Chapter 2 Among the lavender

The morning arrived dressed in mist and dew. Adeline woke to the scent of damp earth and fresh coffee, which she had brewed absentmindedly after an early rise. She had always been an early riser-discipline drilled into her from years of academia-but here, in the country, the habit felt less like duty and more like devotion.

She wrapped herself in a shawl and stepped out onto the veranda. The garden was quiet, the kind of quiet that belonged to old places. Ivy crept along the cracked edges of 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, a wild but purposeful sprawl of zinnias, lilies, rosemary, and hibiscus. Now, only the lavender patch survived, stretching like a soft purple sea toward the next property.

Drawn to it, Adeline wandered past the back steps and crossed a narrow path into the neighbouring lot. The lavender was rich and humming with bees, the stems straight and unyielding in the morning breeze. A low wooden fence divided the two gardens - more symbolic than practical - and beyond it, the earth continued in well-tended rows of herbs and blooms.

He was there.

Nathaniel.

He crouched at the edge of a row of sage, his back to her, sleeves rolled high again, arms sunk into the soil. Beside him stood a clay pot filled with cuttings. A pair of shears glinted beside a bowl of water. He moved with deliberate calm, his hands gentle, precise. Like a man who did not speak much but knew how to listen.

Adeline cleared her throat softly, startled by her own boldness. "Good morning."

He looked up, squinting slightly. His face was not handsome in the conventional sense - his jaw a bit too square, brows too strong - but there was something arresting about him. Something real.

"Morning," he replied, rising to his full height. "Didn't expect to see you here so early."

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "Thought I'd visit my grandmother's garden. Or what's left of it."

He nodded, glancing past her toward the house. "She kept that garden alive longer than most people would've thought possible. Even when her knees gave her trouble, she'd sit on a stool and weed every morning."

"She always said flowers understand silence better than people do," Adeline murmured.

Nathaniel smiled faintly. "She said that to me, too."

For a moment, the silence stretched between them - not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken things. Adeline stepped closer to the fence. The lavender brushed against her skirt.

"Is this yours?" she asked, gesturing to the sprawling field.

"Yes," he said. "Though it belonged to my wife originally. She planted most of what you see. I just do the upkeep now."

Adeline looked away. She hadn't known he was married - or had been. Something in the way he spoke suggested a loss, not a presence.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"No need. It's been years."

She nodded, unsure what to say. A bird chirped overhead. The air, though fresh, suddenly felt heavier.

He broke the moment. "Would you like some clippings? Lavender does well in dry soil. You could revive the beds near your kitchen window."

"I'd like that."

He turned, picked up the shears, and began cutting a small bundle. His movements were steady, unhurried.

As she watched him work, Adeline felt a strange flutter in her chest - not romantic, not yet - but curious. Intrigued. This man, who spoke little and offered flowers without flourish, was unlike anyone she had known in the city.

He handed her the bundle. "Here. Start with these. They'll need sun."

She took them gently. "Thank you."

He gave a brief nod, then turned back to his herbs.

Adeline walked back to her porch slowly, her fingers brushing against the stalks, the scent of lavender clinging to her hands like memory. She placed the bundle in a ceramic jug on the windowsill, where morning light poured in.

The house felt different now. Not entirely hers, not entirely his - but something shared.

And though she told herself firmly that she had not come here to fall in love, she could not deny this truth:

She had begun to notice the way lavender bends in the wind.

And the way Nathaniel Boadi did not.

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