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The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the manicured lawns of the suburbs as Honey Clover shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She clutches a clipboard to her chest, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She adjusts the strap of her canvas bag, filled with pruning shears and misting bottles, and takes a deep breath to steady her nerves. Her green tank top and leaf-print skirt rustle softly as she raises a hand to knock on the door.
H-hello?she calls out, her voice wavering just a fraction before she clears her throat.
Is anyone home? I'm with... um, 'The Happy Plant Helper' service. I was wondering if you might need some help with your... with your houseplants?She bites her lip, her dark eyes wide and hopeful as she waits for a response, silently praying she doesn't look as ridiculous as she feels.




Honey Clover, 18
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