The path is empty at this hour. October has brought with it a chill that requires jackets, even when the sun is shining, and carries the scent of damp leaves and woodsmoke from somewhere distant. My footsteps sound louder than usual against the stone.
But inside the greenhouse, summer persists.
Calder is seated at the far bench working on a small wooden tray. His hands move with slow precision as he sands the edge smooth, the compass tattoo on his forearm visible in the amber light. He looks up when I enter and acknowledges me with a quiet nod.
I close the door behind me and sit at the table across from him, close enough that I can hear the rasp of sandpaper and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Close enough to breathe in that cedar and cold air scent. Close enough to give me some respite from my rambling thoughts.
What if Gideon is right? What if I’m one of the last people to see Olivia alive? It’s painting everything in muted shades of gray and I don’t know how to get the color back.
The silence stretches between us, comfortable and unforced. He returns to his work. I watch the wood shavings gather on the bench, fine and pale, catching the light.
"You okay?" His voice is low.
"I couldn’t concentrate."
He nods like that makes perfect sense. He doesn't look at me when he speaks, his attention stays on the tray, hands steady as he smooths a rough edge.
"I went to see Olivia." I chew my bottom lip. “I’m scared, Calder.”
He sets the tray aside and finally looks at me. "I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise."
I believe he means it, but it doesn’t make it any less terrifying. "What if it’s beyond your control?"
He walks around the table and folds me into his arms. The feeling of safety engulfs me in a heartbeat with the beating ofhis heart beneath my ear as I rest my head on his chest. His arms are strong. His body is warm. And his scent takes my mind off my fears, long enough for me to smile against his sweater.
When he pulls away, he holds my arms and maintains eye contact. “What are you afraid of?”
That some kind of previously unknown illness is attacking omegas in colleges. That Gideon Stockwell’s conspiracy theory is right. That someone killed Iris, Lydia, and Shannon, and now they’re targeting Olivia.
“I’m afraid she’ll die of natural causes like the others, and everyone will believe it.”
He studies me closely. Then, “You don’t believe it?”
I shake my head and take a deep breath. “I don’t know what to believe.”
He doesn’t tell me that my fears are unfounded. He doesn’t say that I’ll be fine because I’m strong and healthy. Instead, he says, “That’s understandable. I’d be scared too.”
I smile. “You would?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “So, don’t ever be afraid to tell me how you feel. I only wish there was something I could do to take those frown lines away.”
Without warning, he smooths the lines between my eyebrows with his thumb, and I feel the contact spreading through me and tingling between my legs.
“I…” My brain needs a moment to coordinate with my mouth. I can think of plenty of things he could do to take them away, and every single one of them involves physical contact that I’m not sure I’m ready for. “Thank you.”
I avert my eyes before he feels the heat radiating from my face. The tray he's been working on sits between us now, smooth edges, careful joints. I realize it's meant to hold seedling pots, the kind that need drainage and airflow.
"For the propagation table?" I ask.
"If you want it." He releases me, and folds his arms, and I wish I could wrap them back around me so that I feel safe again.
I glance down at the table beside me, where a small jar sits, soil packed too tightly around the basil seedling I planted yesterday, the surface uneven. I must have been distracted; I can’t imagine why.
"I think I compacted this too much," I say, more to myself than him. "The roots won't have room."
I drag my hand across the table and flinch when something sharp lodges inside the tender pad of my thumb. I stare at the splinter, a thin sliver of wood protruding from my skin.
I go to lick it, and Calder takes my hand, turning it palm upward. “Stay still.”
