The brass bell above the shop door let out a bright chime. A soft breeze followed a second later, as if it’d been summoned by the noise. The cool air wrapped around Nolan Kirby before disappearing when the door shut.

He smiled and put down the jar he was holding. “Good morning.”

The person who’d come in didn’t answer.

As Kirby walked over to the stool beside the checkout counter, he said, “Is there anything I can help you find?”

“No. Thank you.”

Whoever she was, she was young. He guessed around ten or eleven years old. Certainly no older than twelve.

“You haven’t been in here before, have you?” he said.

“No.”

Young, and not much for conversation.

Kirby sat down facing the front of the store. He’d be out of the way now. “Are you a student?”

“Yes.”

The girl moved with light, hesitating steps, but she forced her voice to be loud and definite.

A strange combination, Kirby thought.

“Thomas or Saufgrove?” Kirby grabbed his long cane from where it was leaning up against the counter.

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“You know about Saufgrove?”

There was both surprise and suspicion in her question. Kirby bit back his laugh; he didn’t want to offend the girl with the nervous walk but a bold voice.

“I know most of my customers come from there,” he explained.

“Oh.”

The “oh” had sounded quiet and thoughtful. Kirby suspected the girl’s assumptions had been shaken and she was undergoing some mental adjustment.

Kirby moved his cane so it was in front of him. “Do you like your school?”

“Do you always talk this much?”

“Usually I talk a lot more, but you’re making conversation a little difficult for me.”

She didn’t answer.

“Don’t worry though,” Kirby assured her. “It’s only a little difficult. I talk to plants all day long. I can carry the whole conversation by myself if I have to.”

“Why would you talk to plants?”

That question was equal parts incredulity and scorn.

Kirby smiled. Oh, to be young enough to know everything.

He said, “They grow better that way. Plants are just like people—they do better when you give them attention.”

“Do they talk back to you?”

Kirby laughed out loud. Another girl might have asked that in a voice full of curiosity and wonder. Not this one. He was dealing with a pint-sized cynic who didn’t believe in fairy tales. It sounded like she was checking his sanity.

“Not yet,” he said, “but maybe someday. I’m always listening, just in case.”

She hesitated; the boards under her feet let out a soft groan as she shifted her weight, there was a moment of silence—then she moved further away, toward the shelves.

He let her browse for a few seconds before trying again.

“May I ask your name?” he said.

“Olivia.”

“It’s good to meet you, Olivia. My name’s Nolan Kirby. If you have any questions at all, let me know.”

 “How much are those?”

“That depends entirely on what you’re pointing at. Do you know its name?”

“This one! Right here. Can’t you see it?” She sounded irritated, as if he was being difficult on purpose.

I probably shouldn’t have teased her.

“No,” Kirby said.

Her voice grew louder when she turned to face him. “What? Are you blind or some—”

The question choked off with a guttural sound.

Kirby grinned and tapped the end of his long cane on the floor in front of him. “Oh, sure—you’re just noticing, but I’m the blind one?”