Chapter 7 – Secret Garden Promises
The snow had mostly melted, leaving the grounds of the Frost estate damp and glistening under a pale winter sun. Puddles reflected the grey sky like scattered mirrors, and the air carried that crisp, clean scent that came only after snowfall—earthy and fresh, as if the world had been washed clean.
Serene loved days like this.
She finished her morning chores faster than usual, her heart pulling her toward the one place that still felt like home. The greenhouse waited beyond the hedge, its fogged glass panels catching the weak sunlight like a beacon.
She didn't expect to find Ethan there.
But when she slipped through the creaking door, warmth enveloping her like a familiar embrace, she found him already waiting. He sat on their old wooden crate, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the dormant plants with an expression she couldn't read.
He looked up at the sound of her footsteps.
"Little Moon."
Her name on his lips still made her chest flutter, even after all these weeks of him being home. She crossed the space between them, pulling off her gloves and stuffing them into her coat pockets.
"You're here early," she said softly. "I thought you had breakfast with your father."
"I did." He shifted, making room for her on the crate. "I left early."
She sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "Everything okay?"
Ethan was quiet for a moment, his green eyes fixed on a cluster of dormant rose bushes against the far wall. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, thoughtful.
"My father wants me to go to Paris next year. For university."
Serene's heart stumbled. She'd known this was coming—had dreaded it, actually—but hearing the words aloud made it real in a way she wasn't prepared for.
"Oh," she managed, her voice smaller than she intended.
Ethan turned to look at her, his expression softening. "I told him I haven't decided yet."
"But you will go." It wasn't a question. She knew how these things worked. Boys like Ethan didn't stay in small villages; they went to great cities and became great men. That was the order of things.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his hand found hers on the crate between them, his fingers warm and certain as they intertwined with hers.
"I've been thinking," he said quietly, "about what I want. Not what my father wants. Not what anyone expects." He paused, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of her hand. "What I actually want."
Serene's throat tightened. She stared at their joined hands, afraid to look up, afraid to hope.
"And what do you want?" she whispered.
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft hum of the greenhouse heaters and the distant call of winter birds. When Ethan spoke again, his voice was barely above a breath.
"I want to stay close to you."
Her head lifted sharply, her honey-brown eyes meeting his forest-green ones. There was no teasing in his expression, no hint of the playful boy who chased her through gardens and called her clever princess. This was something else entirely—something raw and real and terrifyingly honest.
"I don't know what's going to happen," he continued, his voice rough at the edges. "I don't know who I'm going to become, or where I'll end up. But I know I don't want to lose this." He squeezed her hand gently. "I don't want to lose you."
Serene's eyes burned with unshed tears. "You won't lose me," she managed. "I'm not going anywhere."
Ethan smiled—that rare, unguarded smile he saved only for her. "Promise?"
"Promise."
He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles—so soft, so brief, she might have imagined it. But the warmth lingered on her skin, spreading through her entire body like sunlight.
"I learned a lot in Cambridge," he said after a moment, still holding her hand. "About people. About myself." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I learned what romance looks like to other people—the gestures, the words, all of it. But I never understood why it mattered." His green eyes found hers again. "Until I came home and saw you."
Her breath caught.
"In the city, everyone's always performing," he continued. "Always trying to impress, trying to prove something. But with you…" He shook his head slowly. "With you, I don't have to perform. I just have to be here. And somehow that's enough."
Serene's tears spilled over then, silent and warm against her cold cheeks. She didn't try to hide them.
"Ethan," she whispered, her voice breaking.
He reached up, brushing the tears away with such tenderness it made her heart ache. "I'm not saying this to make you cry, Little Moon."
"Then why are you saying it?"
"Because I need you to know." His hand cupped her cheek, warm and steady. "Whatever happens—Paris, Cambridge, anywhere else—you're the reason I want to come home. You're the only person who makes any of it make sense."
She leaned into his touch without thinking, her eyes closing briefly as she absorbed his words. When she opened them again, she found him watching her with an expression she couldn't quite name—something between wonder and fear and longing.
"What do we do now?" she asked softly.
Ethan considered this for a moment. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've never done this before."
"Done what?"
"Felt like this." He gestured vaguely between them. "Cared about someone more than I care about what happens next."
Serene's heart swelled painfully. "Me neither."
They sat in comfortable silence for a long moment, hands still intertwined, shoulders pressed together. The greenhouse wrapped around them like a sanctuary, holding their fragile, blooming feelings in its warm embrace.
Finally, Ethan spoke again.
"Let's make a promise," he said. "A real one. Not like when we were kids."
She looked at him curiously. "What kind of promise?"
He turned to face her fully, both hands capturing hers now. "Promise me that no matter where we go, no matter how much time passes, we'll always find our way back here. To this greenhouse. To each other."
Serene's lips curved into a tremulous smile. "That's a big promise."
"I know." His eyes were serious, earnest, achingly young despite everything. "But I mean it. I want this—whatever this is—to be real. To last."
She searched his face, finding only sincerity in those beautiful green eyes. The boy who had taught her to find four-leaf clovers, who had given her a moonstone pendant and pressed-flower bookmarks, who had chased away her shadows with nothing but his presence—that boy was asking her to believe in forever.
How could she say no?
"I promise," she whispered.
Ethan's smile was like sunrise.
"Good." He squeezed her hands. "Because I'm holding you to that, Little Moon."
They stayed in the greenhouse until the sun began its slow descent, painting the fogged glass in shades of amber and rose. They talked about nothing and everything—his fears about the future, her struggles with Amelia and Ava, the small joys and quiet sorrows that filled their days apart.
When they finally emerged into the cold evening air, hands still loosely linked, Serene felt lighter than she had in months. The weight of her life at the Frost estate still pressed against her shoulders, but somehow it felt more bearable now. She carried something precious inside her—a promise wrapped in warmth, a secret garden where hope still grew.
At the edge of the property, where the hedge separated their two worlds, Ethan stopped.
"I should let you go before Amelia notices you're gone," he said, though his hand didn't release hers.
Serene nodded, not trusting her voice.
He stepped closer, close enough that his breath ghosted warm against her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," she confirmed.
For a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her—really kiss her, not just her knuckles. Something flickered in his eyes, a question, a hesitation, a want. But then he stepped back, releasing her hand slowly, reluctantly.
"Goodnight, Little Moon."
"Goodnight, Ethan."
She watched him walk away until the darkness swallowed him, then turned toward the looming silhouette of the Frost estate. The house waited, cold and judgmental, full of shadows and sharp corners.
But for the first time in a long time, Serene didn't feel afraid of what waited inside.
She carried the greenhouse with her now—its warmth, its light, and the boy who had promised to always find his way back.
---
Later that night, in the quiet of her room, Serene opened the leather journal Ethan had given her. She smoothed her hand over the first page, tracing his elegant script in the dim lamplight:
For my clever princess,
to write everything you can't say aloud.
Your thoughts, your dreams, your anger—
I want to know all of them.
Even the words you think no one will ever understand.
She picked up her pen and began to write, the words flowing easier than they ever had before.
Dear Ethan,
Today you asked me to promise you forever.
I didn't hesitate—not because I'm brave,
but because with you, forever doesn't feel scary.
It feels like coming home.
She paused, reading the words back, then added one more line before closing the journal:
I hope you meant it too.
Outside, the wind whispered through the bare trees. Inside, Serene pressed the journal to her chest and closed her eyes, carrying the warmth of the greenhouse with her into dreams.
---
The next morning, she found a small envelope tucked beneath her windowsill, weighed down by a smooth, grey stone. Inside, on a scrap of paper torn from a notebook, Ethan's familiar scrawl greeted her:
I meant every word.
—E
Serene smiled, pressing the note to her heart.
The secret garden held its promises close.
And so would she.
---