Rowan's strong arms made Penthia feel safe. She didn't know why or how it was possible. But as she nestled closer, the subtle scent of ocean breeze from his demi-blue jacket, mixed with a hint of crisp autumn air, enveloped her senses, and the rhythmic sound of his steady breathing calmed her heart. It was as though these tiny details anchored her to a place where she could finally let her guard down. 

 
Still, her heart trusted that he was there, even though they had only met this Friday. 

 
The traveler doesn’t have to speak. Penthia feels the empathy radiating from his gaze, a silent communication that is more eloquent than words. His eyes soften, and as a tear threatens to escape from her eye, Rowan gently raises a hand and brushes it away with his thumb. This simple gesture, full of unspoken understanding, reassures Penthia during her most vulnerable moment. 

 
Behind his navy blue eyes, concern radiates the words, 'I am here. Let me in.' Yet he is holding her upper body with the lightest touch possible. Rowan’s gaze lingers on Penthia, his brow furrowing as he notices her trembling. The depth of his worry is clear in his expression, giving Penthia permission to release her pain. She weeps into his chest. Tears stream down her cheeks. She struggles—Erika's confession swirls in her mind. Her heart throbs. She is uncertain how to bear the pain.    

 
With just one look, Penthia knows Rowan isn’t going to leave her. 

 
"You heard them?" Rowan asks softly, brushing his fingers through her red curls. 

 
Penthia can only nod yes before another sob escapes her. 

 
Rowan exhales, worry creasing his brow as he sees her pain. He pauses, then quietly apologizes, placing a comforting hand on her back. His voice is soft and sorrowful. 

 
"I am sorry you had to find out like this, Pen. But hopefully, I can give you the answers you don't have about our childhood from my point of view."    

 
Pen—a nickname Penthia always had with the Bazison family. But when Rowan said it, to her it was like hearing a sweet melody.  She hoped to hear that melody again—if Rowan would let her into his life. 

 
"O-okay!" Pen stammers, her voice trembling as she fights more tears, betrayal, and sadness, clear on her face.    
Rowan gently lets go of her, then offers his left hand, palm up, inviting her to take it. "Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice soft. 

 
Pen chuckles, "Okay, Aladdin."    

 
Rowan smiles, playing along and doing his best Aladdin impression: "Well then! Do you trust me, princess?"    

 
Penthia hesitates, glancing at Rowan to read his micro-expression. Then, responding to their playful exchange, she extends her left hand to accept his, a slight smile breaking through her tears. 

 
"Yes, though I am not a princess," Pen says, her smile bright with genuine delight.    

 
"Maybe I should call you darling, since you’re so daring with your witty remarks!" Rowan teases, grinning at her. 

 
Penthia starts to speak, but Rowan quietly places his hand on her shoulder, guiding her away from the door and into the dim hallway. As they walk, a soft creak echoes beneath their steps, a sound that briefly interrupts the silence and anchors them in the moment. Rowan glances at her, his soft chuckle reflecting relief at her sudden quietness as he leads them along the narrow villa halls. 

 
Penthia stays quiet, studying her pale, chubby fingers as Rowan's warm, thin hand covers hers, holding it gently. The echo of their footsteps and the occasional flicker from a sconce are the only signs of life in the narrow hallway. Rowan glances between the path ahead and Penthia's teary face, offering her a reassuring smile as they reach the end. 

 
Penthia quickly wipes her tears and, channeling Disney Princess Jasmine, decides to trust Rowan fully.  
 
Together, they approach the emergency exit. Rowan pushes on the door, but it doesn’t budge at first. He resets his grip and tries again, applying more upper-body strength.  

 
Beyond the door lies a breathtaking garden that instantly transports Penthia back to her childhood dreams. The wildflowers seem to lean toward one another, whispering secrets like schoolmates on a playground. She feels an immediate surge of nostalgia, recalling not just her childhood getaway from her favorite book but also her own longing for deeper connections she craved growing up. The vibrant colors of the flowers blur into the hazy memories of her youth, pulling at her heartstrings as she steps further into the scene, capturing the essence of companionship she always yearned for. 
 

Pen quickly notices more archways leading to other gardens, as well as another gate that lets people leave the Riverside Villa grounds. The tidy garden walls are full of ivory vines and roses of every natural color, crawling all the brick walls of the first garden room. Two horse statues stand on their hind legs against the back wall. Their copper had turned green from years of exposure to the weather. 

 
Pen takes in the placement of the two horses, which she didn’t realize was the centerpiece of the right corner of the twenty-by-five front walls, and the many lush leaves from a nearby ivy bush.   
 
The garden's center is a three-tiered fountain. A lotus top, carved from gray stone, sits above. Flowers of all kinds surround the fountain. The stone pathway circles the first row of flowers.  

"Wow," Pen gasps. Rowan, noticing, says proudly, "This is the perfect place to talk privately."    
 
Rowan’s heart begins to accelerate as he finds ease in the first moment alone with Pen, without any siblings to interrupt them. Then Pen surprises them both by saying, "This reminds me of my childhood favorite book." Penthia’s eyes dart excitedly around the garden, her face bright and full of awe as she takes in the sights. Rowan stands beside her, watching her reaction and quietly giving her space to marvel at the scenery. 

 
"What book was it?" Rowan curiously asks, a glimmer of joy in his eyes.    

 
"The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett," Pen casually states as she moves towards the center of the room.    

 
Rowan follows behind her with a knowing smile, saying, "Really! Many people would find that book boring."    

 
Pen chuckles. "Well, those people didn't pay attention to how the author described the garden! Frances words painted such a clear picture. I remember during school hours, at lunchtime. The scent of wood surrounded me, and the sunlight flickered across the yellow pages, casting shadows against the pavement. I was entranced, flipping pages rapidly, and suddenly I was no longer just reading. I was standing next to Mary Lennox, hidden amidst the ivy. The imagery was so vivid, a world away from my rough childhood. That single book allowed me to escape and help Mary bring the garden back to life." 

 
Pen stops by the white stone fountain and looks into the water, noticing moss at the bottom of the main seashell. 
 

"I’m guessing you related a lot to Mary Lennox as a child?" Rowan states in a matter-of-fact tone.  

 
Pen continues to gaze at the ripples created by the water droplets from the second tier of the fountain as she admits, "Yes, but my favorite character is Dickon's sister, Martha.” She pauses in amusement,” Her big mouth, snarkiness, honesty, and friendship with Mary were something I had always wanted growing up. My favorite scenes from the book are when Martha opens her big mouth to tell Mary something she wasn't supposed to tell her."    

 
Rowan chuckles at hearing Penthia's confession before teasing her in a child-like manner. "That might explain why you and Erika had become friends so easily in high school!"     

 
Pen hums in assent as she glances right, seeing Rowan seated on the nearest bench before the fountain.    

 
As she sits next to Rowan, Pen clarifies, "Erika reminds me so much of Martha Sowerby." She busies her nervous hands by smoothing the fabric of her cover-up, glancing over at Rowan as she speaks. 

 
Rowan smiles at Pen’s memory as he waits for her to start the topic of why they were there in the first place. Erika Elanie. 

 
"I do feel betrayed by Erika's actions. To know that she didn't allow me to get to know you— Rowan, that is unforgivable." Pen begins, "Yet a part of me can't be upset because I did the same to her in high school."    

 
Rowan listens quietly, his eyes focused on her beauty as Pen goes on, careful not to interrupt her as she opens up. 
 

"Erika didn't know about the gossip blog I created in high school. She found out about me being behind the name Emerald Jane from my bully." Pen pauses to collect her thoughts and admits, "That secret almost destroyed our friendship. It would have been destroyed beyond repair if Rus and Delly hadn't stepped in and had us closed off in one of the closets in Lindsey Hall."    

 
"Pen. I must say sorry to you." Rowan states with remorse, "On behalf of Erika and our family."    

Pen steps in, "None of you did anything wrong."     

 
Rowan cuts in, "No, Pen. We all agreed to this decision as a family."    

 
"What do you mean?" Pen asks with confusion.    

 
Rowan adjusts his position on the bench before beginning his explanation.    

 
“Erika was Daddy's little girl. He loved all of us dearly. But he always showed a bit more love to Erika because she reminded him so much of our mother when she was known as Iris Edgar. I remember him often whispering to her forehead, 'My little firecracker, you've got your mother's spirit.' Those words were always accompanied by a gentle touch on Erika's head, then he looked at me and asked me to promise him, 'You take care of my firecracker. Don’t ever let her light wilt, and always protect her. Family is the second most important group of people in your life." 

Rowan's eyes were soft with nostalgia. As he retells the final memory of Aster, the scent of his father's cologne, a mix of cedar and sea salt, lingered in the air, a comforting reminder of his presence. It felt like a promise bound not just by words, but by the very essence that was distinctly Lord Asher Bazinson.” 

 
Pen keeps her eyes focused on Rowan as he talks, watching his expression closely as he makes his confession. Wanting to know more about the man whom Rowan resembled.

 
"It is true. Erika had to share many of her birthdays with me growing up. I didn't know she felt alone by her so-called friends because of me til today. My father talked to Mom about Erika's discomfort with the aftermath of her thirteenth birthday party, and they had decided to have us celebrate our birthdays separately. To make it easy for Ka, Mom asked me to stay out of our home whenever Erika had her friends over. And, of course, since I love my family, I did what was best for Erika."      

 
Rowan takes a break in and out before declaring with pain behind his words. "By then, our father had died. The news of his death not only destroyed our mother and my siblings. But Erika was hit the hardest by grief. In a way, I think that is why she is holding on to her friendship with you so tightly."    

 
Pen nodded. "How did he die?" she asked carefully. "Erika wouldn’t tell me the whole story when I asked." 
 

Rowan's Adam's Apple rises and falls in distress. He begins to tell Pen the story from his memories, "While going to the bank to get money to buy our mother a bouquet of lavender and hyacinths, my father was killed. His body was inside the bank's largest vault. Delly and I couldn't hear how he was found due to them mumbling under their breath when discussing it with Xander and my mother." 

 
He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. "The police report states that my father was trying to save an old lady who wouldn't give her purse to a couple of robbers. She was saved by my father taking the bullet on her behalf." Rowan's voice turns grave. 

 
Rowan takes a moment to collect his thoughts, allowing the weight of his words to settle before moving on. "Then we heard that Franny lost her parents a few months prior due to the driver's drinking, and bizarrely, the bi- driver dashed away before the cops found their car over a ditch. As luck would have it, our parents were able to gain the paperwork to adopt Franny before our father’s death. Franny was six when we were introduced to her later on that same night." 

 
Rowan continues, "With Cy away at college, Xander became in charge of the household. He introduced Franny to us. I believe Erika was seven, Delly was ten, I was eleven, but Ella and Gab were only a year old when it happened." 

 
A slight smile crosses Rowan's face as he adds, "My dear little cousin saved us by bringing us hope through her music. Hearing Franny play the piano every morning reminded us of him and how fortunate we are to have each other. To this day, we wake up each morning with a smile as she plays a new classic piece that our mother had gifted her." 

 
Pen gives a bittersweet smile, she confesses in a wavery voice. "Erika and I bonded most over losing our athairs. That pain of having a shared experience has allowed us to create a strong friendship where we were able to rely on each other for comfort." 

Rowan looks in her direction in surprise. He never knew that Pen's father passed or the difficult childhood he had, and he wanted to know more. That is-- if she would let him.

 
Pen turns away and looks at the fountain, her voice soft. "Even though my athair died because of his gambling, he was always a thoughtful father. My favorite memories with athair were when he brought me sunflowers for my birthday. I was close to him, unlike my sisters. I miss athair a lot, and when I see the color yellow, it reminds me of him. As I have grown accustomed to his birthday presents, yellow has become my favorite color." 
 

Rowan teases,” Does that mean you will be wearing yellow again?” 

 
A light breeze rustles through the garden, lifting Pen's hair and brushing it across her cheek.  
 
Pen notices a nearby patch of English primrose swaying in the shade, its colorful petals flecked with hints of yellow, reflecting the sunlight. The bright color softly brings back memories of her childhood, of sunflowers and the light her father brought into her life, before thinking back to Rowan’s question. 

 
"How do you know I wore that color?" Pen asks, smiling curiously. 

 
Rowan admits with a goofy grin, "Although Erika made it impossible to be your friend. I remember seeing you spend the summer at our home, and seeing you wearing these historic yellow dresses from the early 1800s."  

 
Pen makes a foul face at his comment. "My mother made me wear that awful shade of color. If it were up to me, I would have worn a golden yellow, but she insisted I wear that color. My Athair had my mother compromise, and we had a deal that I could pick the style of the dresses." 

 
Rowan leans closer to Pen to ask, "So will you?"    

 
Pen looks back at him, confused by his question, then her gaze drifts toward his lips, momentarily distracted by the closeness between them. 

 
"Penthia." He whispers. Rowan savors saying her full name while he waits for her. Pen hums yes before hearing he asks again, "Will you be wearing the color yellow again?"  

 
Rowan leans back to see her face. Pen suddenly remembers who she was with, looks away in embarrassment, and stammers, "H-E DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS, NO!" with clear disgust.

Rowan starts to laugh at her innocent outburst, but as his laughter fades, a look of admiration crosses his face. In that moment, he sees the genuineness behind her playful indignation, and it tugs at something deeper within him. Rowan quickly covers his moment of vulnerability by responding swiftly. 

​

"I wasn’t expecting that answer!" He chuckles again before teasing her. "Penthia, you don’t have to shout. I can hear you just fine." 

Pen's nervous behavior seems cute to Rowan, and his quick responses let her know he's interested in her. Sadly, this author didn't. In fact, the whole interaction made it seem like he saw her as his little sister's friend.

Penthia almost takes offense at Rowan's comment, but instead she gets up and begins walking away. 

 
"What!" Rowan started to flirt. "You have nothing more to share with me? Or should I expect another Instagram poem from you, tonight?" 

 
Penthia turns to glare at him, and Rowan sees her watching his surprised expression with wide blue eyes. "You actually read them!" 

 
Rowan nods ‘yes’, and Penthia groans, covering her face with both hands. "Just so you know, I was drunk when I sent that to you by accident," she clarifies, turning back to him. 

 
"Well, I think it’s endearing, just like your sudden outbursts when you can’t say the word, hell," Rowan remarks with a smirk. 

 
Right then, Rowan wonders if he’d gone too far, because Penthia stops in her tracks. 

 
Penthia spins around and replies in disbelief, "I do not believe you!" 

 
Rowan wanted to laugh at her response, but held it in when he saw she was serious. Instead of replying, Rowan takes a moment to appreciate how easy it was to talk and flirt with Penthia, even though she doesn’t believe them. 
 
Rowan, at the age of thirty-three, will love all Penthia’s future quirks and find everything she does endearing. In the quiet moments when he reflects on their journey, he realizes that every little quirk and endearing trait has only endeared her to him more. 
 

As for Penthia, she will allow her past bullies to affect her self-esteem until that day when Rowan breaks her heart on Instagram Live. 
 

Being the target of the most popular football player, who had a target on her back after her previous friend ratted him, which resulted in his temporary suspension from the football team for a month, wouldn’t have prepared Penthia for her loss in the friends-to-lovers trope.  
 

Thinking of a way to break Penthia out of her negative, Rowan playfully shouts, "I guess I am going to have to chase you in order to get an answer!" 
 

Seeing Rowan’s carefree smile as he starts to run, Penthia grins and runs away from him, laughing at his boyish antics as if nothing had happened a few seconds ago. 
 
“No!” Penthia playfully shouts, between her fits of laughter. 
 

Rowan soon finds her laughter contagious and joins in.

Their laughter echoes across the gardens until a pack of doves takes flight from the unexpected noise, and the pair duck down to protect their heads from being pooped on.