By: GenreGypsy
Molly paused at the door, her hand hovering over the latch. Her breath hitched slightly as she gathered the nerve to step inside. What would she even say? Would Pomona be angry? Hurt? Confused? The knot in her stomach tightened. It had been weeks since she'd run away, leaving nothing but questions in her wake. Avoiding Pomona hadn't made it any easier, though.
If she wanted to make things right—or at least face the mess she'd made—she had to begin here.
With a shaky breath, Molly pushed the door open.
The familiar scent of damp earth and fresh greenery washed over her. The greenhouse was exactly as she remembered it—warm, peaceful, almost indifferent to the chaos going on inside her. Rows of plants stood tall, their leaves glistening in the muted sunlight that filtered through the glass walls. The quiet was comforting, but it didn't ease the nervous energy buzzing under her skin.
Her eyes scanned the room, half hoping Pomona wouldn't be there. Part of her wanted to turn back and leave before the confrontation even began. She could still feel the weight of that kiss hanging over her, still taste the guilt and confusion it had left behind.
But then her eyes caught movement—Pomona, standing near the back of the greenhouse, hunched over a set of potted plants. Molly froze, her pulse quickening. She hadn't prepared for this moment. There was no plan, no perfect apology or explanation rehearsed in her mind. She was here, vulnerable and exposed, and Pomona hadn't even seen her yet.
Molly's heart pounded as she stepped further inside, the door creaking shut behind her. The sound echoed in the stillness, drawing Pomona's attention. Slowly, Pomona straightened, wiping her hands on her apron before turning around.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Molly felt her chest tighten as she tried to read Pomona's expression. It wasn't anger, exactly—though Pomona's face was hard to read, as always. Instead, there was a kind of quiet surprise in her eyes, softened by something Molly couldn't quite place.
"Molly," Pomona said, her voice calm, though there was a hint of uncertainty in it. "You came back."
Molly swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words settle over her. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed hearing Pomona's voice, the steady, grounding presence that had become such a comfort in the weeks they'd spent together. But now, standing here, she wasn't sure if that comfort was still welcome.
"I…" Molly's voice faltered, barely a whisper as she struggled to find the right words. "I should've come back sooner. I'm sorry."
Pomona didn't respond immediately. She wiped her hands again, her gaze never leaving Molly's. There was a pause, long enough that Molly wondered if Pomona was trying to piece together what to say next.
"You don't have to apologize," Pomona finally said, her tone steady, but there was a tension underneath it. "You were… dealing with things."
Molly shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest. "I ran," she said quietly, forcing herself to look at Pomona. "I didn't know what to do, and I ran."
Pomona's face softened slightly, but her expression remained careful, guarded. "Why did you come back?"
Molly opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out. What could she say? She wasn't sure why she'd come back—was it to apologize for the kiss? To explain the feelings she couldn't untangle? Or was it simply because she couldn't stay away any longer? She had been running from so much—Arthur's memory, her grief, her growing feelings for Pomona—and none of it had made anything clearer.
"I couldn't… avoid you forever," Molly said, her voice trembling slightly. "I didn't want to. I just… didn't know how to face you after what happened."
Pomona watched her carefully, her lips pressing into a thin line as if weighing what to say. "Molly, it's not as if you need to explain everything." She paused, glancing down at the floor before meeting Molly's eyes again. "We both lost our footing that day."
Molly blinked, surprised by Pomona's admission. "But… I kissed you. I made things confusing."
Pomona let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of her neck as she glanced briefly at the cluster of plants near the corner of the greenhouse. "Molly, you've got to understand," she began, her voice calm but measured. "Those flowers we were near… they're not ordinary. The Aphrodesia florealis. They're powerful, more than we give them credit for. They stir feelings, heighten emotions. That kiss, it wasn't… entirely you."
Molly's heart dropped at the words. She could hear the gentle kindness in Pomona's voice, the attempt to make it easier for her to explain away what had happened. But it didn't ease the ache in her chest. "It wasn't me?" she repeated, her voice trembling.
Pomona stepped forward, her eyes soft but unwavering. "I'm not saying it didn't mean anything, but I think we were both under the influence of something we didn't understand."
The explanation should have made sense. It should have provided Molly with some kind of relief. But instead, it felt like a sharp stab to her heart. The idea that her feelings—her kiss—had been nothing more than a product of the plants' effects twisted something inside her, something that had been knotted up for weeks.
Tears welled in Molly's eyes before she could stop them. Her throat tightened, and her hands fisted at her sides. "I've been so alone," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Since Arthur… I've been so, so alone."
Pomona's face softened immediately, concern washing over her as she reached out, but Molly shook her head, the tears falling faster now, her body shaking with the sobs she had tried so hard to keep at bay.
"It's not just the plants, Pomona," Molly cried, her voice rising as the emotions spilled over. "It's not. I kissed you because I… I felt something. And I didn't know what to do with it. I still don't."
Pomona's gaze didn't waver, and she stepped closer, hesitating for a brief moment before gently placing her hands on Molly's shoulders. "Molly—"
"I've been so alone," Molly repeated, her voice barely audible now, thick with grief and pain. "Arthur's gone, and I can't—" She stopped, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "And you're so sweet, and kind, and I don't know how to handle this."
Pomona's grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, grounding her. "Molly, it's all right," she said softly. "You don't have to handle it right now. You don't have to figure everything out today."
Molly sobbed harder, the weight of everything—Arthur's death, the loneliness that had swallowed her, the confusion of her feelings for Pomona—crashing down on her all at once. Her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands as the tears flowed freely.
Pomona knelt beside her, not saying anything for a long moment. She didn't try to stop the tears or offer any hollow reassurances. Instead, she simply stayed by Molly's side, her presence a quiet but steady comfort in the storm of emotions that had overtaken her.
"I'm so tired," Molly whispered through her sobs, her voice breaking. "I'm so tired of being alone. Of not knowing what to do."
Pomona reached out, placing a hand gently on Molly's back, rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. "You don't have to do it alone," Pomona said softly, her voice a soothing balm to the raw ache in Molly's chest. "You never have to do it alone."
Molly's breath shuddered in her chest as she leaned into Pomona's touch. The steady, calming rhythm of Pomona's hand on her back felt like the first thing to tether her to the present, to pull her out of the swirling storm of emotion that had been threatening to consume her. The warmth of Pomona's presence, the way she spoke with such quiet certainty, gave Molly a sense of safety she hadn't felt in what seemed like forever.
Without thinking, without fully understanding why, Molly shifted slightly, turning her face toward Pomona's. Her heart was still pounding, but now for a different reason—one that had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with the woman sitting beside her. The emotions swirled inside her—confusion, fear, and something she couldn't quite name—but all she knew in that moment was that she needed to feel something other than the crushing weight of her sadness.
Before she could stop herself, before she could think about what it meant, she closed the small gap between them and pressed her lips to Pomona's.
The kiss was soft, tentative at first, but it was full of the need Molly hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge until now. Her hands trembled as they came to rest on Pomona's shoulders, and she leaned in, wanting more of the warmth, the comfort that Pomona seemed to offer so easily.
For a second, Pomona froze, clearly taken by surprise. But then, just as Molly thought she had made a terrible mistake, Pomona's lips moved against hers, returning the kiss with a gentleness that sent a shiver down Molly's spine. It wasn't rushed or urgent—just soft, warm, and steady, like everything about Pomona.
But just as quickly as it had started, Pomona pulled away. She placed her hands gently on Molly's arms, holding her at a small distance. Her eyes were kind but firm, searching Molly's face with a seriousness that made Molly's heart sink.
"Molly," Pomona said softly, her voice steady but filled with concern. "Don't rush this."
Molly's breath hitched, and she blinked, feeling the tears threatening to spill over again. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't know what I'm doing."
Pomona shook her head, her hands still resting gently on Molly's arms. "It's all right," she said quietly. "You're feeling a lot right now. You're hurting. But this… it's not something you need to rush into."
Molly's chest tightened, a mix of embarrassment and confusion flooding her. She dropped her gaze, staring at the floor as she tried to pull herself together. "I'm so lost, Pomona," she whispered. "I don't know how to handle anything anymore."
Pomona's grip on her arms softened, and she lifted one hand to gently cup Molly's chin, tilting her face back up so their eyes met. "You don't have to handle everything at once," Pomona said softly. "You don't have to figure it all out today, or tomorrow. We can take things one step at a time."
Molly swallowed hard, her heart still racing from the kiss, but Pomona's words soothed her in a way that nothing else had. She nodded slowly, though the weight of her confusion and grief still lingered. "I don't want to mess this up," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Pomona gave her a small, reassuring smile, her thumb brushing gently against Molly's cheek. "You're not going to mess anything up, Molly. We'll figure it out. But let's not rush into anything. Let's take our time."
Molly nodded again, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease ever so slightly. She wasn't sure what the future held, or how her feelings for Pomona would evolve, but for the first time in a long while, she felt like she could breathe again.
And that was enough.