The Community Garden Disaster

Brielle hadn’t planned on leaving the house again after her run in with Jaxon at the farmers market. She’d promised her mom she’d help reorganize the pantry, then maybe start a grocery list. Simple. Peaceful. Jaxon free.

But life in Willow Creek loved to play jokes.

She was halfway through alphabetizing spice jars when her mom called from the living room, “Brielle, honey? Can you come here for a second?”

Her mom was sitting on the couch with her leg elevated, scrolling through her tablet with a suspiciously bright smile.

“Please don’t tell me you want me to join a knitting club,” Brielle said, approaching slowly.

“No,” her mom said cheerfully. “You’re volunteering.”

Brielle blinked. “I’m what?”

“I signed you up. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“No,” Brielle said. “It feels illegal.”

Her mom ignored her, tapping the screen until a flyer filled it bright green, cheerful font, way too enthusiastic.

WILLOW CREEK COMMUNITY GARDEN REVIVAL

Meetings every afternoon at 4 PM

Led by: Jaxon Reed

Brielle stared.

Her mom beamed. “He’s such a nice young man. Very dedicated. He’s rebuilding the whole place for the town.”

“I am not working with Jaxon Reed.”

“You already are. You start today.”

“Mom”

“You need to get out of the house. You need fresh air. You need socializing.”

“I socialize perfectly fine.”

“Arguing with your reflection does not count.”

Brielle groaned and pressed her hands to her face. “I cannot work with him. He’s insufferable.”

“And handsome,” her mom said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Brielle dropped her hands. “Absolutely irrelevant.”

But her mom’s smile only grew. “Sweetheart, just go. Help the town. Learn something. Talk to people. And if Jaxon annoys you well, you always did have a sharp tongue.”

“Mom.”

“Go.”

She shoved Brielle’s car keys into her hand before she could protest further.

The community garden sat at the edge of town an expanse of soil, broken planters, stubborn weeds, and dried out patches that had once been thriving. Now it looked like a battlefield between neglected tomatoes and dying marigolds.

She stepped out of the car, crunching gravel beneath her shoes. A warm breeze blew, carrying the scent of earth and sun.

And then she heard it the deep, unmistakably smug voice.

“Well, well, well. Look who joined the team.”

She closed her eyes.

Of course.

Jaxon was standing near a pile of lumber, hands on his hips, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. His hair was slightly damp, messy, unfairly perfect. The sight of him made something in her chest tighten.

Not attraction. Definitely not.

Annoyance. Intense annoyance.

She turned slowly. “Before you say anything stupid, I was forced here.”

He gave her a half smile that was entirely too confident. “That explains the attitude.”

“Your existence explains the attitude.”

“Good,” he said. “We’re off to a great start.”

He tossed her a pair of work gloves. She barely caught them.

“I’m not doing manual labor,” she said.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She glared. “You can’t boss me around.”

“I’m the project lead.”

“Who voted for you?”

He shrugged. “The town. I’m amazing.”

She made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a strangled groan.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Relax, Brie. I’m not going to torture you.”

“You already are.”

“Then let me make it easy” he jingled a set of keys, you can start with the shed.”

Brielle followed his gaze to the old wooden shed at the end of the path. It was leaning slightly, like one more gust of wind would send it collapsing. The lock on the door was rusted.

She folded her arms. “I’m not going in that.”

“It’s where the tools are.”

“It looks haunted.”

“It probably is.”

“Jaxon!”

He chuckled, walking past her toward the shed. “Come on. I’ll go with you.”

She hated that those words made her pulse skip.

She hated that she followed him.

She hated that he kept stealing glances at her quick, unreadable ones.

At the door, he shoved the key in, jiggled it, and pushed. The door creaked open with the kind of dramatic squeal horror movies dream about.

Dust floated in the sunlight. Rusted garden tools hung on the wall. A broken wheelbarrow sat in the corner like it had given up on life.

Brielle wrinkled her nose. “So… this is… cozy.”

Jaxon laughed under his breath. “Grab the gloves and the small shovel. We need to clear the north plot today.”

She stepped inside, brushing spiderwebs away. Jaxon stayed behind her, close too close. Close enough that when she turned, she nearly collided with his chest.

She froze.

He froze.

His breath grazed her cheek warm, steady.

Her pulse stumbled.

His eyes dropped, briefly, to her lips again before snapping back up.

She stepped back, her face heating. “Don’t stand so so close.”

He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Sorry. Tight space.”

She grabbed the tools faster than necessary, shoved them at him, and marched outside into the light, desperate for air.

He followed at a safer distance this time.

“You’re jumpy,” he said lightly.

“You’re annoying.”

“You said that already.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

He laughed low, warm, real.

She tried not to melt at it.

They walked to the north plot, and Jaxon dropped the tools. “Alright, hotshot. Let’s see if city life made you soft.”

“I was never soft.”

“Oh, trust me,” he said, bending to pick up a shovel, “I remember.”

He didn’t mean it like that. Not flirtatious. Not insinuating.

But her brain caught the sentence and replayed it like it was something else entirely.

She shook it off and knelt in front of a stubborn clump of weeds.

“How long have you been doing this?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Started a few months ago. The town wanted to rebuild something people could enjoy. Figured I’d help.”

“That’s surprisingly thoughtful.”

He paused. “Surprisingly?”

“You weren’t exactly known for being considerate in high school.”

He stabbed his shovel into the ground harder than necessary. “People change.”

“Do they?”

He looked at her really looked. “Yeah. They do.”

They worked in silence for a while, the sun warming their backs, the air thick with something that wasn’t quite peace and wasn’t quite tension.

Finally he said, “Why’d you leave Willow Creek, Brie?”

She hesitated, pulling a weed a little too aggressively. “I needed a fresh start.”

“From what?”

She didn’t answer.

He watched her quietly, his expression softening.

“You know,” he said finally, “I never meant to push you away.”

Her hands stilled.

Her throat tightened.

“I was a stupid kid,” he continued. “I teased you because I don’t know. You were smart, You were stubborn. You didn’t fall for me like everyone else. I didn’t know how to handle that.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I know.”

The anger she expected to feel didn’t come. Instead, something else settled in complicated, tangled, confusing.

She stood and brushed dirt off her knees. “We should keep working.”

He nodded, accepting it.

But the look he gave her lingered not smug, not cocky.

Something warmer.

Something that made her chest feel unsteady.

She turned away before he could see the way it affected her.

By the time the sun began dipping low, they’d cleared an entire section of the garden. Sweat clung to Brielle’s neck. Her hair was a mess. Her clothes were streaked with dirt.

Jaxon looked even worse shirt damp, hands caked in soil, hair sticking up.

He still looked frustratingly good.

She straightened, stretching her sore back. “Well that was hell.”

“That was teamwork.”

“Don’t make me regret coming.”

He smirked. “Don’t pretend you hated all of it.”

She grabbed her bag. “Goodbye, Jaxon.”

“See you tomorrow.”

She stopped. “Tomorrow?”

“It’s a daily project.”

“No. No, no, no. I did one day.”

“You’re on the volunteer list. You’re stuck with me.”

Her jaw dropped. “This is a nightmare.”

He grinned. “Sweet dreams, Brie.”

She stormed off but she didn’t miss the way he watched her again as she walked away.

And she hated how part of her didn’t want him to look away.