Tables supported hundreds of potting containers, and sprouts poked fragile shoots above carefully mixed soil blends. An overhead sprinkler gently misted her babies to life once a day. Peat rimmed her fingernails—the joy of playing in dirt. She loved nothing more than growing plants. Kyle teased that she was like Mother Nature with a botany degree. And then there was her magic. Most people in Emerald Hills knew about that. Midu had more than a green thumb. The passion she put into growing things permeated the fruits and vegetables from her stand. Her produce put Cupid's arrows to shame. Passing interests and temporary desires melted away, and a person discovered who his soul mate was. She sighed and bit her bottom lip. This June, she'd turn twenty-nine, one year away from the dreaded thirty. Her magic had worked for everyone she knew, but never for her. She'd never looked at a man and known, for sure, that he was the one. A door opened and closed, and Kyle came to stand beside her. Tall and lanky, he looked over row after row of tender, tomato seedlings.
