Must Love Flowers(19)

Wiping her hand on a kitchen towel, she headed to the front door. From force of habit, she checked the peephole first. A man stood on the other side. His shirt had his name embroidered on it: Phil Harrison.

Disengaging the deadbolt, Joan opened the door.

“Joan Sample?” he asked.

She nodded, warmed by his smile. “And you must be Phil Harrison.”

He nodded in return. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m a few minutes early.”

“Not at all.” Stepping outside so that she stood on the porch with him, she noticed that the sun had come out after a shower earlier in the day. Wide swings in the weather in the spring weren’t uncommon in the Pacific Northwest.

Joan gestured toward the yard. “As you can see, the yard is in need of a little TLC.”

“That’s what we do,” Phil assured her, as though he looked forward to mowing it into submission. He held a pencil and clipboard.

He was around her age, Joan guessed, early fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair. Average height and looks, but definitely attractive. He wasn’t likely to make any fireman’s calendar, but kindness emanated from him. Even this early in the year, he was deeply tanned, a testament to the time he spent outdoors. What she noticed right away were his eyes, compassionate and gentle, a piercing blue.

“It shouldn’t take us more than a few hours to get this cleaned up. Are you interested in both the front and the backyard?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

“Would you mind if I took a look at the back?”

“Of course.” Joan started to head through the house when Phil stopped her.

“I’m filthy.” He glanced down at his boots, which were caked with dried mud. “Is there a side gate I can use?”

“Oh heavens, yes, I didn’t think about that.” Joan doubted she’d opened that gate once in all the time she’d lived in this house, and that was more years than she cared to remember.

“I’ll meet you in the back,” he said, and disappeared around the side of the house.

As he suggested, Joan went through the house and joined Phil in the backyard. At one time she’d grown a small garden there. Nothing much. Rhubarb on one side of the fence and tomato plants along the other. The flower beds where she’d once lavished her attention were in front of the house.

Volunteer tomatoes had sprung up last summer without Joan doing anything to care for them. The fruit was small, and the bushes flopped over from the weight of the bounty. Years before, Joan had proudly canned her produce. Perhaps she would again one day.

“We can manage the lawn, no problem.”

“Good.” She stood with her arms across her front, embarrassed that she’d let the maintenance of her yard deteriorate to this point.

“Would you like the beds cleared at the same time?”

“Yes, just for now. I’ll take over after they are cleared and weeded.” As for her garden, perhaps she should think about that, even if it was a little late in the spring. She’d start fresh with healthy plants from the local nursery.

“Front and back flower beds?”

“Yes, please.”

“If you’d like, I can plant some low-maintenance bushes in the beds that would require minimum care and attention.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather plant that area myself.” She adored the calla lilies that sprang up each spring. The tulips had bloomed with her barely noticing. She’d planted the bulbs years earlier after a trip to Skagit County where the scene of fields of blooming tulips had taken her breath away. It depressed her how neglected the flower beds had become with the lawn encroaching.

Phil grinned. “I forgot. Must love flowers.”

Joan’s cheeks reddened with the reminder. “Forgive me for adding that—”

His smile widened. “Nothing to forgive. I found it rather refreshing. As it happens, I’m rather fond of flowers myself.”

Joan appreciated his effort to put her at ease.



* * *



—

Phil made a few additional marks on the clipboard. The woman was a surprise. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected and was pleased to find her younger than he’d imagined. He recognized the very things in her that he’d felt years earlier—the pain, the loneliness. He felt immediate empathy, as he was well aware of what loss could do to a soul.

“How long have you been a widow?” he asked.

“How did you know…” Her eyes widened, as if Joan couldn’t remember mentioning her marital status.

“You mentioned your husband had passed away when we first spoke on the phone.”

“Ah, yes, I did say that, didn’t I? It’s been four years now.” He remembered how frazzled she’d sounded when he’d listened to her voice mail. He suspected she hadn’t reached out much since then. The isolation from COVID likely had only complicated her healing process. He didn’t judge, seeing how long it had taken him to move forward.

“If you decide to hire me, I promise that I can whip your yard into shape in quick order and I’ll be fair in my pricing.” He wanted to reassure her that he was honest and would do a good job.

She nodded as if she believed him.

“I’ll get an estimate from the nursery for any plants you would like, and I’ll get back to you within a day or two with a bid.”