Olivia Greene's Arc

Chapter 1 of 8

Olivia Greene wanted to marry inside her grandmother's greenhouse. She had promised herself that much. But the glass house had been swallowed by fifteen years of neglect, and the door would not open. Vines had grown thick as her wrist across the frame. She pulled the handle until her palms burned. The door held. She could not even step inside to see the ruin she meant to save. She kicked the base. A pane rattled but did not break. Through the dirty glass she saw shapes inside — old pots, a slumped shelf, her grandmother's work table under a blanket of green. So close. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass and made herself think. A truck rolled up behind her. Boots hit the gravel. She turned and her stomach dropped. Ryan Donovan. The boy who once called her names until she cried now stood on her grandmother's land, thumbs hooked in his belt. "Heard you needed muscle," he said. His grin was the same. Older, but the same. "I needed a handyman," Olivia said. "Rosemary said she'd send one." "You got both." He nodded at the door. "That's not a muscle problem. Those roots are welded to the frame. Push it and you'll shatter the glass." She hated that he was right. She hated more that she needed him. A bright voice called out. Rosemary Bloom came around the truck, red curls loose, an apron over her floral dress. She ran the flower shop in town. For years she had slipped in to water what she could of the old greenhouse, keeping a few plants alive when no one else came. "You can't force it," Rosemary said gently. "You have to cut it free." She reached into her apron and drew out a pair of garden shears. The blades caught the light. Family emblems were carved into the handles, and a small charm swung from the joint. "These were your grandmother's," Rosemary said. "She left them with me. Said you'd know when it was time." Olivia's throat tightened. She took the shears. The wood fit her hand like it had waited for her. She knelt at the door and began to cut. The blades bit clean through the first vine. Ryan pulled the loose growth back as she worked. Rosemary steadied the door. Green fell away in ropes at Olivia's feet. Sweat ran down her neck. She did not stop until the last root snapped. She stood, gripped the handle, and pulled. The door shrieked and swung open. Cold, damp air rolled out. Olivia stepped inside for the first time in years. Then she saw it. The far roof had caved in. Rain had poured through for seasons. Rot climbed the shelves, and black mold spread across her grandmother's table. The greenhouse was not overgrown. It was falling down.