I couldn’t help but laugh. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to eat flowers?”
“The opposite—she used to walk me around and make me taste them. Although she was sorry she made me eat a pansy. They taste a little like mint, and forever on, she had to chase me out of the pansy patches. Don’t even get me started on marigolds. And when Mom would get shipments of lilac in the spring? Forget about it.”
“Lilac? You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Some just taste like nothing. Some taste … green. I don’t know how else to describe it. But some taste exactly like lilac smells, and it’s utter heaven.”
“That’s my name,” I said, suddenly sheepish at the admission.
His brows flicked together. “Lilac?”
“My grandmother’s favorite flower was lilac, and my parents were married in her garden at the end of May when they were in bloom. So, they named me Lilac, and my sister Ivy because they must have known she’d be wild and clingy.”
That earned me a laugh, and I smiled.
“I’m surprised she didn’t tell you. She loves to embarrass me by telling everyone I don’t want to know.”
“I take it you’re not a fan?”
“It’s just so … I don’t know. Whimsical? It was a name for a fairy, not a practical girl who got perfect scores in penmanship. It felt patently unlike me. So I rejected it on principle. And the color purple too. It was all they put me in before I was old enough to have an opinion.”
He smiled at me across the planter box. “And how old was that?”
“Second grade. It didn’t help that I was teased mercilessly about it.”
“Kids are cruel.”
“And I didn’t want to give them any more ammunition.”
He paused. “Was it bad?”
“Remember Ashley Sanders?”
His scoff told me he did.
“She lived in our building. When we were home, she was my best friend, the best friend. But at school? She was queen of the mean girls.”
“I don’t think I knew a single person who wasn’t terrified of her.”
“There’s another side to her. Or maybe she’s a sociopath.”
“I’d vote for the latter.”
“Anyway, I ended up in her sights. She spent her time either rejecting me or pretending to be my friend so she could trick me—lock me in the bathroom, humiliate me in front of everyone, whatever her fancy was that day. And then we’d get home, and she’d knock on my door, apologize, and stay over for hours. All weekend. Sleepovers. The works.”
Kash watched me with those depthless eyes of his. “Your parents didn’t put a stop to it?”
“They didn’t know. Not really. They thought it was just the typical old girl drama, not noticing that I withdrew, that I was anxious about going to school. Even when I was having meltdowns in class. Like once, when my teacher interrupted me, I crawled under my desk and cried because no one ever listened to me. The teacher just sent me to the counselor, my parents thought I was just overreacting, and everyone went on their merry way.” I sighed. “But it wasn’t their fault. I should have learned my lesson when it came to Ashley sooner.”
“When did you?”
“Middle school. I didn’t have many friends—in hindsight, that was probably her doing too—and I was lonely enough to play right into her hand. When we were at home, she was honest and giving and funny and cool. I looked up to her, wanted to be her. But she was a liar, and I eventually gave up trying to make her happy.”
“There was no lesson to learn, Lila. She should have known better.”
“No, it was an important lesson, the most important lesson I’ve ever learned—people will manipulate you, if you let them. And no one will save you but yourself.”
Sadness touched his face, smoothing his lips, his eyes, his brow. But he didn’t disagree, didn’t pity me or tell me I was wrong. He just watched me for a long moment before finally saying with a quirk of his lips, “Think I can prove you wrong?”
A relieved laugh slipped out of me, along with the phrase of the hour, one I meant more deeply than he knew. “If anyone can, it’s you.”
He smiled fully then, turning to the plastic tray of seedlings. “Wanna plant one?”
“I don’t know,” I hedged, eyeing them like they’d turned into live explosives.
“Here, it’s easy.” His hands stretched out, pausing expectantly with a little seedling in his palms.
I reached out, cupping my hands like his. Mine looked so soft and