Her Naughty Holiday. Tiffany Reisz

replied to the email almost immediately.

      Mom wants to know if we’re going to be meeting anyone special on Thursday, Kelly wrote.

      Clover picked up a trowel and considered stabbing her laptop with it so she wouldn’t have to reply.

      Instead she simply ignored the email and got to work cleaning. Potting soil and wheelbarrow went into the storage shed. Ferns back into the greenhouse. It wasn’t the right time of year to trim a lemon tree so she moved it to the opposite corner of the office where it could spread out a little more until she could trim it down again to a more indoor-friendly size. And all the while she thought about what she would do with five million dollars and all the free time anybody could want.

      Five million was a lot of money. Not enough to buy the world but plenty to go into her retirement account and leave enough to start a new company. But with the noncompete clause in the PNW Garden Supply offer, she wouldn’t be able to start another nursery in Oregon. She could move to Northern California and open a nursery there. Then again, that’s where her parents lived, which meant instead of hearing about how she needed to get married and have kids ASAP and STAT on major holidays, she’d hear it every single week.

      Or she could stay in the Mount Hood area and open a landscaping business. Not quite as much fun as a nursery but it was still working with plants. Or she could take a few years off. Or she could move to Hawaii. Or Alaska. Or she could spend the money on male escorts for the next five years.

      “You are not calling Sven,” Clover said to herself. “Even if he is half-off this week.”

      Clover went to the sink and considered sticking her head under cold running water until she calmed down or drowned. Either would be preferable to her current confused, miserable and muddled state of mind. Instead she just washed all that potting soil off her hands with her lava soap and a nail brush. As she was drying her hands she saw headlights in the parking lot. After six already? She couldn’t believe so much time had passed that it had gotten dark. She needed to head home and get to work cleaning her house. The deck needed to be cleaned off, too, in case the weather was clear enough to grill outside or use her fire pit for s’mores. Her nieces and nephews would make s’mores over that fire pit in the middle of a snowstorm if their parents would let them. She better get someone to fix the loose boards by the pit.

      So much to do, so little desire to do any of it.

      “Knock, knock.”

      Clover turned around and saw Erick sticking his head in through the workroom door.

      “Oh, hey,” she said, tossing her hand towel on the counter. “What’s up?”

      “My lovely brilliant wonderful daughter left her phone here. I have been commanded to fetch it and overnight it to her mom’s house.”

      “Ruthie left her phone here? I thought she had that thing surgically attached to her hand.”

      “Yeah, me, too. And didn’t I specifically ask her if she had her phone and her charger?”

      “You did. Right after asking her if she had her meds.”

      “Okay. Glad I have a witness for this so I know it’s one hundred percent her fault.”

      “All her fault,” she said, trying not to laugh. Erick and Ruthie were hilarious together. Ruthie was comically sullen around her father, who was comically sullen around his daughter. They snarked at each other so well one would think sarcasm was the only language they both spoke. But it was impossible not to see how much Erick loved his girl and how much Ruthie adored her father, even if they did constantly harangue and harass each other. She called him “Pops,” which he hated, and he called her “Ruthless,” which she hated even more. Clover found it all endearing and entertaining. She wished she could tease her own parents like that.

      “Ruthie said her phone’s in her desk but she might have locked it in there.”

      “I’ll get my key,” Clover said. He followed her back into her office and Clover took the key off the wall hook. “You know, it is really not like her to leave her phone. She okay?”

      “She’s fine. She probably has it. She’s probably pulling some kind of prank on me by sending me back here. There’s a real possibility there’s a snake in there,” Erick said. “I know my daughter and she knows I hate snakes.”

      “I know her, too. So stand back. I’ll protect you. Ready?” She stuck her key in the desk drawer lock.

      “I hate snakes,” Erick said.

      “Set.”

      “Really hate snakes.”

      “Go.” She opened the drawer and saw... “It’s her phone.”

      “No snakes?” Erick had his eyes shut so tight it looked like he was in pain.

      “No snakes. She actually forgot her phone. Wow.”

      “Maybe she is coming down with something. I hope she’s not sick. You think this is a sign of a brain tumor or something?”

      “She seemed fine today.”

      “Okay. I’ll get going, then. According to Ruthie, I have to find a twenty-four-hour UPS store and demand they ship this to her overnight and the driver has to be hot, not normal hot—UPS-driver hot.”

      “That is a very specific request.”

      “Is Sven UPS-driver hot?” Erick asked as he stuffed the phone into his coat pocket.

      “I have no idea what Sven looks like. Your daughter is trying to get me to hire a male escort this week because my family is coming to my house for Thanksgiving.”

      Erick lifted his chin and cocked an eyebrow.

      “You all do Thanksgiving a little differently than most people.”

      Clover laughed. “Oh, no, we do it the traditional way. Too much food and tons of criticizing family members for their life choices.”

      “Who’s the target?”

      Clover pointed at herself. Erick barked a laugh.

      “You? The target?”

      “Me. The target.”

      “I don’t buy it. Why you?”

      “Why not me?” she asked.

      “Because you own and operate your own business. You know more about plants than anyone in this entire state. You’re respected by your employees, even my daughter, who doesn’t respect anyone or anything, and you’re...you know.”

      “What?”

      “Easy on the eyes,” he said.

      “I am?”

      “My eyes aren’t complaining,” he said. “Just saying, my mom’s always trying to get me to shave. She hates beards. But Ruthie won’t let me shave it off.”

      “Why not?”

      “One of her friends made the mistake of telling Ruthie her dad was ‘hot.’ Ruthie said I either had to grow a beard or wear a bag over my head.”

      “The beard was the right choice.”

      “But you don’t have a beard from what I can tell.” He narrowed his eyes at her face and Clover turned left and right, giving him a good look at her nonexistent beard. “Nope. No beard. No reason to pick on you for anything.”

      “They’ll find a reason. They always do.”

      “I have a cousin in jail for bouncing checks, my grandfather’s favorite hobby is sitting on his porch shooting his rifle at crows, and my aunt raises pygmy goats inside her house so, you know, your family should count their blessings.”

      “I’m thirty. I’m not married. I’m not dating anybody. I have no kids. I could have a billion dollars and be