“Black magics are delicate,” he said, lowering to his haunches, big hands hanging between his knees. “Its petals are so deep a red, they’re nearly black, but even more interesting—they smell like chocolate. Sometimes vanilla, but I’ve always only smelled chocolate.”
I touched one of the sprouts tenderly. “How strange,” I said half to myself.
“Tess is itching to get her hands on the blooms. We haven’t planted them here in years, not since I was a kid. I remember coming down here and sitting between the aisles because they smelled so good. Tried to eat one once. I don’t recommend it.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to eat flowers?”
“The opposite—she used to walk me around and make me taste them. Although she was sorry she made me eat a pansy. They taste a little like mint, and forever on, she had to chase me out of the pansy patches. Don’t even get me started on marigolds. And when Mom would get shipments of lilac in the spring? Forget about it.”
“Lilac? You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Some just taste like nothing. Some taste … green. I don’t know how else to describe it. But some taste exactly like lilac smells, and it’s utter heaven.”
“That’s my name,” I said, suddenly sheepish at the admission.
His brows flicked together. “Lilac?”
“My grandmother’s favorite flower was lilac, and my parents were married in her garden at the end of May when they were in bloom. So, they named me Lilac, and my sister Ivy because they must have known she’d be wild and clingy.”
That earned me a laugh, and I smiled.
“I’m surprised she didn’t tell you. She loves to embarrass me by telling everyone I don’t want to know.”
“I take it you’re not a fan?”
“It’s just so … I don’t know. Whimsical? It was a name for a fairy, not a practical girl who got perfect scores in penmanship. It felt patently unlike me. So I rejected it on principle. And the color purple too. It was all they put me in before I was old enough to have an opinion.”
He smiled at me across the planter box. “And how old was that?”
“Second grade. It didn’t help that I was teased mercilessly about it.”
“Kids are cruel.”
“And I didn’t want to give them any more ammunition.”
He paused. “Was it bad?”
“Remember Ashley Sanders?”
His scoff told me he did.
“She lived in our building. When we were home, she was my best friend, the best friend. But at school? She was queen of the mean girls.”
“I don’t think I knew a single person who wasn’t terrified of her.”
“There’s another side to her. Or maybe she’s a sociopath.”
“I’d vote for the latter.”
“Anyway, I ended up in her sights. She spent her time either rejecting me or pretending to be my friend so she could trick me—lock me in the bathroom, humiliate me in front of everyone, whatever her fancy was that day. And then we’d get home, and she’d knock on my door, apologize, and stay over for hours. All weekend. Sleepovers. The works.”
Kash watched me with those depthless eyes of his. “Your parents didn’t put a stop to it?”
“They didn’t know. Not really. They thought it was just the typical old girl drama, not noticing that I withdrew, that I was anxious about going to school. Even when I was having meltdowns in class. Like once, when my teacher interrupted me, I crawled under my desk and cried because no one ever listened to me. The teacher just sent me to the counselor, my parents thought I was just overreacting, and everyone went on their merry way.” I sighed. “But it wasn’t their fault. I should have learned my lesson when it came to Ashley sooner.”
“When did you?”
“Middle school. I didn’t have many friends—in hindsight, that was probably her doing too—and I was lonely enough to play right into her hand. When we were at home, she was honest and giving and funny and cool. I looked up to her, wanted to be her. But she was a liar, and I eventually gave up trying to make her happy.”
“There was no lesson to learn, Lila. She should have known better.”
“No, it was an important lesson, the most important lesson I’ve ever learned—people will manipulate you, if you let them. And no one will save you but yourself.”
Sadness touched his face, smoothing his lips, his eyes, his brow. But he didn’t disagree, didn’t pity me or tell me I was wrong. He just watched me for a long moment before finally saying with a quirk of his lips, “Think I can prove you wrong?”
A relieved laugh slipped out of me, along with the phrase of the hour, one I meant more deeply than he knew. “If anyone can, it’s you.”
He smiled fully then, turning to the plastic tray of seedlings. “Wanna plant one?”
“I don’t know,” I hedged, eyeing them like they’d turned into live explosives.
“Here, it’s easy.” His hands stretched out, pausing expectantly with a little seedling in his palms.
I reached out, cupping my hands like his. Mine looked so soft and small and pale next to his, which he lowered, his knuckles brushing my palm. Slowly, he opened them, transferring the cool pile to my hands with a long stroke of connection. I held the plant like it might electrocute me if I moved too suddenly, but Kash’s fingers dug into the earth, spreading the dirt to make a space.
“Go ahead, set it in here.”
I did as he’d said, lowering my hands, nestling them in the dirt before opening them up. “Now what?”
“Press the dirt down with your fingers, not too hard,” he warned, and I backed off from packing it down. “Good. Now, just brush a little dirt over the top to level it out. Don’t leave any space around the … yup, just like that. You just planted your first flower.”
I dusted off my hands. “You grew that from a tiny seed. All I did was dump it in the dirt.”
He shrugged, smirking at me. “You just put that little flower in the home it’ll know its whole life. So I’d wager it appreciates your effort.”
There, in that quiet, mundane moment, the desire to tell him all the ways I wanted him surged in my chest, up my throat, my lips parting to speak. But he’d already stood to move the seedlings out of the way, the moment fading with the motion.
“You ready to become a crazy plant lady?” he asked.
I laughed to cover my nerves. “If you can show me how to keep a plant alive for more than a month, I’ll buy you a commemorative cake.”
“Deal,” he said over his shoulder as he rounded the aisle. “Come on, I set us up back here.”
I followed him, admiring that broad back, his rolling shoulders, the luxurious, dark hair curling gently at his nape. And with every step, I gathered my courage.
I was a girl who knew what she wanted and went out and got it. But when it came to Kash, I was as delicate as those seedlings, roots fresh and seeking purchase in uncertain ground. He was uncharted territory—why exactly, I couldn’t say. Not beyond the simple newness, the unexpected truth of him.
He stopped in front of the big table butted up against the end of the greenhouse, the same table he’d nearly nailed me on just a few weeks ago. Sitting on top was a variety of supplies, organized in neat, orderly rows—a plastic pot brimming with ivy, a tin of gravel, a pitcher of dirt, a pair of gloves, and a hand spade.