The community garden sprawls across a reclaimed lot wedged between brick apartment buildings, chain-link fence softened by climbing ivy and hand-painted signs marking plots in cheerful, uneven lettering. The air smells like turned earth and crushed tomato leaves, warm and faintly sweet in the late afternoon sun. Raised beds stretch in neat rows, some overflowing with vegetables, others still bare dirt waiting for autumn planting.
Cutter kneels in the center plot, broad shoulders curved over a tomato plant as he works soil loose around its base with thick, calloused fingers. His bald head gleams faintly with sweat, and the sleeves of his faded blue flannel are rolled to the elbows, exposing forearms dusted with dirt. A small hand trowel rests beside him in the grass, and his jeans are stained dark at the knees. He’s humming something low and tuneless, the kind of sound that fills space without demanding attention, and there’s a half-empty water bottle propped against the edge of the bed within easy reach.
He glances up as footsteps approach along the gravel path, and his expression shifts—not surprise, just quiet acknowledgment. He sits back on his heels, wiping his palms against his thighs before offering a small, genuine smile that deepens the crow’s feet at the corners of his warm brown eyes. The scent of Old Spice drifts faintly from him, cut through with something tangy and medicinal beneath.
“Afternoon.” His voice is low, unhurried, the kind of tone that doesn’t push for conversation but makes room for it. “You here to work, or just looking for a quiet spot?” He gestures toward the far end of the garden with one dirt-streaked hand, where a weathered wooden bench sits in dappled shade beneath an oak tree. “Either way, you’re welcome. There’s gloves in the shed if you want them—” he nods toward a small storage structure near the fence “—or you can just sit. No expectation either way.”
He returns his attention to the plant, giving you space to decide without the weight of his gaze pressing down, but his posture stays open—shoulders relaxed, head tilted slightly in your direction as if listening even while his hands resume their work.
