by Heron, Farah
Rowan had a sweatshirt over the T-shirt when I found him at his car, so I couldn’t see how it looked on him. The sweatshirt was a cool gray that brought out the pale brown in his otherwise dark eyes.
I needed to stop staring.
I got into the car, schooling my voice to be light and easy. “You ready for this? I would say it’s your modeling debut, but you modeled in your school fashion show, right?”
He laughed. “Yup. I’m an old hand at this.” He put the car in reverse and pulled out into the street. “Only weird thing will be standing around for pictures at the nursery while the rest of my crew are busy.”
“Your crew? Oh, wait, you’re a supervisor, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but just a shift supervisor. I’m the lead for my team, which doesn’t mean much because most of my team are, like, fourteen- to sixteen-year-olds.”
After turning into Wynter’s, he drove past the retail store and the barn to a more distant parking lot outside the large greenhouse. He parked, and we headed to the entrance. Rowan swiped his card on a pad near the door.
“After you,” he said with a gallant swing of his arm, holding the door open for me. I laughed as I walked in.
And then stopped dead.
I mean, logically, I had known what I was getting into here. The greenhouse was enormous from the outside, and I’d assumed it would be filled with flowers. But in reality? I had no freaking clue.
Because what looked big from the outside was humongously enormous inside. I literally could not see the back wall of the place. It was so full. Crammed with rows and rows of flowers and plants.
On shelves, on wire benches, on skids, in urns, in buckets, were plants of all sizes, including wide plastic flats containing rows and rows of tiny seedlings. Even the ceiling was full. Rows of hanging baskets were hooked onto rails moving around the room. I didn’t need to ask; Rowan could see me wondering what the heck that was about.
“They keep moving so they get even sunlight and pass under the watering hose once a day. It’s all automated.”
I shook my head in awe. “This is a lot of flowers. Are all commercial greenhouses like this?”
He nodded. “This is on the bigger size, but most nurseries have more than one greenhouse, while we have only the one. We also have a number of outdoor fields. And a lot of the revenue here comes from the labs. You know, propagation, breeding, that sort of thing. Want to have a look around before we take the pictures?”
I nodded. This place was enchanting. I was also very glad I’d taken one of Dr. Johnston’s heavy-duty antihistamines.
Rowan took me row by row through the greenhouse, pointing out flowers and introducing me to the workers we encountered. Everyone seemed friendly, especially the other teenagers we saw (they must have been Rowan’s team), but clearly a little surprised. I was pretty sure I was the first date Rowan had brought to the greenhouse.
Wait . . . date? Was this a date? No, I’d won a bet; that’s why we were here. But . . . even if I’d lost, we’d be eating ice cream together now. Still kind of date-y. And we’d held hands looking at the stars for over an hour last night. That was date-y, too.
I wouldn’t think too much about it right now. As we moved to the next row of plantings, someone called Rowan over and said something very technical sounding.
Rowan touched my arm. “I’ll be a sec. The seedling-plug maker is acting up. I know how to get her humming again.” He smiled apologetically.
I had no idea what those words meant, but wow, he certainly did. That confidence was appealing. “No prob. Go ahead. I’ll be here.”
I walked through the next aisle. As I leaned to get close enough to read some labels—chrysanthemums—someone called to me.
“Tahira? What are you doing here?”
Cameron. I’d forgotten he worked at Wynter’s. “Oh, hey, Cameron. Just doing a photo shoot with Rowan.”
We chatted a few minutes, and he asked me about Gia three times. I was delighted. He was as smitten as Gia was.
Eventually, Rowan found us.
“Hey, Rowan,” Cameron said. “Can’t stay away even on your day off, eh?”
“Hi, Cam.” Rowan smiled, then turned to me. “My dad just texted—he wants us to come say hello in the lab.”
“Well, you don’t want to keep one of the double doctors waiting,” Cameron said.
I didn’t understand, and I thought Rowan might explain or laugh, but he just said goodbye to Cameron, and we headed out.
The lab was smaller than I expected. It reminded me more of a high school biology classroom than the sterile white labs I’d seen in movies.
“There you are, kids!” Rowan’s dad wore a white lab coat and sat at a computer against the wall. His wide smile looked like Juniper’s, though his face was more like Rowan’s.
After Rowan introduced me, his dad asked me what I thought of Wynter’s.
“It’s impressive. I’ve never seen so much color,” I said. “The lab is cool, too—thanks for having me here, Mr. Johnston.”
“Ah, it’s actually Dr. Johnston, but of course Misty is also Dr. Johnston, so how about you call me Grant?”
“Oh.” I looked at Rowan. “Is that what Cameron meant by ‘double doctors’? Because both your parents are doctors?”
Rowan sighed, sitting on one of the high stools at one of the counters. He motioned me to sit on another one. “Yeah. Cam’s harmless. He’s parroting what other folks say; he doesn’t really get why it’s a problem. It’s an old nickname around here that Mom and Dad can’t seem to shake.”
Dr. Johnston gave Rowan a knowing look before turning to me. “Tahira, what do your parents do?”
“Dad’s a lawyer; Mom’s VP of HR at a hotel company.”
“So you probably get this, too. When people who don’t look like us remind us of our successes, like calling Misty and me ‘double doctors,’ even when we’re not together, it’s because they feel we should be grateful they gave us the opportunity to thrive. But they didn’t give us anything—we earned it ourselves. You can bet they don’t feel the need to remind white families of their accomplishments.”
I nodded. I had seen this before. “Or they think you only achieved your success because of your skin color,” I said. It was like the people who thought I’d gotten the internship with Nilusha only because we’re both brown.
Dr. Johnston seemed impressed. “Ah, perceptive girl. I can see why my kids are so charmed.” A chime sounded from across the room. “Ah! That’s the centrifuge done. Want to see what I’m working on?” He spent the next half hour showing us his specimens in the laboratory’s centrifuge machine and the data he was compiling on the computer. Then he showed us around the mini greenhouse where his experiments were kept. I liked Rowan’s dad. He was chatty like Juniper but got to the heart of the matter right away, like Rowan.
“Now,” Dr. Johnston said, pushing us out of the lab, “I need to get back to work, and you two should be out there doing what teenagers do . . . actually, never mind. I’m a biologist. I know what teenagers do. Don’t do that.”
“Your dad would be a great teacher,” I said as we headed back outside.
“Yeah, most people here say that. He’s really cool at work.”
“He’s not like that at home?”
Rowan shook his head as we made our way back to the large greenhouse. “No. He is. He’s a good guy, honestly. I could have it worse. He’s still not happy about my school choice, but it’s not like he’s constantly telling me I’m making a mistake or anything. At least not anymore. Dad just sees science, technology, and business as success. He thinks I’m wasting my abilities. Didn’t help that I won all those science awards in school—I can do the science, but garden design is what I want to do.”
“Our parents should get together for chai. My other desi friends think mine are so lax because they let me date who I want, but that’s the only thing they’re ‘lax’ about. In everything else, they’re pretty typical. I mean, I appreciate that they suppor
t me going into fashion, but they can be a bit . . . intense.”
“You think they’re pushing you too hard?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “There is no way I would be where I am today without them pushing me, and I am grateful. But sometimes it feels like they’re only okay with me doing fashion as long as I’m the best at it. Get the best internships, go to the best fashion school, work to make a name for myself even before I’m out of high school so I can open my fashion line while I’m young.”
“That sounds . . . stifling.”
I shrugged. “I mean, I do want to be a designer. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And it’s an incredibly competitive field, so I can’t pull it off without working my butt off. But I sometimes wonder if they’d nag less if I’d picked law or business. They seem slightly more chill with my sister and her math obsession . . .” I squeezed my lips together. I’d never really considered that before. Would they have preferred if I wanted to do something more conventional with my life?
But that wasn’t something I was ready to think about. I smiled at Rowan. “I can’t wait to start taking pictures of you, Plant-Boy. Are you ready?”
He beamed. “I am. You’re in charge; where do you want me?”
19
THE SECRET GARDEN
There were a few massive machines at the back of the greenhouse that weren’t running right now, so we decided to start there. The whole building had a ton of natural light (because, duh . . . greenhouse), and I loved the juxtaposition of the colorful flowers against the industrial-looking equipment. Rowan helped me pull some large plastic buckets of flowers to fill the empty spaces around us. With the sunbeams hitting the hanging baskets above us, these pictures were going to be spectacular. Well, mostly they were going to be spectacular because of the person who was modeling.
Rowan finally took off the sweatshirt, and I nearly passed out when I saw him in my shirt. He looked amazing. I’d told him to wear straight-leg black jeans, which I quickly rolled to above those beat-up Chucks he always wore. Nicer sneakers would probably have been better, but these shoes were more Rowan.
He preened when he noticed me checking out his outfit. “Do I meet your exacting standards?” he asked.
“You already did, but yes. You are totally doing my shirt justice.”
I posed him in a few different places and took a handful of shots. Some of him leaning against the machines, some surrounded by the flowers, some bathed in sunlight. I couldn’t help it; I even took some close-up shots of Rowan’s face, where the shirt could barely even be seen. I had been right. He was such a dream to photograph. Except something was missing. I’d first found his face compelling when he was always grumpy. But that scowl, the frown, had been pretty much missing lately.
“Let’s try one without a smile.”
He made a more neutral expression. It wasn’t enough.
“Pretend it’s the day you first found me in your garden,” I said. “Give me that face.”
He laughed. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I still snapped some pictures.
“Frown! Show me your range, Plant-Boy.”
He tried, but it was such a comically fake scowl that I burst out laughing.
“Hey,” Cameron said, approaching us. “I’m on my break. Want me to get some pictures of both of you? Gigi makes me take pictures of her all the time. I’m good at it.”
Excellent. I passed Cameron the camera and walked over to Rowan.
We did a few of my favorite poses. Back to back. Standing side to side, unsmiling. Me sitting on one of the wire stands with Rowan next to me. We even did a shot like that one of Leanne and Juniper—Rowan behind me with his arms around my waist and his head on my shoulder. I leaned into him, trying to calm my racing heart from being so close. He smelled like . . . well, a bit like dirt, a bit like the bleach they used in the greenhouse, and a lot like flowers. He smelled like Rowan.
He leaned into my neck for a second and whispered, “I have a surprise for you when we’re done.”
I smiled. Whatever it was, I couldn’t imagine it being better than Rowan Johnston wrapped around me, but I was excited anyway.
After Cameron finished taking pictures, we headed outside. I took a couple more photos outside the greenhouse, but honestly, they weren’t as good as the inside pictures.
“You want me to take some of you alone?” Rowan asked.
“No, it’s fine.” There were more than enough pictures of me on my Instagram. I’d post the ones of us together, but this photo shoot wasn’t about me. “You sure you’re okay with me posting you on feed?” I asked.
“Of course. I knew what I was getting into.”
“Excellent.” I grinned. “Now I want to see my surprise.”
“All right, then. C’mon. We’ll need to drive there, but it’s here at Wynter’s.”
We jumped in his car, and he drove around to the back of the greenhouse. I had no idea this place kept going so far back. It mostly looked like unused space, but after driving a bit, we came to a field that was like a regular farmer’s field, though instead of crops, there were flowers. Not as colorful as the ones in the greenhouse, and wispier, with lots of leaves, but in the outdoor sun, the blooms looked pretty amazing.
“Wow,” I said.
“This is all pretty new. Wynter’s didn’t do outdoor flower farming until recently. They had all this land back here with nothing to do with it. These plants are grown for cut flowers that we sell at local markets, instead of the greenhouse plants we sell to garden centers and landscapers.” He pulled over on the side of the road. “Sometimes we also open this all to the public—like, have tours and let people throw parties here and stuff. But it’s a pain because of—”
“Influencers, right?” I joked.
He chuckled, nodding. “Exactly. Hundreds of them. They swarm like ravens in the fields.”
I laughed as we got out of the car. “Anyway,” he said, “there’s one field over there that will be open next week. But I thought you’d like to see it before the crowds invade.”
He popped his trunk, pulled out the tote bag he’d been carrying earlier, and guided me to a path.
I finally saw the field, and it literally took my breath away. Sunflowers. A big field with nothing but sunflowers. There were some tall ones (these must have been the mythical ones with seven-foot stems) and some shorter ones. Some had blooms as big as dinner plates, and others were smaller. They were all in varying shades of golden yellow, with green leaves glowing against the bright-blue sky. I’d never seen anything like it. I wanted to take a picture. I resisted the urge to take out my camera so I could just enjoy this moment.
“You brought me to a sunflower field?” I said to Rowan.
He smiled, looking kinda unsure. Rowan Johnston was a lot of things, sometimes crabby, sometimes cheerful, sometimes intense, and always confident. But this? Nervous and apprehensive? This was new.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked.
“Sandwiches, drinks, and tarts from Hyacinth’s.”
I blinked. He’d brought me a picnic in a sunflower field. Just us. Alone in this enchanting place.
“There’s a clearing in the middle there,” he said. “I brought a blanket.”
We followed a narrow path to the clearing.
“They don’t plant here in the middle so people can take pictures with flowers on three sides,” he said as he laid out the blanket. “It’s going to be completely overrun next week, but now we can chill here alone.”
I stood watching him, speechless.
He noticed I had pretty much frozen in place. “You okay, Tahira? We don’t have to stay here. We can go if you want?”
I shook my head quickly. “No, no. I want . . .” I tilted my head. “You brought me a picnic in the middle of a flower field.”
“Oh, your allergies, but I thought the new antihis—”
I waved my hand. “No, no, my allergies are fine. Your mom’s pills work great.” I didn’t know what to say, so I channeled Ju
niper and went with honest and earnest. “Honestly, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m just . . . this is so kind. Thank you, Rowan.”
He smiled so huge it took my breath away. I smiled back.
We stood in the sunflower field grinning at each other for a while like idiots before I absolutely couldn’t go another moment without asking one question. “Rowan, is this a date?”
“Do you want it to be?”
Did I? I mean, yeah, there was no denying my feelings for this guy had evolved lately. Like night and day evolved. Like a complete one-eighty. He’d brought me this picnic in this amazing place, and he held my hand when the night sky was freaking me out, and he gave me his pencil crayons and a light for my drafting table and told me that being single-minded didn’t mean I deserved to be treated like shit. Maybe all those things meant this could be the beginning of something amazing. And maybe I shouldn’t be so afraid of that.
Matteo and I had just broken up, but this didn’t feel anything at all like with Matteo. I couldn’t even put my finger on why, but now, and all the other times Rowan and I were alone, I was completely myself. The real me.
The problem was, this me wasn’t the same me I was a month ago, and that freaked me out a bit.
When I didn’t say anything, he took my hand and pulled me down to sit on the blanket. “Let’s just call it a picnic right now. We can figure the rest out later.”
I unwrapped my sandwich. “Okay, but let me ask you . . . why did you buy this food before you knew who won the bet? If you won, we’d be staying in town and going for ice cream.”
He shrugged. “I figured you’d win. Your designs are always amazing. My strength is more the execution. Anyway, if I won, I was still going to ask you to come here after the ice cream.”
The caprese sandwich with tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil was delicious. The fancy sparkling lemonade was delightful. But the view was better than both of them, so I could only get through half my meal before I stopped eating to take pictures. Close-ups of sunflowers, a wide shot of the whole field. Rowan sitting on the grass, huge yellow blooms surrounding him. The pictures would just be for me—I wouldn’t post them on my Instagram.