Your Ivy Grows

Chapter 45

"What is this place?" I ask in breathless wonder as my eyes dart around, unable to decide on a place to land.

When Bucky had led me out of that elevator and into what looked to be the dingy hallway of a rundown apartment building, I'd honestly not been able to guess where he was taking me. I couldn't have known what waited for me up on this roof.

He'd promised me somewhere private, where we wouldn't be seen together or recognised and he'd definitely delivered. Up here, on this roof, it doesn't feel like we're in the middle of a bustling city. Even the noise from the streets far below us fades away to nothing. It's just me and him in what I can only describe as a paradise.

The roof had been a sight to behold even before we'd walked into the greenhouse, but it was obvious this was the true showstopper he'd brought me here to see. As I'd made my way inside, it felt like I'd stepped into an entirely new world; like pushing through the wardrobe and finding Narnia—it's magical.

"This is the work of one man, believe it or not." Bucky tells me, answering my question.

"You?" I ask, surprised.

"Sadly, no, I can't take credit for this. I've helped here and there though."

It's a half answer. It would seem I'm not the only one still struggling to open up.

I'd expected to walk into the greenhouse and find it filled with a few plants. Instead, I was met with an explosion of colour. Plants and flowers of every shape and size fill the space, a rainbow's worth of colour. A heavy floral scent permeates the air and I can't help taking in deep breaths through my nose just to appreciate it more.

There's a pathway that winds through the garden, with shimmering lights helping to light the way. There's also a canopy of twinkling lights that cover the ceiling. But what has my eyes flitting from one place to another is the hundreds of butterflies flying around us. It's hard to choose one place to focus on when I'm surrounded by them.

Standing as still as I can, I watch as one comes to land on the arm of my jacket. I hold steady as it slowly opens and closes its large wings; they're a rich black with vibrant yellow spots along the bottom. I watch it until it flies off.

"This place is beautiful, Bucky." I repeat my earlier sentiment because I can't think of any other way to describe it.

"Beautiful," Bucky murmurs in agreement, but he's only looking at me.

It still surprises me how he can bring a blush to my cheeks with nothing more than a few words and a lingering look. His words affect me the way they do because I trust he means them. Trust. As I think about it, I realise it's true. I trust him.

"This way," Bucky says, reaching for my hand and leading me down the wooden pathway that winds through the greenhouse.

We make slow work of it because I stop after every couple of steps when I find something new to look at—some exotic flower to admire or a fascinating-looking butterfly to study more closely. Bucky doesn't rush me, nor does he complain. He lets me take all the time I need.

I'm so focused on soaking in the beauty surrounding us, I don't notice the table set up in the middle until Bucky's led me under a floral archway and we're practically standing beside it.

"Oh wow," I say, taking in the candlelit table decorated with flowers and holding two large plates, each covered with a silver cloche. A bottle of champagne sits cooling in an ice bucket, two champagne flutes waiting beside it.

Bucky pulls out a chair for me and I wonder if I'm dreaming. This can't be real.

A familiar sense of foreboding hits me and I realise I'm still waiting for the moment this all goes wrong. Nothing this good can last—not for me. But I brush my concerns aside, at least for now, and enjoy how Bucky pushes my chair in for me before taking the other seat.