Chapter 26 Rowan #2
A tray of lavender tipped over in the wind earlier. The mint is flooded. The chamomile is ready to be harvested and dried. I crouch, digging my fingers into the wet soil, my hair plastered to my face.
Tears blur with rain until I can’t tell which is which.
I’ve been trying so hard. Working every day to make this business work, to keep the apothecary going, to stay positive while the town seems determined to chip away at me.
I wanted to build something for me to give back to the community and help people.
And every time I turn around, something is coming up against me and I can't figure out why.
The Pilates girls being petty, Sammy screwing with permits, and the endless whispers about witches and Marens and troublemakers.
And Finn. Things are still weird between us, but better than they were, but still hard. He’s been quiet lately, distant sometimes, like he’s trying to carry something on his own again. He's been working very hard lately.
Maybe that’s why I came out here. Because at least in the greenhouse, I can fix things. And in my life right now I can't seem to make sense of anything.
I sit back on my heels, water dripping off the side of the greenhouse, and whisper, “Was I even supposed to do this? Maybe I’m not cut out for running a business.”
The rain answers with angry pelting on the roof of the greenhouse.
I close my eyes and picture Coconut Beach. The sun, the smell of saltwater and sunscreen, Finn’s laugh echoing across the sand. Everything was simple there. Just us. Here, everything feels like work.
I swipe at the hot tears that streak my cheeks and reach for another plant, but the soil is too wet, my fingers slip, and frustration breaks through me like lightning. I let out a shaky laugh that turns into a sob.
“Everything’s falling apart,” I say to no one. “I just wanted to fix one thing.”
A sound cuts through the rain. Tires on gravel. A door slamming.
Then a voice. “Have you lost your damn mind?”
I spin around. Finn’s jogging toward me through the downpour, soaked from head to toe. His hair’s plastered to his forehead, his shirt clinging to his chest.
He looks half furious, half terrified.
“What are you doing here?” I shout over the rain.
“Willa called,” he says, tossing the tarp down beside me. “Said you were out here in the rain like a crazy person.”
I scoff through the tears. “Of course she did.”
He stops in front of me, breathing hard, eyes scanning the greenhouse. “You’re drenched.”
“So are you,” I say. “And it's just a little rain. It's not like it's lightning or anything.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t plan on swimming tonight.”
I look down at the mess of herbs around me. “The wind knocked everything over. I wanted to work on things out here.”
Finn crouches beside me, his boots sinking into the mud. Without another word, he starts righting the trays, pressing his big hands into the soil, working quietly.
The sight of him there, mud streaked, sleeves rolled up, helping me, God, it’s too much. I don't even deserve him.
“Finn, you didn’t have to come out here. I thought you were staying up in Freedom Valley on a job. That’s four hours away.”
“Yeah, I was. But I missed you.” His tone is so soft it almost breaks me.
I reach for a fallen sprig of rosemary, tears burning again. “I’m trying so hard, but I feel like everything’s against me. Maybe I’m not good at this. Maybe I’m not meant to have this.”
He looks up at me through the rain, and his eyes steady. “You’re not bad at anything, Rowan. You just can’t control everything. No one can.”
I shake my head, voice small. “Why does it all keep falling apart?”
He leans closer, his hand covering mine. “Because you’re human. And because you care. That’s what makes it hard. But that’s also what makes it worth it.”
The rain drums louder. My lip trembles. “I just wanted one thing to go right.”
He pulls me against him, wet clothes and all, his arms wrapping tight around me. “We're going right.”
I let out a weak laugh, half a sob. “Things are weird between us.”
He chuckles against my hair. “They're not weird, just busy.”
We kneel there for a while, mud between our fingers, rain soaking through every layer, quietly replanting what we can. The world around us smells like wet earth and rosemary and something new trying to grow.
When the worst of it’s done, he brushes the back of his knuckles along my cheek. “I’ve got you.”
The words hit something deep in me, something that’s been brittle for too long.
I lean into him, forehead against his, the rain still falling around us. “I love you."
He smiles, eyes soft. “I love you so much, Row.”
We stay like that until the rain slows to a whisper. The greenhouse glows under the string lights, puddles reflecting tiny pinpricks of gold.
Finn’s thumb traces a slow path down my cheek, and the look in his eyes changes with something soft but heavy with something that makes the air go still. The rain hits the roof in a slow rhythm. My pulse matches it.
“Rowan,” he murmurs, voice low. He kisses me. It starts gentle, a promise pressed to my lips, then deepens, all the tension and fear and wanting that’s been simmering between us spilling out. My hands clutch at his soaked shirt while his slide up to the back of my neck, warm against my skin.
I don’t remember how we end up on top of the potting bench, only that his body is solid heat against mine, the scent of wet cedar and rain thick around us. He kisses me again, slower now, savoring, like he’s reminding us both that we still fit perfectly, hopelessly together.
His mouth moves to my jaw, my throat, each touch making it harder to breathe. I tilt my head back, eyes fluttering shut.
“Finn,” I whisper, barely audible over the rain.
He stills, forehead pressed to mine. “Tell me this is okay, baby.”
“It’s better than okay. I need you and I need us to be okay.”
What happens next feels like an actual storm itself. It's slow, powerful, and indescribable. His hands explore, careful and reverent, until the world narrows to the sound of rain, our ragged breathing, and the soft scrape of his whisper against my ear: I’ve got you.
Later, the greenhouse is quiet again. The rain has eased to drizzle, and we’re tangled together, still catching our breath. The plants around us smell of life and new beginnings.
Finn brushes a strand of wet hair from my face. “See?” he murmurs. “We can fix things. Even this.”
I smile, resting my hand over his heart. “You're right.”
Outside, the first bit of moonlight breaks through the clouds. Inside, the air hums with warmth, renewal, and something that feels a lot like home.
For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like I’m fighting the whole world. I feel like I’m part of it again.
And maybe that’s enough for tonight.