Page 40 of Lily In The Valley
“I don’t expect chaos.” She smirked, her voice already softening. “It just finds me,” she added with a fake pout.
“I love you like this,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Like what?”
“Light.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I felt her hesitation in the silence that followed. I heard her walls trying to reconstruct themselves mid-trail. But I didn’t push. I clicked my tongue and nudged Leo forward, giving her the space to breathe through whatever that four-letter word stirred up in her. Behind me, I heard her reins tighten, then loosen.
The rhythm of her horse’s hooves synched with mine. Our guides continued joking as we made our way through the trail. She laughed and looked softer than the woman demanded her to be. The girl her parents needed her to be. I let myself believe we were solid, even if she hadn’t spoken the words yet.
Chapter 12
Khalil
By the timewe’d scrubbed off the red dust and horse sweat, napped and rested, the fading sun cast long shadows over the resort grounds. We’d taken advantage of the cooling night to walk the grounds, hand in hand. We were heading back to our casita when we passed a tucked away path behind the spa. Lanterns flickered above the sand-washed stone path, beeswax candles burning on low wooden tables arranged between clusters of tall cacti and shaded tents. There was something soft about the space. Intentional. Like it was waiting for us.
“Let’s try this,” I said, already reaching for an apron.
Kelly squinted at the sign written in chalk. “You and plants, I swear. What happened to getting another massage?”
I shot her a lazy grin as I tied the apron behind my back. “If you want me to stretch that pussy out again, just say that.”
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t walk away either. She joined me, grabbing an apron and sliding onto the stool beside me. I watched her thumb through the herbs on the table. Delicate movements even though her jaw was set tight. She looked like she’d just touched a memory that still had teeth.
The instructor, a petite older woman with gray locs in a regal bun, greeted each person with a hug. Her name was Joi, and she moved through the garden like she belonged to it. Once she had everyone’s attention, she told us the workshop was about intention setting through nature. We’d be building herb bundles to take home as reminders of what we needed more of in our lives.
I tuned her out for a while. Not because I wasn’t listening, but because I already knew what I needed. My hands moved instinctively across the herbs, picking up sprigs, tucking them into a small pile without overthinking.
“You weren’t the only one Ms. Sonya taught about plants,” I said to Kelly, who was eyeing my bundle with intrigue. “You may have been her favorite person, but I was her favorite student. I know more about these plants than she ever tried to teach you.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
Growth.
I focused back on the bouquet. Rosemary first, the smell of grounding and focus. My anchor when the world pulled me in too many directions. Then basil, sweet and strong. Something about it always made me feel like I deserved more. Next came lavender, for the nights when the weight of my past caught up with me. For the things I carried in silence. I held it for a second longer before placing it in, brushing the stem like it might recognize me. Cool and clean mint was next. As I crushed a leaf between my fingers, its scent lingered in the air.Speak up, it seemed to say.Say it scared if you have to, but say it. I finished the bundle with some dandelion wild, bright, and a little unruly.
Joi walked over and examined the bundle I’d built. “Very interesting,” she started, her eyes flicking from the herbs to me. “I don’t get many people straying from lavender or sage in these workshops.” She turned to Kelly with a grin that made me wonder what she already saw.
Kelly tried to play it cool, but she was blinking more than usual. Her hand hovered over a sprig of sage before she picked it up and handed it to Joi. “I’m not sure what else I need,” she admitted.
“Sage is a great start for you.” Her hands maneuvered through the rest of the plants with the same ease as me. “Let’s add some motherwort, a little chamomile, few springs of thyme.” She bundled the herbs and glanced at them, tapping her finger on the table. “Something’s missing here?”
I reached over and handed her a bright gold flower with jagged petals, like sunlight that grew teeth.
“Oh, you know a little something, huh? This is perfect.” Joi bundled it all and handed it to Kelly like it was fragile, sacred. She took it in both hands, not sure if she was ready to hold it.
“Motherwort for your heart, when it’s been armored too long.” Kelly’s eyes went glassy, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Joi kept going. “Chamomile to rest without guilt. Thyme for courage. Sage for release. Calendula…” She paused, smiling. “To remind you that joy still belongs to you. Even now.”
I’d known Kelly a long time. Knew her posture, her moods, the way her silence changed shape depending on what haunted her. The way she looked down at the bundle unfurled a softness she’d never shared with the world. Not with her friends, rarely with me. For damn sure not with her parents.
I wanted to protect it. I wanted her to feel safe enough to keep growing it.
When Joi asked us to write an affirmation for our bundles, I scribbled mine and kept it covered as I slipped it between the herbs. I stood to return our aprons and got caught in conversation with Joi about root systems and climate zones. I didn’t realize Kelly had peeked until I turned and caught her staring at me with awe.
She held it in her eyes, swimming with our history. Traced the timeline between college nights spent together and breakdowns she thought she hid better than she did. She was finally beginning to see me, not as her homeboy, not as a safety net, not as a stand-in. But as hers.
She saw the words written on my slip of paper.
