Trish and Austin worked relentlessly, mostly Austin hauling heavy things out of the way while Trish told him where to put new things, through the morning. By early afternoon, the greenhouse was up to Trish's standards. White crates were stacked neatly against the back wall with plastic tubs in pastel colors inside them as drawers for crafting supplies. Vines with flowers along their spines, twisted and warped around birdcages that were hung high. Small tables, some round, some square, were set up around the greenhouse. On each, flowers were sorted for easy access when making arrangements. Spools of ribbon were lined neatly on a rod along the back edge of the long table in a rainbow of colors. Old tin cans and clay pots were cleaned and placed on the table to hold supplies. A stool was placed on either side of the table; Trish made sure both were fixed with a cushion, so Dez could have his pick of either side.

In the corner, a shorter wooden table and an old wooden rocking chair made up Trish's "office." A desk calendar was spread out and covered in animal print doodles she had done the night before, after Ally slid it under her door. There was also a small fan placed on the corner of her new desk.

She had Austin paint on a wooden plank "The Workshop" and he propped it up against the outside of the greenhouse. Austin tried to hang some wind chimes he thought Dez would like, but Trish said no and insisted it would give her a headache. When everything was finished, they took a step back and looked at their handiwork.

"I'm amazing," they said simultaneously.

He turned to look down at her as she turned to look up at him. Both of them shrugged and said, "You're okay, too."

Austin's face broke into a smile first and Trish joined him in laughter, casually nudging him with her elbow. He pat his stomach and took a final look at the workshop before he said, "Come on. I'll make us some pancakes."

He turned on his heels and Trish followed him, glancing over her shoulder one more time.

Dez didn't feel like getting out of bed. His long legs were stretched to the corners of his mattress and his blanket was half on him and half splayed on the floor. Sunlight had long peaked in through his curtains but his mind was still stuck in last night: he dreamed of Carrie. He was chasing her through a green field where chocolate pudding cups sprouted from green stocks planted in the ground. A chocolate mustache framed her laughing pink lips as she gazed at him over her shoulder. Her blonde hair danced wildly in the wind. He reached out for her in his sleep and swiped his hand to catch the back of the knitted sweater that hung loosely on her shoulders. His fingertips brushed past the yarn and he felt his arm fall, the action shocking him out of his sleep. He had been staring at the ceiling ever since.

He pressed his face into his palms and groaned, wondering why he let his mind wander to her yesterday while he created that bouquet. He flipped to his side and tucked his knees to his chest, keeping his hands over his face, like the questions were outside of him and he could keep them away. Why couldn't Carrie be my friend? What could Trish have possibly told Piper to make her take her sister away? Are high school caste-systems really that cliché? Will chocolate pudding ever not taste good?

He flipped over again, stuffing his head into his pillow, and let out a long sigh. It still hurt. The school year had ended. He was miles away from home. But it still hurt. In his mind, Carrie was still a pretty butterfly filled with everything happy and good and he never got a chance to flutter away with her. He lifted his arms over his head and wrapped his thumbs together, waving his fingers at the sides as if to fly away.

She liked all the things I liked. Laughed at all the things I laughed at.

He dropped his arms down and pushed himself upward. He leaned back so that he sat on the balls of his feet with his knees pressed into the bed. He sighed again. His shoulders sagged. Outside of his door he could hear someone walking down the hall. The happy humming and light steps let him know it was Ally. He felt a smile start up on the inside but it didn't reach his face yet.

But I do have friends. Austin and Ally. Someone that likes things that I like. And he shows me things I never knew I liked, like painting fences bright yellow. Someone that laughs at things I laugh at. Even if sometimes I'm laughing at her, like when she gets her hand stuck in the pickle jar.

The memory made him laugh. Ally's nose wrinkled and her lips pinched together as she wildly waved the jar around. He laughed so hard until he tipped over the side of the bed and hit the floor with his arms wrapped around his sides.

"Dez! Are you okay?" He heard Ally call.

He held back his giggles and shouted that he was fine. He exhaled and wiped the tears from the corner of his eye.

But it could have been something different with Carrie.

He felt his face heat up as he thought of things like holding a hand that doesn't belong to a relative or pressing his lips to a mouth softer than his own. He shut his eyes tight, wishing he hadn't watched so many romance movies with his parents or read so many girly books with his sister. Another part of him was glad he did; it was another memory to hold on to while he was separated from them. But then he thought of Carrie again and how it was crappy and sad that she was the closest he had ever gotten to having a girlfriend.

He opened his eyes and leaned his head back against the bed, voicing his thoughts, "Today is going to suck."

Trish paced back and forth in the greenhouse. Every time she walked by the fan, it would lift strands of her hair and she would automatically smooth it back down. She would stop across from the door, bite her lip, and stare off into the field every three or so minutes, looking for a mop of red hair.

"This is stupid," she muttered to herself. She closed her eyes and threw her head back. "I need a social life. My brain is turning to mush!" She walked over to her new desk space and pulled out Ally's laptop.

"Just work until he gets here," she said to herself.

An hour into her work, she heard heavy footsteps plod against the dirt floor. Her back was to the entrance but she lifted her head from the laptop and smiled at the wall in front of her. She felt her ears perk up, anticipating Dez's excited squeals.

But she heard nothing.

She folded her hands in her lap and tucked her chin toward her chest. Slowly, she let her curls fall to one side to hide the grin on her face as she looked carefully over her shoulder. She was sure Dez was standing in the center of the room speechless, possibly on the verge of tears. But she felt disappointment weigh her shoulders down as she saw Dez sitting on the stool at the long table. He was wordlessly tying polka-dotted ribbon around an amber-tinted mason jar.

She gripped the edge of her rocking chair and studied him. His movements were controlled, no long arms flailing about as he yanked ribbon or head bobbing to music only he could hear. She turned back in her seat and stared at her laptop.

"Nothing?" she mouthed.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm the anger she felt building in her chest. Anger for him not noticing. Anger that she cared.

Trish stomped into the kitchen and yanked open a cabinet. She pulled out a loaf of bread and slammed the bag on the counter as Ally walked in.

"What'd the bread do to you this time?" Ally asked jokingly.

Trish shoved her hand into the bag, grabbing two slices. "It's fine. I'm fine," she said through her teeth.

Ally nodded casually, humming a little. She walked behind Trish, opened another cabinet, and took down a jar of peanut butter.

"Usually, 'It's fine. I'm fine' is code for 'I'm angry. Give me a hug,'" Ally said. She placed the jar beside Trish's bread. "But I'm not sure if you're the hugging type." She opened a drawer and took out a thin knife. "So I'll make you a sandwich."

Trish drummed her fingers on the countertop and twisted her hips slightly, and said, "I like a lot of peanut butter."

"Who doesn't?" Ally spread the chunky peanut butter on a slice of bread. "So, are you taking this snack back to the workshop?"

Trish crossed arms and leaned them on the counter. Ally raised one eyebrow.

"No snack for Dez?"

"Balls no. And why? It's not like he'd notice it if I shoved it in his stupid, mopey face," Trish grumbled.

"Ah," Ally said. "That's what this is about." Ally slid the plate with the sandwich cut into triangles over to Trish.

"There is no this and there's nothing about it," Trish said, picking up the plate.

"He didn't say what an awesome job you and Austin did?"

Trish put the plate back down on the counter, saying, "Even you noticed and it wasn't even for you!" She ran her fingers through her curls. "I mean, obviously it's for you and Austin, for the flower business…"

"But a little bit for Dez?" Ally offered. She could see Trish's eyebrows furrow and the inhale of breath the girl took to fuel her argument against that but Ally spoke first. "As a gesture to being a good business partner, of course."

Trish rolled her eyes but swallowed back her protest. Ally reached out. Trish's shoulder tensed under her touch, but it relaxed with her next words.

"You did awesome, Trish. I can't wait to see the success you'll have with my business."

There was something akin to pride in Ally's voice and once again Trish got a mom-vibe from her caretaker.

"I am pretty awesome," Trish said, leaning an arm on the counter and flicking some curls over her shoulder.

Ally chuckled and mimicked Trish's action, flicking her own hair. "You are."

The action drew Trish's attention to Ally's tight ponytail. She looked her over and asked, "Why are you dressed like that?"

Ally wore purple workout leggings, a loose fitting tank with a yellow sports bra showing beneath, and yellow running sneakers. She pushed away from the counter and stuck out one leg to show off her outfit.

"It's my training outfit." At Trish's look, Ally continued. "Someone from the agency's coming to show Austin and I some self-defense maneuvers."

"You took out a crazy lady with a stick in the middle of the forest. You seem trained up to me," Trish said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

Ally looked down bashfully. "I'm sure I could use a more sophisticated technique."

Austin walked in and threw an arm around each of the girls.

"Hello, shortest people in the house," he teased.

Ally lifted his arm from her shoulder and grinned up at him.

"The first move I'm asking for is how to flip you, tall person," Ally said.

"The trainer's got to show up first," he said, leaning forward and bopping her on the nose.

"Gross," Trish said and slipped from under his arm.

Austin smiled down at her and asked, "I bet Dez flipped when he saw the workshop, right?"

Ally bit her lip and smacked her husband's abdomen with the back of her hand while Trish grimaced at him.

"And now I'm in a bad mood again. Thanks," Trish said. She snatched her plate off the counter and left the kitchen.

Austin frowned and wrapped his arm around Ally's shoulders again.

"I'm thinking no," he said.

"No." She leaned her head into his chest and looked up at him. "I wish I could fix it."

"I'll fix it," Austin said, shrugging.

Ally raised an eyebrow and leaned back from him. "You'll fix it?"

He bounced his shoulders. "Yeah. I'll go talk to Dez…You stay in those purple pants."

She leaned into him and grinned. "You like the purple pants?"

"Oh, I like the purple pants," he said, going in for a kiss. He felt her fingers pressed to his lips and he sighed. "I have to talk to him first?"

"Yep," Ally said, popping the P at the end. "I and my purple pants will be waiting."

Sunlight poured into the greenhouse as Dez snapped pictures of The Carrie bouquet. The click of the camera and the hum of the fan were the soundtrack to his work as he took pictures at different angles. He didn't notice Austin when he walked in.

Austin didn't notice The Carrie. He admired the inside of the greenhouse, proud of the work he and Trish had done. He wandered over to a small metal cart with two bouquets. One had flowers in shades of peach and cream; the other was dark reds and greens. He picked them up and nodded before placing them back down.

He looked up in time to see Dez move, no longer blocking the view of the photographed bouquet.

"Whoa, Dez! That's super pretty."

"Pretty?" Dez sputtered. He let the camera hang around his neck and Austin recognized it as the one he had let Dez borrow a few days ago.

"It. Is. Extraordinary," Dez said, poking Austin in the chest with each word.

"I feel like that should hurt," Austin said, patting his chest.

"I didn't want to a full force poke, cause we're buddies," Dez said, nudging Austin's arm with his elbow.

Austin eyed the bouquet. "So, 'The Carrie,' huh? I thought you two weren't friends anymore or something."

Dez fidgeted with the camera and kept his eyes on the dirt floor.

Austin continued, "Maybe it doesn't help to think about her that way. You know, while you're creating pretty…"

Dez raised his eyebrows.

"…I mean extraordinary wedding bouquets."

Dez stepped around Austin and snapped photos of the bouquet again.

"I disagree. Emotion inspires art," Dez said tightly.

Austin stood between Dez and the bouquet. He put his hand up to the camera and slowly lowered it down until Dez would look at him.

"Maybe now, in a new place, with new people, you can allow yourself some new emotions," Austin said.

"Can I?" Dez asked, barely above a whisper.

Austin reached out and gripped his shoulder. He shook it a little and whispered back, "Yes."

Both guys smiled and Dez patted Austin's hand on his shoulder.

"You, my friend, are an awesome caretaker," Dez said.

Austin lifted his hand and shrugged his shoulders, putting his hands in his pockets. "I just do what I can for the purple pants."

"Huh?"

"Dez, look around," Austin said, waving his hand around the workshop. "Notice some new."

His blue-eyed gaze hit every section of the room. He pointed up at the birdcages, squealed at the tables of flowers, ooh'd and awed at the crates.

"You did all this for me! Wow! I didn't even…wow! I was wondering why everything seemed so handy and in place today!"

Dez held his arms out for a hug. "Bring it in, pal."

"I'm not going to turn down a hug." Austin hugged Dez then let him go. "But this was Trish too. It was her idea."

Dez glanced at Trish's little desk with the calendar. He walked over to the rocking chair and tilted it back. He thought back to when she was in the workshop earlier. He hadn't even said hello.

"Oh no," he said, putting his hand to his mouth then letting it drop. "What a jerk." He dragged his feet over to the stool in front of his long table and flopped down. He wiggled his bottom against the cushion. "She added a booty cushion! I'm a total jerk!"

"It's okay, Dez," Austin said. "Trish will totally forgive you if she knows you just weren't in the right head space."

"She's going to be mad," Dez said.

"Oh, yeah," Austin said, patting his shoulder. "But I've heard hugs help."

"Or punishment," Dez mumbled.

"Maybe sleep with one eye open," Austin joked.

Dez frowned down at the container of laundry detergent in his hand. The room smelled like lemon and boxes of dryer sheets with pictures of clothes lines on them. This was his least favorite room in the large house. He put the container on top of the washer and leaned his back against it, sighing.

In the hall outside the door, he saw something pink fall to the ground. He stood up straight. A body leaned forward to pick up the item. Dez's face lit up as dark curls tried to escape a messy bun.

"There you are!" he shouted. "I wanted to say how awesome the workshop looks!"

Trish, with a basket full of dirty clothes in hand, stepped into the room. She held back a smile but the corners of her lips twitched. "You weren't even looking for me. You're in here."

Dez crossed his arms and sat on the folding table, his legs barely off the ground.

"Only cause Ally won't do my laundry," he pouted.

Trish plopped her basket beside him and said, "You're a big boy. You can do your own laundry." She pushed the basket with one hand so it pressed against his thigh. "And mine?" she said as she flashed him a smile.

He frowned down at the basket and hopped down, standing in front of her.

"Punishment?" he asked.

"You know it." She smirked and added, "Even though it's no surprise that I'm kicking your butt at this teamwork thing."

"Fine. It can't be often when you not the jer—"

Trish raised both eyebrows at him. Her eyes darkened and he took a step back.

"Did I mention the workshop looks amaze? Come get your hug."

"Put your arms down."

"Okay."

He turned to the basket and started sifting through it.

"Do you like your lights and darks separated or…" He stopped when his hand picked up something lacy. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.

Unfazed, Trish plucked the bra out of his hand and eyed the stain on the blue material. "Make sure you hand wash this, okay. It cost a lot and it's the only cute one I have with me."

She tossed it back over to him and he clumsily caught it by the cup. She looked at him. A blush was creeping up to his ears and he's eyes wouldn't meet hers. The fashionista in her wanted to comment on how the blue in his eyes paired well with the blue in her bra, but she wrinkled her nose at the thought and focused back at a cherry red Dez. She rolled her eyes and put a hand on her hip.

"You have a mom and a sister, Dez. Surely you've washed a bra before."

"It's just…" he gulped and said softly, "Still warm…" His eyes flickered to her chest before his brain could send the signal not to look. He shook his head and looked at the tiled floor, but it was too late: she saw.

"Thanks for making it weird," she mumbled and snatched the bra back. "Yeah, we're not ready for this level of friendship."

He lifted his shinning eyes, face still tinged pink, but putting away his embarrassment for a moment, he smiled and said, "We're friends."

"Not this good of friends," Trish joked, lifting the bra in her hand.

Dez avoided eye-contact again. Trish rocked uncomfortably on her feet. She made a mental note that Dez was not the kind of guy she usually joked with in her circle of friends.

Dez is in my circle of friends? She thought. Well, here it's a pretty small circle. Is he still blushing? How far down the food chain was Dez? Did I really mess things up for him that much at school?

Now she felt awkward.

"I'm just gonna…"

"I've got work…"

"Bye," Trish said, picking up her basket and walking out.

"Bye-bye," Dez said.