Chapter 10 - Scheduled to Begin
By late afternoon, Rebecca had checked the time on her phone so often she could practically feel the minutes passing on her skin.
Her first auction of the season was set to publish automatically at 6:00 PM, and somehow that made it more nerve-wracking than posting it herself. There was no “Are you sure?” button. No chance to change her mind. The clock would hit six, and the post would simply… appear.
Sam hovered near the porch like a dog waiting for dinner. “You sure you don’t want me to post a reminder?” he asked for the third time.
“No,” Rebecca said, tightening a tag on a potted fern. “No hype. No pressure. Just a small auction to ease back in.”
Sam nodded, but the way he glanced at her phone said he had opinions.
Dave wandered up from the hedge line, arms crossed. “You look like someone waiting on medical test results.”
Rebecca sighed. “It’s just nerves. It’s been months since my last auction. What if nobody bids? What if the pictures look bad? What if—”
“What if it goes fine?” Dave cut in. “Ever think of that?”
Sam pointed at Dave. “Thank you. I’ve been trying to say that but with more pep.”
“You’ve been trying to say it with a megaphone,” Rebecca muttered.
Dave walked over to the potting bench, eyeing the seedling.
It was still drooping slightly from the earlier sun stress, but the leaves had perked up enough to look… determined.
He nodded approvingly. “Seedling’s recovering faster than I thought.”
“It’s stubborn,” Sam said.
“So is Rebecca,” Dave replied. “Garden matches the gardener.”
Rebecca pretended not to hear that.
5:52 PM.
Her heart thumped harder.
She sat at the old wooden table, laptop open, Facebook page refreshed and waiting.
The scheduled post sat there like a loaded spring: “This post is scheduled to publish at 6:00 PM.”
Sam paced behind her, sipping coffee he didn’t need.
Dave leaned against the railing, pretending to scroll on a phone he absolutely did not admit to owning.
5:59 PM.
Rebecca held her breath.
The clock ticked over.
6:00 PM — PUBLISHED
The post appeared instantly. Pictures of her plants. Prices. Simple instructions. A small auction, born quietly.
Rebecca didn’t move.
Sam leaned in, eyes wide.
Dave scratched his beard like he was inspecting a crime scene.
No comments yet.
No notifications.
Just… waiting.
Rebecca swallowed. “Well. It’s up.”
“That’s all you had to do,” Sam said. “The rest happens on its own.”
Dave grunted. “People watch first. They stalk the post. Lurkers. Nobody wants to be the first bidder. It’s a whole psychology thing.”
Rebecca blinked. “How do you know that?”
Dave shrugged. “I observe humanity.”
Sam whispered, “He checks auctions more than he’ll ever admit.”
Dave glared at him.
Rebecca refreshed the page again. Still nothing. She stood, suddenly restless, and walked toward the seedling. It stood upright now—tiny, bruised, imperfect—but still standing tall enough to look back at her. “You’re hanging in there,” she whispered.
Behind her, Sam gasped. “COMMENT!”
Rebecca spun back to the laptop.
There it was.
A single bid.
Small. Simple.
But real.
Her shoulders dropped, relief flooding her so quickly she felt lightheaded.
Dave nodded once. “Told you.”
Sam pumped his fist like the Braves just hit a grand slam.
And Rebecca smiled—fully, finally, genuinely. Her season had officially begun.
