Chapter 1
Elodie
Ihave always been good at fitting into spaces that weren’t made for me. Making myself invisible, blending into the crowd. It’s not that I do it on purpose, more that it’s just easier that way.
My days always begin in the same way: coffee too strong, keys in my left pocket, headphones on before I’ve even locked the door to my tiny apartment.
It’s not a grand life.
It’s quiet, not exactly what I had planned.
But I’ve learnt that you can’t really make plans for life. You can try, of course, but life will take you down whatever path it’s chosen for you, anyway. It’s what I’ve told myself for years, and life has settled around me like that: quiet and unremarkable, but not unkind.
I speed up my walk, turning into the staff entrance and pushing in the key code for the door. The path to the gardens is narrow in places, with cracks and dents where time has left its mark. The sun is still beneath the skyline, and the moon is casting a pale light over the glasshouses, turning them into something almost ethereal.
If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that success doesn’t have to be loud to be real. You can be content without having to run in the same race as everyone else.
A job you love, whatever it may be, is enough.
I arrive early, as I do most days. Soaking up my favourite part of the day.
Before the other staff arrive.
Before there are any expectations or the noise of the public in the gardens.
Setting my bag down in the locker room, I pull on my overalls and twist my hair back into a clip before heading to the staff room. Every night, someone writes the list of jobs for the next day on the whiteboard in neat handwriting. I suspect it’s probably Ruth.
She’s great at making the list, not so good at completing it.
It’s a slightly shorter list than yesterday, though, so I’d say that’s a small win already. My shoulders loosen as I exhale. Grabbing my takeaway coffee from the side where I left it, I take the last few sips before throwing it into the bin. I head out to the potting area, stashing my phone into my pocket and switching it to silent.
The sun is already climbing over the horizon, and the rose garden beams under its warm glow. Using my shoulder, I unlock the door to the potting shed and push it open with some force.
“Stupid door,” I mutter under my breath. I’ve asked my manager, Mark, to fix it more times than I should have to, but it’s still as broken as ever. This morning’s task is about as exciting as it gets: transferring the growing seedlings into larger pots. To most people, it’s mundane.
Messy.
Dirty.
But I like it.
Sure, it can get slow and repetitive, but I love my job and there’s a quiet independence to it. It usually leaves me with a satisfying ache, my lungs filled with fresh air and skin tinted bronze from the sun.
My headphones press firm against my ears as I set my music going, tug on my gloves, and get to work.
I’m halfway through my second tray before a knock sounds at the door. I yank off my headphones and glance behind me at Sam.
My best friend and most annoying coworker.
He’s leaning against the door with his mug in hand. Slipping off my gloves, I tilt my head at him and smile.
“Hey, buddy!” Sam’s voice echoes through the shed. “You’re in early again,” he says, giving me that look he always gives me. He worries about me, which is nice, I suppose, but unnecessary, as I tell him far too often. But he has become like a big brother to me, so I let him worry.
It seems to matter to him more than it matters to me anyway.
“Am I?” I glance down at my phone. “I didn’t even realise.”
Yeah, that’s not going to work on him, Elodie.
