothered by the whole inconvenience.

“Physically, it’s a display, yes,” I said, hoping my enthusiasm might be contagious. “An opportunity to spotlight a new item each week in the produce section. I really think that—”

“No. I don’t want people thinking we’re simple. BeLeaf would never have anything like that in the store.” BeLeaf, the corporate grocery store giant, continued to be the meter stick to which Faber compared everything Festive Foods did. If I never heard the word BeLeaf again in my life, it would be too soon.

I held up a patient finger. “I agree. But BeLeaf isn’t attempting to capitalize on a small-town vibe. They’re a national chain. That’s how we’re different, and we should embrace it.” I attempted to explain, feeling like I was treading water in a dicey current. “We thrive when we offer personal attention, and a promotion like this one is a great conversation starter. I guarantee it will result in moving more product out the door. Isn’t that the goal?” Had he forgotten that I saw the weekly numbers before he did? I was well aware of the fact that with delivery services gaining popularity and forcing a discount, we were in a revenue decline.

“Savanna. What is it you think you’re telling me about my own business, huh? I’m a grocery king in this town. I have a boat.”

I stared at him trying to translate the non-sequitur, a hallmark of his. Sometimes I truly thought we spoke different languages. “And it’s a nice boat, but if we could—”

“Do you have one?”

“A boat? No. I don’t. I still think we need to come up with a few new ideas to get the store back in good financial shape. Every bit helps.”

He waved off the topic and leaned in, clearly on a mission of his own. “Have you seen Harlowe in the store lately?”

I sighed at the mention of Harlowe Tranton, his thirty-six-year-old personal assistant. The whole town knew it was more than just professional between them. Apparently, they’d had a fight the week before, and she wasn’t taking his calls. Likely on purpose; when she went quiet, he threw more money at her. It was a messy situation that I tried to stay clear of. A year prior, he’d tried to make her my assistant manager when she convinced him that she should be calling the shots for one of his businesses. The only problem was she had zero experience. When I threatened to walk, he’d relented and bought her a condo instead.

“Um, it’s been a few days since I’ve seen Harlowe.”

He stared at me with determination. “Did she ask about me?”

“I can’t exactly remember. I don’t think so.”

“She’ll come around.” He leaned in like we were pals. We were not. “She gets all bent out of shape when I show a little attention to other girls. I hired Mandy from the salon to tidy up my place a few times a week, and we like to hang out after. Big deal.”

“Got it,” I said, still hoping to convince him my produce promotion was worthwhile.

“Harlowe will come crawling back. I’ll spoil her a little, buy her something nice, and we’ll be just fine. Just might not tell her the next time Mandy comes over, you know?” He bounced his eyebrows and a part of me died.

“Okay.” I nodded and closed my eyes briefly. “But about the promotion? I know it will be a hit with our customers. Let’s lean into who we are and embrace our charm. Can I proceed?”

“No promotion. We don’t need it. What we do need is for you to sell more groceries. Can you handle that simple task?”

I stared at him, leveled. This man refused to let me do my job, and I was frustrated and angry. “I will certainly try with what few tools I’ve been given.” My voice was low and even. He didn’t care or notice the change.

“Well, do better than that.” He tapped the doorframe as he passed. “I got a pickleball match in an hour. Tell that guy that was in here earlier not to look so creepy. Customers don’t like it. Maybe he needs a new haircut or something. You’ll figure it out.”

I dug my nails into my palms to keep myself from lashing out in defense of Buster, who was the most wonderful human being, and the best employee this store could have. Faber had no idea about Festive Foods or the fantastic qualities of the people who worked in it.

As I passed Buster sweeping aisle twelve a few minutes later, he grinned and sent me a questioning thumbs-up. He’d been just so excited about a produce promotion. His time to shine.

“No go,” I told him quietly as I passed, feeling as though I’d failed him. “Faber wasn’t a fan.”

He paused mid-sweep. His face fell. “He said no?”

“Yeah,” I said, hating breaking his heart after getting his hopes up. I shouldn’t have even mentioned the project until I’d dealt with Faber. Lesson for next time. Self-recrimination and utter frustration bubbled steadily as I walked, threatening to overflow. Feeling the dam of my emotions threatening to burst, I sought out space to have that moment on my own. Tears burned hot in my eyes, obstructing my vision as I walked quickly to the back of the store, where I was least likely to see many people. Dammit. Leaving the office so soon had been a mistake. Why had I done that? I launched into a full-on retreat, walking faster, hearing the sound of my low heels on the linoleum. I’d worn them today instead of my comfy tennis shoes, hoping to look more professional when I pitched Faber. Dumb. I’d head back, pull my sneakers out of my drawer and— My thoughts were sideswiped when I was hit with the warm smell of freshly fried donuts, the power of which nearly brought me to my sweet, dear knees. I was no amateur and quickly surmised that I was standing eighteen inches from the fan favorites bag from Amazin’ Glazin’. I raised my gaze to the lucky donut owner, only to hijack my poor brain further. Kyle’s bright blue eyes met mine, and yep, my pesky knees lost strength a second time, confirming her presence.

“There you are,” she said. She looked dreamy. Jeans and a white top with cap sleeves. Low heeled brown booties of some kind. I wasn’t cool enough to know the actual name of the style, but smart enough to know they had one.

“Me?” I blinked. Her presence was incredibly soothing and I resented everything about that, prompting the tears to multiply and spill because I’d apparently lost all control of myself. Just wonderful and not at all embarrassing.

“Oh no. Savanna, what’s wrong?”

That was new. She hadn’t called me Potter. I was Savanna in this very vulnerable moment, and the intimacy made me crumple all the more. “Just one of those days, you know?” A woman walked past eyeing me. Tourist. Maybe I wouldn’t have to see her again.

Kyle set down her donuts and opened her now free arms without hesitation. I immediately moved into them, a cold person to a warm blanket, without considering my actions. When we came together, the world went quiet. It hadn’t been a novelty between us a year ago, or a memory I had exaggerated. The effects when we came together were that powerful, almost like two important pieces of a hard-to-work puzzle. Kyle held on to me firmly, and just for a moment, I allowed the feeling of her holding me to calm my seas. Comfort in the storm. I didn’t want to let go, but I did. I had to. Regrouping, I wiped my face with windshield wiper hands.

“So sorry about that,” I said. “On-the-job hazard.” I heard my words and remembered Kyle’s actual job in an emergency room, where real things went horribly wrong. “I want to take that back. I realize that grocery store stress doesn’t compare to what you and your colleagues must face in an ER.”

“I don’t think there’s a copyright on stress. We all know it when we feel it.” She tilted her head as she watched me. “And yours is every bit as valid as mine or anyone else’s.”

“Do you still work at the same hospital?”

She hesitated as if the answer wasn’t cut and dry. “I finished my residency and am taking some time off to catch my breath before next steps.”

“Good for you, Kyle.” She was smart and driven, and I had zero doubt that she was a fantastic doctor. “And great taste in donuts, too.” Not sure what to do now, I gestured to the front of the store. “I better get back.”

“Right. Of course.” She leapt into motion and retrieved the donuts from the shelf next to us. “But these are for you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because I wanted your day to be better.”

I eyed her as I accepted the wonderfully grease-stained bag, which was still warm on the sides. “But you had no way of knowing it was bad.”

“Didn’t matter. Whatever it was, I wanted to make it better.” She walked backward a few steps, heading out. “And I love the house, by the way. All the little touches. The personality. The pot holders hanging on the side of the fridge with the little sayings might be my favorite. Especially the one that says Don’t drop it like it’s hot . You knocked it out of the park with the place.”

“Thank you.” I had to admit it was nice that she’d noticed. Not everyone did. “Jeannie LeRoy made those pot holders for the fall festival in Bountiful Park as a way to pay for her kitchen remodel. You should have seen the line, but while I was waiting, I made eye contact, and since I always save the best filets for her on Monday mornings, she set aside a few pot holders for me just in case.”

“You are very much the businesswoman. It’s impressive.”

I pocketed the compliment, unsure if I would examine it again later. A lie. I totally would. We stood a good twelve feet apart when her features softened to sincerity. “I don’t know what happened today to make you sad, but,” she shrugged, “you have someone who cares. Hit me up if you ever want to have that talk.”

There it was again. The Talk . It should come with its own theme music. I continued to put the day on that bridge out of my mind, but maybe that was a knee-jerk reaction. Maybe I did need to hear what Kyle had to say about it, or maybe that was a whole can of worms best left on the shelf entirely.

Conflicted, I shoved the entire concept to the side and focused on regaining control of my workday. I didn’t want to admit that running into Kyle had been a helpful reset when I desperately needed it. Nor did I want to acknowledge that I was wildly attracted to her in spite of the caution tape. It wouldn’t be long until she rode off into the sunset again, and all I had to do was stay steady on my course until then. I stared down at the bag of donuts in my hand with reluctance draped across my heart. I’d put them in the break room for the employees. Polite but firm, I reminded myself. No eating enemy donuts.

Okay, so I grabbed a maple bacon for myself first. It didn’t mean a damn thing!