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<<What do you want to do tonight?>> Isla sent the same text most nights, assuming outside plans didn’t intrude. When Danny had told Isla that what he did for fun was volunteer to fight fires, she’d thought it was an exaggeration, and it sort of was, because he also worked on the rental house. And that was it. Oh, eventually he went home, streamed a show, picked up one of his few books or a magazine, scrolled through reels, but that was just his end-of-the-day wind-down. It hardly counted.
If Isla had looked hard, she might have seen that her life wasn’t actually that different. She came from work tired, made supper for her parents, did the dishes, watched TV, texted, scrolled, then went to bed. On the weekends she did chores and errands, occasionally going out or playing Yahtzee with her parents and Aunt Dot, catching a movie or shopping with Kim. But it felt full of busyness and bustle, people in and out of the big farmhouse, and besides, the year was punctuated by family birthdays and trips to the beach and holidays and camping and day trips. Danny’s life seemed so . . . lonely. Another person might have seen him as quiet and contented, but Isla saw a man in need of rescue. And there must have been at least something in it, because he kept coming back for more.
<<I’m just finishing up at the house downtown, want to meet at my place and hang out?>> Danny texted back.
<<We did that last night.>> Isla sighed. Although her family and friends didn’t say anything, she supposed some people might find it odd at their ages that they didn’t live together yet. They’d been dating for months now. But Isla wasn’t ready to live in Danny’s quiet house. She told herself that her parents needed her and didn’t look at the matter too closely.
<<Well, do you have a suggestion?>>
<<OOh! Wait. I have an idea! Stay where you are, I’ll meet you.>> Isla texted, then again, <<Haha, I think you’ll love this.>>
<<Ok. What is it?>>
<<Isla?>>
<<Isla?>>
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door of the rental house and when Danny opened it, a rather short and sturdy woman dressed all in black, including gloves and ski mask, was standing in front of him with a small shovel and a bag.
“Isla?” he questioned, “There you are!”
He stood aside to let her enter, but she thrust another ski mask and gloves in his direction silently. He put them on a box by the door and continued to wait.
“Ugh,” she said, brushing by him, “you’re no fun.”
“I just want to know what’s going on.”
“Well,” Isla sat down on a ladder and took off the mask, shaking out her hair, oblivious to Danny’s admiration, “you know about the downtown beautification project? The Main Street project?”
“You’ve mentioned it a few dozen times. Mostly that every good idea gets caught up in red tape.”
“Exactly! So . . . have you heard of guerilla gardening?” Isla winked, grinned, and held up the sack, which he could now see was a big bag of daffodil bulbs.
“Oh, my, what is in your Pinterest feed now?” he joked.
“So the idea is . . .”
“Oh, I think I get it. Where were you thinking of planting them?”
Isla was scowling a bit at getting interrupted but carried on. “Around the statue in ‘Central Park.’” She could never say it without air quotes. “Are you in?”
Danny smiled. “Let me grab my shovel.”
“All right!” Isla pulled her mask down.
“You’re not seriously wearing that?”
She pulled it back up to look at him. “Of course. It’s my costume. It’s more fun.”
“It screams ‘I’m up to mischief.’”
Isla frowned. “Ugh. I suppose you’re right.” She put it on the box on top of the ones she had brought for Danny. When he was equipped with a spade, she led the way out the door towards the park. Once they reached it, she made a big show of darting from bench to bench, slipping behind shrubs and peering cautiously in the direction of City Hall and the police station. Danny just headed confidently to the statue. No fun, Isla thought, but tried to shake it off and enjoy herself anyway.
“Have you got the goods?” she whispered in a raspy voice.
“I believe you have the goods,” Danny laughed back as he started digging. Isla plopped the bag at his feet and started digging in the other direction. “Wait,” he whispered, “like this.” He used his spade to cut a square of turf and carefully lift it, then buried a couple of bulbs and replaced the turf. “It’s sneakier.” He winked and Isla grinned back, then kissed him quickly.
They dug, planted, and covered, working quickly, frequently looking over their shoulders and occasionally giggling.
“Almost done,” Isla whispered, “I think we’ll have some left, what should we do with them? Want them for the house?”
“Nah, we can get some for that later. How about down by the dam?”
Isla nodded. She grabbed the netted bag and handed him her shovel so she’d have a hand free to hold his free hand. She forgot her sneaky walk as they made their way down the street to the park overlooking the dam.
Once there, she sat on a large white stone. It had a plaque on it, but she didn’t notice as she braced a foot against it and counted the bulbs. “Seventeen left,” she said.
“Ok, let’s get ’em in the ground,” Danny said.
They were putting their backs into it when a voice said blearily behind them, “Those onions?”
They turned to find a man lying on the bench and watching them.
“They’re daffodils,” Isla said, “or they will be in the spring.”
“They look like onions.” He gurgled, cleared his throat and spat, “Excuse me. They look like onions.”
Danny just nodded as they continued their work, but Isla snapped her head around to look at him in concern. “They’re not onions. I’m pretty sure they’re poisonous.” Turning back, she muttered under her breath to Danny, who was just covering the last bulb, “Do you have anything to eat on you?” Danny started patting his pockets and pulled out a somewhat battered protein bar. He held it towards her and shrugged helplessly. She offered it to the man on the bench who swung his legs around to sit up and accepted it.
“Gotta smoke?” he said, perhaps noticing a suspicious bulge in Danny’s pocket.
“Sure.” He sat down on the bench and supplied both the man and himself while Isla sighed audibly and walked back to the large, out-of-place white boulder. But looking back at the two men, engaged in quiet, intermittent conversation, long, comradely silences punctuated by, she imagined, short, pithy sentences, she wondered if there was more community in their sharing of cancer sticks than in all the town’s showy festivals.
Danny ground out his ashes on the sidewalk and nodded farewell to his companion. “Want to come back to my place for something to eat?” he said, strolling over to Isla.
Isla took his hand but leaned pointedly away from him. “Yes, please.”
He beat Isla to his driveway and unlocked the door as she came up the side steps. Inside, he said, “That was fun!” and turned to kiss her.
She caught his chin in her hand and said, “Mouthwash.” Their love was still new enough for Danny to find this charming.
“Cinnamon or mint? ‘Cause you know you’ll be tasting it,” he winked and grabbed her hips.
“Cinnamon,” she said imperiously, “and change your shirt, too, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He then added impishly, “Maybe I’ll put another one on and maybe I won’t.”
“Oh, really,” she laughed. He raised his eyebrows flirtatiously.
While he was gone, Isla started assembling odd items from the fridge on Danny’s little kitchen table. She heard him come in and, with her head in the fridge, said, “Do you want pickles? Sriracha?”
“Sure, spicy sounds good.” As she turned, he kissed her, sat down on a kitchen chair and pulled her onto his lap as she helplessly held condiment bottles to either side and laughed. After another long kiss, he said, “It was a good night, wasn’t it?” As always, under the laughing and confidence and affection, there was a real question needing to be answered.
“It was a really good night,” Isla agreed, smiling. “Let’s do this again.”
___________________________________________________________
One April morning, Isla passed Bill and Andrea talking in the hallway.
“Are you the mastermind behind the spring surprise in the park?”
“No, I have no idea. I didn’t authorize it,” Andrea said.
“I mean, they’re beautiful, beautiful,” Bill said, “but who paid for all those bulbs? Who did we contract to put them in?”
“I’ll try to get to the bottom of it,” Andrea assured him.
“I mean, it’s just about keeping the books straight. But they’re just lovely,” he nodded vigorously to temper his next words. “Which officer is assigned to the park these days?”
Isla smiled to herself and later that morning texted Danny a photo of a little bouquet of daffodils in a jar on her desk. <<Look what I picked in ‘Central Park’ today.>>
A few moments later her phone vibrated. <<That was a good night.>>
Next chapter: Talking About Marriage
Copyright 2025 Jennie Robertson