Widowsbloom (Greyhollow #1)

Chapter 1

Elodie

I have always been good at fitting into spaces that weren’t made for me. Making myself invisible, blending into the crowd. It’s not that I do it on purpose, more that it’s just easier that way.

My days always begin in the same way: coffee too strong, keys in my left pocket, headphones on before I’ve even locked the door to my tiny apartment.

It’s not a grand life.

It’s quiet, not exactly what I had planned.

But I’ve learnt that you can’t really make plans for life. You can try, of course, but life will take you down whatever path it’s chosen for you, anyway. It’s what I’ve told myself for years, and life has settled around me like that: quiet and unremarkable, but not unkind.

I speed up my walk, turning into the staff entrance and pushing in the key code for the door.

The path to the gardens is narrow in places, with cracks and dents where time has left its mark.

The sun is still beneath the skyline, and the moon is casting a pale light over the glasshouses, turning them into something almost ethereal.

If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that success doesn’t have to be loud to be real. You can be content without having to run in the same race as everyone else.

A job you love, whatever it may be, is enough.

I arrive early, as I do most days. Soaking up my favourite part of the day.

Before the other staff arrive.

Before there are any expectations or the noise of the public in the gardens.

Setting my bag down in the locker room, I pull on my overalls and twist my hair back into a clip before heading to the staff room. Every night, someone writes the list of jobs for the next day on the whiteboard in neat handwriting. I suspect it’s probably Ruth.

She’s great at making the list, not so good at completing it.

It’s a slightly shorter list than yesterday, though, so I’d say that’s a small win already.

My shoulders loosen as I exhale. Grabbing my takeaway coffee from the side where I left it, I take the last few sips before throwing it into the bin.

I head out to the potting area, stashing my phone into my pocket and switching it to silent.

The sun is already climbing over the horizon, and the rose garden beams under its warm glow. Using my shoulder, I unlock the door to the potting shed and push it open with some force.

“Stupid door,” I mutter under my breath. I’ve asked my manager, Mark, to fix it more times than I should have to, but it’s still as broken as ever. This morning’s task is about as exciting as it gets: transferring the growing seedlings into larger pots. To most people, it’s mundane.

Messy.

Dirty.

But I like it.

Sure, it can get slow and repetitive, but I love my job and there’s a quiet independence to it. It usually leaves me with a satisfying ache, my lungs filled with fresh air and skin tinted bronze from the sun.

My headphones press firm against my ears as I set my music going, tug on my gloves, and get to work.

I’m halfway through my second tray before a knock sounds at the door. I yank off my headphones and glance behind me at Sam.

My best friend and most annoying coworker.

He’s leaning against the door with his mug in hand. Slipping off my gloves, I tilt my head at him and smile.

“Hey, buddy!” Sam’s voice echoes through the shed. “You’re in early again,” he says, giving me that look he always gives me. He worries about me, which is nice, I suppose, but unnecessary, as I tell him far too often. But he has become like a big brother to me, so I let him worry.

It seems to matter to him more than it matters to me anyway.

“Am I?” I glance down at my phone. “I didn’t even realise.”

Yeah, that’s not going to work on him, Elodie.

He does, of course, see right through it, but he doesn’t respond, looking at me with his eyebrows furrowed.

He glances at the empty trays in the waste bag beside me, his eyes trailing over all the seedlings I’ve repotted.

Sam is the one who taught me a lot of what I know here at work. He’s been here longer than me.

Long enough that most things I knew about the job I’d learned by watching him.

“I got a head start on potting so I can get back to fixing that stupid wall,” I say, turning back to the tray of plants, hoping he doesn’t give me his usual lecture on working overtime for free.

“Still working on that wall, huh?” he asks instead, before moving closer to the seedlings. “These look great, El,” he trails his hand down the small leaves. “Whoever taught you to do that must be great at their job,” he gives me a wink.

“Yeah, well, could the person who taught me also explain why they’re a nightmare to cultivate? Mark wanted these out in the main glasshouse by the end of the season. I am losing hope.” Sam tilts his head at me, a knowing smile broadening on his face.

“You know what I always say, El…” Shaking my head, I refuse to give in to his stupid inspirational quotes every day. “The best plants always bloom after a tragedy.” I roll my eyes at him. He always seems to find the most random things to say about plants.

Like an old soul trapped in a youthful body.

“Well, I repotted them today with no warning… nothing screams tragedy more than being yanked from your home and shoved somewhere new, right?” Sam’s expression falters before he lets out a small laugh.

“We’re talking about plants here, not unresolved trauma,” he says.

“I could whisper a few threats about snow coming?”

“You are ridiculous. Seriously, you need to get out more. Converse with something less… green.” He smirks at me as I sweep the loose dirt from the workbench.

“Why would I do that when I have you? You are annoying enough to count as having multiple friends in one.” Smiling to myself, I glance at my friend who is now sprinkling dirt back over the area I just cleaned.

Seriously.

I miss the days when I worked closer to him. I only really see him during our lunch breaks now. And our lunch breaks are dedicated to our daily game of chess, not that I’m complaining about that. I love anytime I can spend with him.

He’s family now.

He takes a sip from his mug, then gives me a wink.

“Well, I hate to ruin the mood, but Mark wants to see you in his office.” He scrunches his nose at me, wincing.

I go still. “Oh. Okay.”

Sam watches me for a second, as if he’s thinking too carefully about his next choice of words.

“You can say no, you know. You don’t have to keep doing whatever he asks you to do.”

His words catch me off guard. I laugh softly. A reflex.

“Say no to what?”

He shrugs, moving back towards the door. “Whatever it is.”

I look back down at the seedlings, pressing into the soil a little more firmly than necessary.

“It’s fine.”

Sam doesn’t argue this time, just nods once before giving me a smile. He hesitates again, then straightens, tapping the table and spinning on his heel.

“Anyway, I’ll see you later. Chess?” he asks, heading towards the door.

“Definitely,” I respond, giving him a small wave over my shoulder. He salutes me goodbye before the door swings shut with a loud clang behind him.

“Elodie, come on in,” Mark calls through the glass window to his office, waving his hand at me with that customer service smile he loves to flash around this place.

To the staff.

The public.

Stakeholders.

Anyone and everyone.

This guy works in a public botanical garden, and I have never seen an ounce of dirt on him. He’s got a way of managing from a distance, always present but never quite accountable.

“Um, hey,” I say, stepping into his office, feeling that low, familiar wave of anxiety that usually arrives when I talk to Mark. He’s not exactly the type of manager to raise his voice, so I don’t fear him in that way, but he’s one to ask a lot of his staff. Usually me.

Always you, Elodie.

And if you asked Sam, he would tell you I’m a pushover, but I would say it’s more… keeping the peace.

“Sam said you wanted to speak to me?” I ask him, taking a seat in front of his desk. I fold my hands under my legs and feel my shoulders hunch in on themselves.

“Right, yes!” he says, wheeling his chair over to a stack of papers.

“So,” he turns to face me, “Kate’s phoned in sick for the rest of the week."

I nod, waiting.

I know what’s coming before he even says it.

“I’m a bit stuck for cover,” he continues. “I know it’s short notice, but I was wondering if you’d be able to come in tomorrow. You know, just for the day.” He continues writing something down on the sheet in front of him. Not even glancing at me to gauge my reaction.

Tomorrow.

My day off.

And it’s not like I had any plans. I mean, I rarely have any plans, really. That’s probably why he always asks me.

I hesitate only for a second. Long enough to feel the weight of it, enough to remember that I had actually been looking forward to doing absolutely nothing.

It is extra cash, though, and God knows I need it.

And if I say no, like I tried to do last time, he will give me hell for a week and make life miserable.

“It’s fine,” I hear myself say aloud. “I can do it.”

And I wonder, not for the first time, what it would be like to choose something without weighing how it might inconvenience someone else.

The thought passes as quickly as it comes.

Wondering changes nothing.

Mark looks at me. Relief crossing his face immediately. “Brilliant! I knew I could count on you.”

He always says this. I think he believes I take it as a term of endearment. But I know he’d replace me in a heartbeat if he needed to.

“Same hours?” I ask.

“Perfect,” he’s already turning to his laptop screen.

“I owe you one, Elodie,” he winks at me. I smile because that’s what I always do. The number of times he’s told me he ‘owes me one’ is likely higher than my weekly pay.

But I love my job. I do, so it’s worth it.

“No problem.” I stand up from the chair, making my way towards the door before Mark adds,