Chapter 4 #2
“I’d offer to fix it again,” I say, trimming a rose stem, “but last time he told me I was ruining the ‘character’ of his property.”
She rolls her eyes. “Right. Is that what they’re calling mold now?”
She doesn’t stay here anymore and lives on top of the bookstore apartment. But this is where she grows everything for her apothecary.
I move to the next pot which smells like rosemary. She’s always got something growing. Tomatoes in buckets, climbing jasmine on the trellis, flowers spilling over every surface, mostly everything in containers so she can move them around.
“Why so many flowers?” I ask. “You could grow herbs, things you can use for the shop. These are just… pretty.”
She stands and looks around, smiling softly. “I just love them. We grow food to nourish the body, and flowers to nourish the soul.”
I nod. “That’s the most witchy and poetic thing.”
“Thank you,” she says with a small smile. “I try.”
I glance at her, at the smudge of dirt across her cheek and the sparkle in her eyes. She has this spicy little attitude that drives me nuts, and I mean that in the best possible way. She’s all sharp edges and has a soft heart. She’s unpredictable and beautiful and way too brave for her own good.
“Try not to do anything that’ll get you in trouble with the city, Row,” I say, mostly joking but not entirely. I don’t know why Sammy is out to get her, but I want her to be careful.
She grins. “I’ll be fine.”
“That’s true,” I say. “You’re the only person I know who could weaponize goat yoga.”
“They were adorable,” she says, flicking a leaf at me. “And effective.”
“Yeah, but the mayor didn’t think so.”
“Sammy can bite me,” she says. “He’s such a crybaby. He called the police on me, again.”
I laugh, the sound echoing through the greenhouse. The night air smells sweet, and for a second, I forget the whole world outside of this little place exists.
“Real men don’t cry,” I tease, knowing that Sammy calling the police on her is an empty threat.
Number one, my brother is a former attorney.
He’s not going to willingly participate in anything that will get his future sister-in-law in trouble.
And second, that’s funny because Rowan has been on a first name basis with every single cop in Wisteria Cove since she was five.
And half the police force is probably terrified of her.
She smirks. “They do if you hex them properly.”
“Good to know,” I say. “I’ll keep my emotions locked up just in case.”
She sets down her shears and wipes her hands on her jeans. “Here,” she says, pulling out her phone. “I almost forgot your song of the day.”
Music fills the greenhouse through her small speaker. Pat Benatar’s Hit Me With Your Best Shot.
She starts dancing, hips swaying as she picks up another plant, her laughter carrying across the yard.
I stand there for a second, watching her move in the warm glow of the string lights strung above us and I swear I can feel it, something shifting in my chest, something that’s been undeniable for so long.
I set the shears down and join her. “You know this song’s a challenge coming from you, right?”
She winks. “Then you better duck, Carpenter Ken.”
I laugh, stepping closer, the scent of soil and honeysuckle filling the air. “Bring it on, Hexy Barbie.”
She bumps her hip against mine and keeps dancing, and I know I’m madly in love with Rowan Maren. The problem is, she doesn’t seem to feel the same. So, if this is what I need to settle for the rest of my life, I guess I’ll take it.
The house creaks as it settles, the sound low and steady in the quiet. I rinse my hands in the sink and watch the water swirl down the drain. The tile is set, the lines are straight, and everything is coming together. But the air still feels heavy and lonely.
I lean back against the counter and stare out the window. The moon sits high in the sky over the harbor. I tell myself I’m tired, that it’s just another night, that the ache in my chest is nothing. But I know better.
I think about what I told Serena last week, about how I see my life in five and ten years.
I said it like it was going to happen. Like I wasn’t just dreaming.
But standing here now, looking at this empty kitchen, I realize I’ve been building my life like a house without a heartbeat.
It’s lonely here and I want that dream I described to Serena.
I want a family. That’s everything that I’m working towards.
I grab a beer from the fridge and step outside. Somewhere down the road, a dog barks, and I hear the faint hum of the ocean waves hitting the rocks. It’s peaceful, but it’s lonely.
I sit on the porch steps, elbows resting on my knees, and take a long drink. The beer’s cold, and it does nothing to fill the space inside me.
Rowan’s face keeps flashing through my mind.
The way she laughs when she’s trying not to smile.
The way she stands with her hands on her hips, chin tilted up like she’s daring the world to test her.
The way her eyes go soft when she’s working with her plants, completely lost in her own little universe.
She’d call this porch too plain. She’d tell me it needs color. Flowers, she’d say, or at least a few herbs in pots. Then she’d fill the space with life without even trying. It would probably be insanely chaotic just like her cottage with all of her plants.
I tilt my head back and look down the street towards the shop where Rowan lives above. “You’re thinking too much,” I mutter to myself.
The phone on the counter buzzes through the screen door. Once, twice, then goes still. I get up, walk back inside, and check the message.
Rowan: You awake?
Her name lights up my phone like a flare in the dark.
I stare at it for a second, trying to play it cool, but my heart kicks hard in my chest. It’s stupid how fast I grab the phone.
Yeah.
The reply bubble pops up almost immediately.
Rowan: Can’t sleep. Thinking about what’s going to happen if Sammy makes good on his threat of getting me evicted. He just has to talk to Mark and I’m done here. I don’t know what I’ll do.
We’ll figure it out if it happens. But Mark also likes your rent.
Rowan: True. Thanks for your help today. Why aren’t you sleeping? Need me to come read you a bed-time story?
Maybe.
I shake my head and smile. My fingers hover over the keys before I type.
You’re trouble, Ro.
Her response takes a few seconds.
Rowan: Good thing you like trouble.
I set the phone on the counter, but I don’t move. I just stand there, the glow of the screen fading into the dark.
For the first time in a long time, the house doesn’t feel quite so empty. And she’s right. I love trouble.