Hearts in Bloom Read Online Free Page A

“That’s pungent.” He snapped photos of the neat rows of potted flowers for cutting. This particular greenhouse held the asters, mums, zinnias and other late summer blooms, only a third of which were in bloom at the moment.
    Ivy’s experiment sprawled across a worktable at the end of one row along the wall. A series of petri dishes, labeled with seed counts, soil mixtures and dates arrayed in six rows of five took up one half. Earlier sprouts had been moved to starter trays, taking another third. The narrow space down the center was her work area. Black plastic sheets hung behind the table and over the top, where more plastic was wadded up and clipped in place. Ultraviolet lamps and grow lights lined the interior of the make-shift plastic hood.
    “Do you have to constantly plant new ones?” he asked, bending down to squint at the baby plants.
    “Somewhat. This is my laboratory. I’m testing how wide we can push the growing season of the flowers we produce in here —especially the bloom times—by changing the soil content, water and lighting. Because we live near the 45 th parallel, we usually lose a few months of budding possibilities. Yet flowers growing farther north, like in Alaska, can adapt to a severely short growing season mainly because they have so much daylight at a time.”
    “Cool.”
    He snapped a few photos of her experiment. Ivy watched the view screen on the back of the camera and admired the Batman angle he used on some shots.
    Eventually the shadows of the neighbor’s firs stole the best light. They strolled toward CJ’s car and the light breeze cooled their skin. “Would you like something to drink? Lemonade? Mom just made some before you arrived,” Ivy offered, reluctant to send him away.
    “Thanks, that would be good.” CJ stowed the camera bag in his car.
    She led him up onto the farmhouse porch and waved him to the chair and table sitting near the door. “I’ll be right out,” she said. She hustled to the kitchen and pulled down two of the tallest glasses she could find. She dropped ice into each and pulled out the pitcher of lemonade. She was about to leave with both glasses when her mother entered the kitchen.
    “You can’t let the man starve, Ivy. Take him some cookies. Use a tray.” Her mother pulled out a small plate and loaded it with sugar cookies from the jar.
    Impatiently, Ivy fetched the small tray from the pantry and placed the lemonade, cookies, and napkins on it then bumped the porch door with her behind to exit.
    “He’s very handsome,” her mother called.
    Ivy cringed. Say it a little louder, Mother . She smiled at CJ and set the tray on the table.
    “Mmmm, cookies!” He inhaled one and grabbed a second. “Thank your mother for me.”
    Ivy cocked her head. “What makes you think they weren’t my idea and that I didn’t bake them?”
    “You work all day and live in an outbuilding without a kitchen when you aren’t in your greenhouse. I pay attention. Plus I heard your mother say you should bring them out.”
    Ivy chuckled and brushed crumbs off her thigh. As she looked down, she noticed one calf was still hairy—she’d shaved one and forgot the other. She folded that leg under her, trying not to make the move sudden. Yeah, that’ll impress him .
    Sparrows and finches twittered in the rafters. The neighbor’s rooster, Peg-leg Jim, crowed repeatedly as the sun began turning orangey-pink in the west. The breeze rustled the dried leaves from dead early-spring plants. Ivy nibbled another cookie, watching CJ surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye.
    “She anxious to get you hooked up?”
    Ivy choked on cookie crumbs. She slurped her lemonade in haste to wash it down.
    “Mothers are all the same. Don’t worry about it.” He winked at her.
    “To be fair, I chose unwisely once for a potential son-in-law.” Ivy was glad the lemonade hid the sour expression that usually accompanied mention of John. “A horticulture colleague. He was too interested in