Chapter 40 - Seeds
1337 Words
Florence heard footsteps behind her and turned.
A man was approaching across the yard from the direction of the garden shed. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that fell slightly over his forehead. In his hands he carried a woven basket filled with small cloth bags.
At first glance he looked exactly like what he was supposed to be.
A gardener.
And yet something about him made Florence pause.
For the briefest moment she felt a faint chill—an odd, almost instinctive feeling that passed through her like a shadow.
A dark aura.
It was subtle.
So subtle that she immediately questioned herself.
The man noticed her watching him and smiled.
It was a warm smile.
Disarming.
Florence felt slightly embarrassed by her own thoughts.
She had spent too long among people who had hurt her. It had made her suspicious of everyone.
She reminded herself not to judge strangers too quickly.
The man stopped a few steps away and lifted the basket slightly.
“Tammy told me you were asking about seeds for your garden, miss.”
His voice was calm and pleasant.
Florence returned his smile politely.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve always wanted a small garden of my own.”
The man nodded approvingly.
“That’s a very good decision.”
He stepped closer and held the basket out toward her.
“Would you like to see what we have?”
Florence gestured toward the garden beds she had already cleared.
“They’re ready.”
The man followed her gaze and raised his eyebrows slightly.
“You’ve been busy.”
Florence shrugged modestly.
“I had some time.”
They sat down together on the lower steps of the veranda.
The basket rested between them.
Florence opened it carefully.
Inside were dozens of small cloth bags, each tied with thin string and marked with neat handwriting.
She picked up the first one.
“What’s this?”
The gardener leaned slightly closer.
“Early tomatoes,” he explained. “They grow quickly and produce a good harvest if they get enough sunlight.”
Florence examined the label with interest.
“And this one?”
“Peppers. A mild variety.”
He reached into the basket and took another bag.
“These are beans. Very easy to grow.”
As Florence picked up each bag, he explained patiently:
The type of plant.
How much sunlight it required.
How often it needed water.
Which plants grew well together.
Florence listened attentively.
Her eyes brightened with genuine interest.
“You really love your work,” she said finally.
The gardener laughed softly.
“Oh, I do.”
Florence nodded.
“That’s very clear.”
He stood and walked over to the garden beds, studying the freshly turned soil.
“If you want to plant everything in this basket,” he said thoughtfully, “you’ll need to expand the garden.”
Florence joined him beside the beds.
She looked at the space and considered it.
“I think I’ll start with the essentials,” she said. “And maybe a few herbs.”
The gardener nodded approvingly.
“That’s wise.”
He crouched down and picked up a handful of soil, letting it fall slowly through his fingers.
“The ground here is good,” he added. “It just needs a little more preparation.”
Florence watched him.
“You really know what you’re doing.”
The man smiled again.
“I’ve spent a lot of time with plants.”
He stood and brushed the dirt from his hands.
“If you’d like,” he said, “I could come tomorrow morning and prepare a few more beds for you.”
Florence looked at him with mild surprise.
“You would do that?”
He shrugged lightly.
“Working with a shovel is far more interesting than trimming roses.”
Florence laughed softly.
“That sounds like an honest answer.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“It is.”
She studied him for a moment.
“How long have you been working here?”
“Not long,” he replied.
“The previous gardener retired.”
Florence nodded.
“That explains why I haven’t seen you before.”
He extended his hand.
“Finn.”
Florence shook it politely.
“Florence.”
He already knew that.
Of course he did.
But it was important that she believed the meeting was natural.
They returned to the veranda steps and continued sorting the seeds.
Eventually Florence tied the bags she had chosen into a small bundle.
She seemed genuinely pleased.
Then she hesitated.
“Finn?”
“Yes?”
“Do you have a little time?”
Finn raised an eyebrow.
“What for?”
Florence pointed toward two empty baskets near the door.
“I was hoping to make an apple pie.”
She paused, suddenly aware that the request sounded slightly awkward.
“I think I can carry the empty baskets to the orchard,” she added quickly. “But I’m not sure I could carry them back once they’re full.”
Her words trailed off slightly.
Finn felt a brief flash of irritation.
This was not part of his plan.
He had expected something else entirely.
But the feeling vanished almost immediately.
His face remained pleasant.
He smiled warmly.
“Of course I can help.”
Florence looked relieved.
“Thank you.”
Finn picked up both baskets easily.
They walked together along the narrow path leading toward the orchard.
The afternoon sun filtered through the branches of the fruit trees, casting moving shadows across the ground.
Florence looked around with quiet appreciation.
“It’s beautiful here.”
Finn glanced sideways at her.
“Yes.”
They entered the orchard.
The air smelled faintly of ripening fruit.
Several apple trees stood nearby, their branches heavy with red and green apples.
Florence approached one carefully and reached up to touch a branch.
“I used to help harvest fruit when I was younger,” she said softly.
Finn watched her closely.
“You worked in orchards?”
“No,” she replied. “Just helping neighbors.”
She began carefully picking apples, placing them gently into the basket Finn held.
“You’re not afraid of work,” Finn observed.
Florence shook her head.
“I’m used to it.”
He studied her quietly.
This girl was not what he expected.
Most people of her position would never bother with gardens or baking.
But Florence seemed perfectly comfortable with simple tasks.
She moved carefully among the trees, choosing the best fruit with surprising patience.
Finn felt something unfamiliar stir in his thoughts.
Curiosity.
Not admiration.
Not kindness.
Just curiosity.
Because prey was easier to understand when it behaved predictably.
And Florence did not behave predictably.
Soon the baskets began to fill.
Florence wiped her hands on the edge of her apron and looked satisfied.
“That should be enough.”
Finn lifted the baskets easily.
“I’ll carry them.”
They walked back toward the cottage together.
The sun had begun to lower toward the horizon, bathing the orchard in warm golden light.
Florence glanced at him.
“Thank you for helping.”
Finn smiled.
“Anytime.”
Inside his mind, however, his thoughts moved very differently.
He had seen her now.
Up close.
Watched her movements.
He had learned her habits.
Her kindness.
Her trust.
All useful information.
Because a hunter never rushed.
A hunter waited.
And watched.
And learned.
As they approached the cottage, Florence opened the door and stepped inside with the baskets.
Finn remained outside for a moment.
His pleasant smile slowly faded.
His eyes darkened slightly as he looked toward the quiet house.
Soon.
Very soon.
He turned and walked back toward the garden.
The evening shadows were already beginning to stretch across the ground.
And somewhere inside the cottage Florence was already planning what spices she would plant next.
Completely unaware that the wolf who had just helped her carry apples…
had no interest in gardens at all.
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