Chapter 5 - Market Day Temptations
Saturday mornings in town had a rhythm to them. Folding tables. Mason jars. Honey sticks. The smell of kettle corn drifting through the air like it had its own marketing team.
Rebecca hadn’t planned to buy anything. She had said that three times in the car.
“I’m just looking,” she told Sam.
Linda, sitting in the back seat, nodded enthusiastically. “We’re just observing.”
Sam gripped the steering wheel. “That’s what you said before the online auctions.”
The farmers market was buzzing when they arrived. Fresh tomatoes stacked like trophies. Handmade soaps lined up in pastel rows. A man selling wooden birdhouses that looked sturdier than most suburban homes.
Linda walked with purpose now, like someone who had recently learned the word “cultivar” and planned to use it in public.
“I’m really getting into plants,” she announced to no one in particular. “I’ve been researching soil amendments.”
Rebecca smiled. “Look at you.”
They rounded the corner past the honey booth and that’s when Rebecca stopped.
Not abruptly. Not dramatically.
Just… still.
Under a simple green canopy stood a vendor surrounded by blooming color. Not hostas. Not foliage.
Azaleas.
Soft pinks. Deep fuchsia. Snow white. Coral that glowed in the morning light.
Rebecca’s eyes softened.
“Oh no,” Sam muttered.
Linda followed her gaze. “What? What is it?”
Rebecca stepped closer like someone approaching a memory.
“I love azaleas,” she said quietly. “Before I went deep into hostas… it was azaleas.”
The vendor, a woman in a wide straw hat, smiled knowingly. “These are heirloom varieties,” she said. “Shade-tolerant. Strong bloomers. Cold-hardy.”
Rebecca reached out and gently touched a bloom. “What’s this one?”
“‘Autumn Embers.’ Reblooming.”
Linda gasped. “Reblooming?!”
Sam crossed his arms. “I don’t like that tone.”
The vendor continued. “They’re twenty-eight dollars each.”
Rebecca blinked.
Twenty-eight wasn’t outrageous. It wasn’t auction-level. It wasn’t rare-collector insanity.
It was… reasonable.
That’s what made it dangerous.
Linda leaned in. “Are you going to get one?”
Rebecca hesitated.
She mentally scanned her yard. The space near the side fence. The corner by the birdbath. The spot she had said she would “leave open for balance.”
Sam leaned toward her. “Remember the word you said in the car?”
Rebecca smiled. “Looking.”
Linda tilted her head. “But this isn’t hosta cheating, right?”
Rebecca laughed. “No. This is diversification.”
The vendor chuckled. “Most hosta collectors come back to flowering shrubs eventually. You need something loud once in a while.”
Rebecca stood there longer than she meant to. The azaleas weren’t flashy in a desperate way. They were confident. Classic. Almost nostalgic.
Linda picked one up and held it against Rebecca. “It matches you.”
Sam immediately stepped back. “I’m not carrying three.”
Rebecca turned slowly. “Who said three?”
Linda raised an eyebrow. “You’re not leaving with just one.”
Rebecca looked back at the blooms. Then at Linda. Then at Sam.
“Fine,” she said calmly. “Two.”
Sam exhaled like a man who had narrowly avoided a mortgage-level decision.
Linda grinned. “I’ll get one too.”
Rebecca froze. “You will?”
“Yes. If I’m going to build a serious garden, I need structure.”
Sam blinked. “Structure?”
Linda nodded confidently. “I read that somewhere.”
The vendor wrapped the plants carefully in brown paper while Rebecca felt something shift — not temptation, not impulse… just joy.
They walked back through the market carrying blooms instead of foliage this time. The sun caught the petals. The air smelled like kettle corn and fresh herbs.
Linda bumped Rebecca’s shoulder lightly. “I didn’t know you were an azalea person.”
Rebecca smiled. “I guess I still am.”
Sam shook his head. “You two are evolving.”
And for the first time since the online auctions and the watering incident and the recovering seedling drama… the shade garden didn’t feel competitive.
It felt bigger.
And sometimes, even hosta people need a little color.
