"Everything okay with you, Chiara?"

"Hm?" Chiara looked up from her laptop, where she was perusing college courses, daydreaming about what she'd take if only she could go. "Yeah, dad, I'm fine, why?"

"I don't know, it's just that you seem so morose lately," Bert said, rising from his easy chair and coming around to see what she was looking at. "I'm sorry you couldn't go this year," he said, ruffling her hair, which was down around her shoulders so it could dry after her bath. "I just couldn't do without you to run the business this year. But in a way that's a good thing, I think, because it means that business is good, right? That we have more work than one person can do alone?"

He sounded hopeful as he asked, and of course Chiara nodded, leaning against him as she did so. "Yeah, you're right, it is a good thing. And if this year goes well, then maybe I can go next year, right? And you can afford to take someone on?"

"There you go, there you go," Bert agreed, patting her head. "After this year, I'll be able to hire someone to work with me, though of course no one will be the same as working with you, with my own flesh and blood."

Chiara smiled up at her father. "You know I feel the same way, right? I really do want to go to uni, but I love working with you, and I love working the soil. I enjoy what we do together so much, dad, so much." She reached around and hugged him, and they stayed that way for a moment, just enjoying being together.

"I'm also still angry about the cuttings that the horrible new owner of Langton just let those delivery people destroy, too," she admitted. It still made her blood boil just remembering his smug face, the way he'd flicked at the precious seedling she'd cultivated, spending weeks nurturing it in her greenhouse so it would be ready to go into the ground with its brothers and sisters. And the way he'd looked at her, as if she had no right to be upset! He'd actually said that if it didn't bother him, it shouldn't bother her!

She didn't even want to tell her father what the odious Drew had said about ripping out the roses altogether to put in a tennis court. She couldn't believe that even someone as thoughtless and callous as he seemed to be would do such a thing.

Infuriating.

"Ah, Chiara, you need to put it out of your mind," her father advised. "I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose and was just embarrassed when he realized what had happened. And, though I know you don't want to hear this, he is your boss, and he's right, if he's not upset about it, then you shouldn't be, either."

"But Dad!" Chiara protested. "Part of the job of gardener is making decisions about landscaping and gardening! We don't ask our clients every time something needs to be pruned, or fertilized, or moved. Or planted," she finished. "That spot was empty, and it's part of the planting bed. I had the perfect hybrid roses to plant there, so I did."

"Chiara, what are you doing planting fresh young cuttings in August?" Bert asked. "You know that spring is when grafted cuttings should go in the ground."

Chiara shrugged. "I read that you can get a jump on root growth by putting grafted cuttings in the ground in the fall, giving them a dormant season to set, so I thought I'd try it. Now we'll never know," she said grimly. "Because that gormless git let his delivery people run over them."

"Chiara!" Bert chastised with a laugh. "Please, don't. You're going to slip up and call him something to his face, and we're going to lose a lucrative job. He's one of those super rich singers, right?"

Chiara nodded.

"So he's bound to be used to getting his way, right? Please, please don't rub him the wrong way, Chiara, please?" Bert looked at her appealingly. "I know how headstrong you can be."

Chiara stared at her father. "Dad, are you taking his side? You think I was wrong to get pissed off at him?"

"You got pissed off at him?" Bert repeated, horrified. "I knew you were upset, but I didn't know you confronted him about it!"

"Well, just a little," Chiara said. "I just yelled a little bit, maybe."

"What exactly did you say?" Bert asked. "Do I want to know?"

"I might have called him a wanker," Chiara replied in a small voice. "But that's what he was, you know I'm right!"

"Chiara, you've got to learn to control your temper," Bert entreated, covering his eyes with his hand.

"Well, he didn't fire me, so I'm sure everything's fine."

"Thank god for small favors," her father retorted. "I'm going to take a shower, please don't blow up the house while I'm in there?"

Chiara considered her father's words while she was alone, her laptop open in front of her, forgotten.

Was she really in the wrong, she wondered. She knew on an intellectual level that she didn't own the land she worked, but there was no need at all for him to let those louts just drive all over them, was there?

Later, just as she was getting ready to go to bed, the bell rang.

Her dad, who was watching telly in his pajamas while having his evening beer, looked over at her.

"You expecting someone, child?"

Chiara shook her head. It was nearly eleven o'clock. Who in the world would come calling at that hour?

Her dad was out of his chair, headed for the door, but Chiara waved him back. "I'll get it, Dad, I'm stronger than you, anyway." She smiled at her joke.

"Who is it?" she asked as she moved the curtain to look on the porch. She couldn't tell, because the person was holding an absolutely enormous plant of some kind.

"It's me," the person called. "It's Drew."

Chiara stood for a moment, undecided. For some reason, she wanted to run and change out of her tatty robe, but she discarded this idea immediately as impractical and not possible. Realizing that there was nothing else to be done, she opened the door to confront the person she'd called a "wanker" just a few short hours before.

"Erm, may I come in?" His voice was a little muffled because it came from behind the massive plant he was holding, which Chiara could now see was a beautiful magenta Phalaenopsis with at least seven spikes, along with some smaller cream colored spikes around its base.

"Sure," Chiara said, holding the door wider so he could enter unimpeded by the door. She reached out to guide him because she couldn't bear to see the lovely plant bruised in any way.

"Some place I could set this?"

"There's a table right in front of you."

He carefully set the plant down, and brushed his hands on his thighs.

"Oh," he said, getting a good look at her for the first time. "I guess you were headed for bed, then."

"Well, it is on for eleven," Chiara pointed out.

"Right," Drew agreed, continuing to wipe his already clean hands.

My goodness, look at this beauty!" Bert exclaimed, entering the kitchen and seeing the orchid. "And who have we here?"

Chiara took a deep breath. "Dad, this is Andrew Pennington, the new owner out at Langton. Drew, this is my dad, Bert Cavuto."

The two men shook hands.

"Well, this is a surprise," Bert exclaimed. "Would you like some tea? Chiara, make some tea, there's a good girl--"

"No, no, it's so late, and I just showed up uninvited, it was so rude of me--" Drew protested. "I'm not going to stay, I just wanted to speak with your daughter for a minute, that's all."

"Oh, well, if you're sure?" Bert looked between the two young people. "I'll just get back to my program, then.

"Good night, Mr. Pennington, pleasure to meet you," he called as he left.

"What can I do for you, then?" Chiara asked, crossing her arms.

"I came to--I want to--" He stuttered to a stop, as if unsure how to continue.

Chiara waited, looking expectant.

"Look, I'm sorry, yeah? I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you this afternoon whilst we were having our tea, and I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention and let the drivers back up onto the cuttings. I was trying to get the door open and I just didn't look. I don't think I'm completely in the wrong, however, because you did speak to me quite appallingly, you'll agree--"

"You really suck at apologies."

Drew bit his lips together and looked around the room before letting his eyes come to rest on the girl in front of him once more.

"I'm doing my best, yeah?" He gestured at the orchid. "Do you at least like the flowers?"

Grudgingly, Chiara nodded. "The Phalaenopsis is stunning, Mr. Pennington, thank you very much. It must have cost a fortune. I assume your mother chose them?"

"Why would you assume that?" Drew bristled.

"Did she?"

Drew huffed out a breath, but finally nodded. "I paid for it, though, and I went to pick it up, and brought it over here in the middle of the bloody night, doesn't that count for something?"

Chiara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "I suppose so," she finally relented.

"I accept your apology, Mr. Pennington, and thank you for coming in the middle of the bloody night with this beautiful orchid that you paid for yourself and everything," she added.

"Could you at least call me Drew? Or Andrew? It just sounds like you're twitting me when you call me 'Mr. Pennington.' Plus, when I hear it, I think you're talking about my father."

"I just don't know that we're on a first name basis yet."

"Why not? I have no problem calling you Chiara," he pointed out.

"Yes, well, you're a bit forward, I think," Chiara said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her robe.

Drew was about to make another retort when he saw the corner of her mouth twitching, and her dimple beginning to pop.

"Right. Well, on that note, I'll be saying good night, then," Drew responded. "I hope you enjoy the, erm, Pharaoh--ospice, or whatever it's called."

And this time she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Phalaenopsis," she corrected shaking her head.

"Whatever."

"Good night, Drew."

"Good night, Chiara."