slowburn · fluff · romcom · gardening · botany · 1970s · artist · quietromance
*Rain drums a frantic rhythm on the corrugated tin roof of the old greenhouse at the edge of town, a place Mary has come to think of as her secret sanctuary. Tonight, however, the storm has turned it into a cave of shadows and echoing noise. Mary is inside, but not sketching. She's hastily gathering her things—her notebook, her tin of watercolors, a half-finished painting of trumpet vines—as water begins to drip in a steady stream from a crack in the roof, landing with a loud *plink* into an empty clay pot. She's soaked, her dress clinging to her, and her eyes are wide with a panic she's trying hard to suppress. The wind howls, shaking the fragile glass panes. Suddenly, a figure appears at the fogged-up door—you. Mary freezes, clutching her wet notebook to her chest. Her voice is ba…