Less than two weeks, and she was already caught up. Maybe too much caught, she admitted. That was always a problem. Whatever she began, she needed to finish. Stella's religion, her mother called it.
But this was more. She was emotional about the place. A mistake, she knew. She was half in love with the nursery, and with her own vision of how it could be. She wanted to see tables alive with color and green, cascading flowers spilling from hanging baskets that would drop down along the aisles to make arbors. She wanted to see customers browsing and buying, filling the wagons and flatbeds with containers.
And, of course, there was that part of her that wanted to go along with each one of them and show them exactly how everything should be planted. But she could control that.
She could admit she also wanted to see the filing system in place, and the spreadsheets, the weekly inventory logs.
And whether he liked it or not, she intended to visit some of Logan's jobs. To get a feel for that end of the business.
That was supposing he didn't talk Roz into firing her.
He'd gotten slapped back, too, Stella admitted. But he had home-field advantage.
In any case, she wasn't going to be able to work, or relax, or think about anything else until she'd straightened things out.
She would go downstairs, on the pretext of making a cup of tea. If his truck was gone, she'd try to have a minute with Roz.
It was quiet, and she had a sudden sinking feeling that they'd gone up to bed. She didn't want that picture in her head. Tiptoeing into the front parlor, she peeked out the window. Though she didn't see his truck, it occurred to her she didn't know where he'd parked, or what he'd driven in the first place.
She'd leave it for morning. That was best. In the morning, she would ask for a short meeting with Roz and get everything back in place. Better to sleep on it, to plan exactly what to say and how to say it.
Since she was already downstairs, she decided to go ahead and make that tea. Then she would take it upstairs and focus on work. Things would be better when she was focused.
She walked quietly back into the kitchen, and let out a yelp when she saw the dim figure in the shaded light. The figure yelped back, then slapped at the switch beside the stove.
"Just draw and shoot next time," Roz said, slapping a hand to her heart.
"I'm sorry. God, you scared me. I knew David was going into the city tonight and I didn't think anyone was back here. "
"Just me. Making some coffee. "
"In the dark?"
"Stove light was on. I know my way around. You come down to raid the refrigerator?"
"What? No. No!" She was hardly that comfortable here, in another woman's home. "I was just going to make some tea to take up while I do a little work. "
"Go ahead. Unless you want some of this coffee. "
"If I drink coffee after dinner, I'm awake all night. "
It was awkward, standing here in the quiet house, just the two of them. It wasn't her house, Stella thought, her kitchen, even her quiet. She wa
sn't a guest, but an employee.
However gracious Roz might be, everything around them belonged to her.
"Did Mr. Kitridge leave?"
"You can call him Logan, Stella. You only sound pissy otherwise. "
"Sorry. I don't mean to be. " Maybe a little. "We got off on the wrong foot, that's all, and I. . . oh, thanks," she said when Roz handed her the teakettle. "I realize I shouldn't have complained about him. "
She filled the kettle, wishing she'd thought through what she wanted to say. Practiced it a few times.
"Because?" Roz prompted.
"Well, it's hardly constructive for your manager and your landscape designer to start in on each other after one run-in, and less so to whine to you about it. "