she had brewed absentmindedly after an early rise. She had always been an early riser-discipline drilled in

f the stone fence. The flower beds, left unattended for months, looked tired but not quite dead. Her grandmother's garden had once been a quilt of colour and fragrance,

s rich and humming with bees, the stems straight and unyielding in the morning breeze. A low wooden fence divided the

as t

han

l. Beside him stood a clay pot filled with cuttings. A pair of shears glinted beside a bowl of water. He mov

softly, startled by her o

he conventional sense - his jaw a bit too square, brows too stro

to his full height. "Didn't ex

hought I'd visit my grandmother'

alive longer than most people would've thought possible. Even when he

erstand silence better than

faintly. "She sai

mfortable, but thick with unspoken things. Adeline stepped

asked, gesturing to

my wife originally. She planted most of

s married - or had been. Something in the w

," she sai

It's bee

bird chirped overhead. The air, th

ppings? Lavender does well in dry soil. You c

like

nd began cutting a small bundle. H

omantic, not yet - but curious. Intrigued. This man, who spoke little and of

e. "Here. Start with th

em gently.

od, then turned b

talks, the scent of lavender clinging to her hands like memory. She placed

Not entirely hers, not entir

hat she had not come here to fall in

tice the way lavend

Nathaniel Bo

-