“Keep it out of the flowers!”

Chloe emerged from beside the shed.

At eleven, she was taller, with dark hair in a braid and soil on the knees of her overalls.

She held a garden tool she had been using for the small task she chose that morning.

Oliver turned too close to a bed.

“If you squash those, you’re helping fix them,” she called.

He changed direction immediately.

“Sorry!”