Chapter 21: Harmony's unexpected affection sparks a rare moment of vulnerability in Ivy, who lets her guard down just enough to enjoy the younger woman's warmth against her back.
The soil was cool and rich between her fingers, a dark, loamy contrast to the sun-warmed air. Ivy worked with a surgeon’s precision, tucking a delicate, phosphorescent-blue orchid into a terracotta pot. The sea breeze played with the tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid, carrying the scents of salt, blooming jasmine, and the faint, clean ozone of her power. This was her meditation. Her communion.
A shadow fell over the orchid.
Ivy’s shoulders tightened, a predator’s instinctive flinch before recognition settled in. She didn’t need to turn. The footfalls were too light, too hesitant to be Harley’s.
Then, arms wrapped around her waist from behind, and a warm weight pressed into her back. A chin hooked over her shoulder. Harmony.
Ivy went perfectly still, her hands hovering over the soil. The embrace was a foreign country, all unspoken need and youthful desperation. It was too much. It was always too much.
“Hi,” Harmony whispered, her voice muffled by Ivy’s tank top. She nuzzled into the space between Ivy’s shoulder blades, a small, seeking animal.
A long, silent moment stretched. A bee droned past. Somewhere down the coast, a gull cried.
Then, with a slow exhalation Ivy hadn’t realized she was holding, she let herself relax. Her spine softened, her head tilting just a fraction to rest against Harmony’s. It was a minute surrender, but in the language of their bodies, it was a concession.
“You’re getting dirt on me,” Ivy said, her voice low, without any real reproach.
“Don’t care,” Harmony murmured, tightening her hold. “You smell like growing things.”
As if in agreement, a single, slender vine uncoiled from the base of the potted orchid. It slid up Harmony’s bare leg, its touch cool and deliberate, a whisper of green against her sun-kissed skin. It curled possessively around her thigh, just above the knee, a living band that held her as surely as her own arms held Ivy.
Harmony gasped, a tiny, sharp intake of air. Her grip on Ivy’s waist tightened.
“She likes you,” Ivy said, a trace of amusement coloring her tone. She resumed her work, patting the soil around the orchid’s roots. “Or she’s jealous. It’s hard to tell with Aerides odorata.”
“Everything okay out here?” Harley’s voice cut through the tranquility, loud and sunny. She emerged from the back door, a half-eaten popsicle in one hand, already staining her fingers red. She took in the scene—Ivy on her knees, Harmony wrapped around her, the vine a blatant claim on Harmony’s leg. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. “Well, well. Gettin’ a little photosynthesis without me?”
“We’re gardening,” Ivy stated flatly, not looking up.
“Looks like it.” Harley crunched down on the last of the popsicle and tossed the stick into a nearby compost bin with a flick of her wrist. She sauntered over, her shadow joining Harmony’s. She reached out and tapped the vine wrapped around Harmony’s leg. “Hey, Greenpeace. Leave some for the rest of us.”
The vine gave a lazy, almost irritable twitch but didn’t retract.
Harmony giggled, the sound vibrating through Ivy’s back. “It’s okay.”
“Oh, it’s more than okay, bunny,” Harley said, leaning down to press a cold, sugary kiss to Harmony’s temple. She winked at Ivy over Harmony’s head. “Just makin’ sure my favorite botanist isn’t hogging the new sapling.”
Ivy finally finished with the orchid and wiped her hands on a cloth. The vine around Harmony’s thigh loosened its grip, sliding away to retreat back into the pot. “The sapling is clingy. It seeks the sun.”
“Can you blame it?” Harley quipped, her hand sliding from Harmony’s temple down to her shoulder, squeezing. “We’re a pretty stellar sun.”
Harmony preened under the dual attention, pressing back into Harley and still holding onto Ivy. For a moment, it was perfect. The three of them, tangled together in the sun-dappled backyard, the ocean a constant, hushed roar in the background. The duffel bag of cash and the world it represented felt a million miles away.
Then Ivy stood, brushing the last bits of soil from her knees. The movement was smooth, final. It broke the circle. “The Dionaea muscipula need feeding. The flies this season are deficient.”
Harmony’s face fell, just for a second. The clinginess returned, a visible aura of want around her small frame. “Can I help?”
“You’ll be bored,” Ivy said, already turning toward her greenhouse, a structure of wrought iron and frosted glass that shimmered in the light.
“I won’t!” Harmony insisted, taking a step after her.
Harley caught her by the wrist, pulling her back. “Let the mad scientist do her thing, Harm. C’mon.” She tugged Harmony toward the swaying hammock. “We can plot world domination. Or, y’know, see how many popsicles we can eat before we puke.”
Ivy paused at the greenhouse door, a silhouette against the glowing glass. She glanced back at them. Harley was already collapsing into the hammock, pulling a laughing Harmony down on top of her. The scene was one of chaotic, easy affection.
A single, thought-shaped command passed from Ivy to the sprawling wisteria climbing the porch. A cascade of purple blossoms shivered, then released a cloud of shimmering pollen that drifted on the breeze, settling over the two women in the hammock like a benevolent dust. It was nothing. A minor pheromonal adjustment to enhance a sense of contentment. A little gift.
She saw Harmony sigh, sinking deeper against Harley, a blissful, dopey smile spreading across her face.
Satisfied, Ivy slipped into the humid, whispering dark of her greenhouse, leaving the sun to them. The door clicked shut, a soft, but definitive, full stop. Inside, her real work waited.