Laughing at her own revelation, Thessaly scribbles:

Love is wild honey.

Placing the cap back on the marker and dropping it to swing against the sign, Thessaly walks back to the cab and crawls into the backseat.

“Brooklyn Navy Yard, please,” she instructs, rolling up her window.

Watching as the Saturday crowd congregates on the streets of lower Manhattan, Thessaly’s face suddenly burns and prickles. Fearing that Levi doesn’t want to see her, she nervously taps on the seat of the driver and says, “I, um, forgot something. Can we go back?”

“Breege. No turn back now,” he sputters.

Looking out the window and watching the Seaport disappear into a fuzzy periphery, Thessaly swallows back the cab’s stale air and groans. “Shit,” she mumbles. Out of options, she decides to take the cab to Brooklyn and then return by subway . . . but then her phone buzzes.

At seven o’clock precisely, Levi sends a text.

Levi: I’m waiting, wildflower.

Followed immediately by another text.

Levi: Do I need to carry you up to the roof?

She smiles.

Levi: Are you wearing a dress?

Tess: Maybe.

Levi: That could be a problem.

Tess: ?

Levi: Clothes tend to get in the way.

“I turn back?” the cab driver shouts through the partition.

“No! Brooklyn Navy Yard, please.”

As the cab putters and jerks toward Downtown Brooklyn, Thessaly sends a text to Shelby.

Tess: Do you have the spare key I gave you?

Shelby: Is someone getting laid tonight?

Thessaly doesn’t respond to her brother. Instead, she finds the photo of her and Levi saved on her phone, and then traces a heart on the screen with her finger. She’s never been a hopeless romantic, she’s more of a practical optimist that wants to be loved. And it’s ironic that the man who loved her, the one that offered her a pre-destined future, unknowingly led her to New York and into the arms of Levi Jones.

Destiny is a matter of choice.

“Fourteen dollas,” the cab driver announces as he pulls up to the Navy Yard.

Removing her Visa from her clutch, Thessaly waits while the cab driver swipes the card. “You can charge seventeen,” she says. Taking the receipt and her credit card, she hops out of the cab and wanders around the corner. The entrance to the farm is not clearly marked, so she peers through several tinted windows until she sees a lady at a reception desk.

Opening the door, Thessaly says, “Hi, I’m looking for Brooklyn Soil?”

The receptionist stands from the desk, grabs her large handbag and coffee tumbler, and replies, “Mr. Jones is waiting for you on the roof. Take this passkey and use the elevator over there.” She hands Thessaly a laminated card on a lanyard and adds, “I have to run to my barre class in TriBeCa – sorry to be so abrupt.”

Smiling politely, she says, “Oh, please go! I think I got it. Passkey, elevator, Mr. Jones.”

“That’s it! Have a nice evening,” the receptionist adds before darting out the door.

Thessaly breathes heavily as she walks toward the elevator. Looking at her reflection in the shiny doors, she turns to examine her side profile, sucking in her stomach and straightening her shoulders. The billowy, low-cut V of her violet dress parts slightly, revealing the contour of her alabaster breasts. She tugs at the hem of her dress, increasing the length to just shy of her knees. Opening her clutch, Thessaly removes a tube of red lip gloss, and then dabs it on her lips. Tucking the gloss under the peacock feather, she presses the up button.

Stepping inside, she inserts the passkey into the slot next to the button labeled R. As the elevator zooms upward, she makes herself believe that no matter what happens, she’s found a new friend – a friend she’d like to fuck her into oblivion, but a friend nonetheless.

The elevator chimes as the doors slide apart. Stepping out onto a stoned path that leads to rows of vegetable crops, Thessaly walks toward a large rustic dining table topped with flowers and two place settings.

“Hey, wildflower.”

Turning her head toward the familiar, smoky voice, she finds Levi, casually standing next to an apple-green wheelbarrow. Smiling, Thessaly runs her eyes over his lean body, appreciating a man that can wear gray as if it were an actual color. Levi’s charcoal chinos fit perfectly – sitting low on his waist and tapering along his muscular calves. His ash-gray T-shirt molds to his firm chest, exposing a tiny stretch of tan skin along his waist when he crosses his arms.

Dropping her eyes to his feet, Thessaly rasps, “You’re not wearing shoes.”

“And you’re not wearing a bra.”

Completely caught off-guard yet undoubtedly turned on, Thessaly fidgets to hide her peaking nipples. “I, um,” she swallows.

Smirking, Levi says, “Hey, it’s cool – I like the way you think.” Grabbing the handles of the wheelbarrow and steering it toward Thessaly, he announces, “Your chariot awaits, fair maiden.”

“You’re joking?”

“Nope.”

“I’m in a dress – I can’t sit in a wheelbarrow!”

“Get in or we can’t eat. And damn, Tess, I really want to eat.” Levi guides the wheelbarrow behind Thessaly, taps it against the back of her knees, and clears his throat. “Nice and easy. Brace your arms, and enjoy the ride.”

Giving in, Thessaly drops her clutch in the wheelbarrow and then eases her ass into the belly of the cart. “This is ridiculous, Levi Jones!” she exclaims over her shoulder.

Watching as Thessaly’s long legs dangle over the side, Levi slowly pushes the cart toward the dining table. “Are you ready for the tour?” he asks.

“Sure,” she replies.

Angling to the left, Levi announces, “Over here we have chard, spinach, and yellow carrots.” Inching forward he adds, “Got some heirloom and green tomatoes up against the greenhouse.” Levi tilts the handles of the cart to the right and swerves gently. He makes an abrupt stop, causing Thessaly to grasp the sides of the wheelbarrow and squeal. Laughing, he yaps, “Yellow squash and cucumbers, and hopefully a few pumpkins.” Steering straight but jerking the wheel, Levi slows the wheelbarrow. “Which brings us to the highlight of the tour, lettuce – ten different types.” Heaving the wheelbarrow forward and stabilizing it with his leg, Levi offers Thessaly a hand. “Watch your step.”

“Is that a pocket hose?” Thessaly points to a coil of soft green nylon and laughs.

“As I’m sure you’ve seen on TV, it’s my hose that grows.”

“Up to fifty feet,” they recite in unison.

Standing clumsily and lunging forward, Thessaly catches her balance on the edge of the dining table. She runs her hand along the rustic pine, stopping at a cutting board loaded with strawberries and blueberries. Chilling in a large galvanized bucket in the center of the table is a liter of Grey Goose vodka, four bottles of raspberry hard cider, and a half-gallon of fresh lemonade.

Placing his hand on Thessaly’s back, he asks, “Are you hungry?”

“I am. Should I sit here?”

“Sit here,” Levi suggests, sliding out a wooden crate topped with a tufted pillow. “I need to grab a few things from the kitchen.” He reaches over Thessaly and takes a jar of Sinclair honey and two mason jars. “Make us some of your honey vodka lemonade.”

Smiling as she looks up at Levi, she asks, “Strong or sweet?”

Levi kisses the crown of her head and whispers, “As sweet as you.”

While Levi gathers a platter from the kitchen enclosed in a white modular building, Thessaly prepares the cocktails. The lemonade is extremely tart, so she swipes a few strawberries from the cutting board and drops them in the glasses. Thessaly spoons the honey and drops a golden dollop into each glass, stirring all the ingredients with a silver rod.

Standing behind her with a pleased grin, Levi announces, “Lobster and a roasted tomato-corn medley.” Levi places a large platter on the table and then adds, “And some straws for our lemonade.” Whipping out a package of Sour Punch Straws and tearing it open with his teeth, Levi removes a handful of stringy red candy and plops them in the mason jars. “Shall we?”