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Page 44 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

GREENHOUSE MOONLIGHT

~MARIGOLD~

T he morning after her ride with Meadow through the flower fields, Marigold found herself drawn to the idea of spending time with Gus.

Something about his easy warmth and genuine enthusiasm for life felt like exactly what she needed after the strange tension that had followed Cypress's cryptic comment.

Gus had mentioned his greenhouse during dinner conversations, describing it with the kind of passion usually reserved for discussing beloved children, and when she'd expressed interest in seeing it, his entire face had lit up with delight.

"You really want to see my little laboratory?" he'd asked, practically bouncing with excitement. "I mean, it's not much to look at from the outside, but inside... well, you'll see. I've been working on some new blends that I think you might find interesting."

The greenhouse sat about a quarter-mile from the main ranch buildings, nestled in a grove of oak trees that provided natural windbreak while still allowing maximum sunlight exposure.

As Marigold approached the structure in the late afternoon, she was struck by how organic it seemed in its setting —not an imposition on the landscape but a natural extension of it, glass panels reflecting the sky and surrounding greenery until it was hard to tell where nature ended and human intervention began.

Gus was waiting for her at the entrance, his pink hair catching the late afternoon sun like cotton candy, his smile so genuinely welcoming that it made her chest warm with affection.

He was wearing his usual work clothes—jeans and a simple t-shirt—but there was something different about his energy today, a barely contained excitement that suggested he'd been looking forward to this moment all day.

"Ready for the tour?" he asked, opening the door with a flourish that was both theatrical and charming. "Fair warning, once you're inside, you might never want to leave. I've had people describe it as stepping into another world."

The moment she crossed the threshold, Marigold understood what he meant.

The greenhouse was a sensory paradise, warm and humid and alive with the kind of concentrated life force that made her skin tingle with awareness.

But it was more than just the plants—though they were spectacular, filling every available surface with cascades of green and bursts of color from flowers she couldn't even name.

What made the space truly magical was the way Gus had arranged everything.

Soft candlelight flickered from hurricane lanterns positioned throughout the space, creating pools of warm light that made the glass walls disappear into mysterious shadows.

The air was thick with fragrance—not overwhelming, but layered and complex, different scents revealing themselves as she moved through the space.

"Oh my god," she breathed, turning slowly to take in the full scope of what he'd created. "This is incredible. It's like... like a fairy tale."

Gus's cheeks flushed pink, nearly matching his hair, and he ducked his head with the kind of shy pleasure that made her want to gather him up in a hug.

"It's just a hobby, really. Well, more than a hobby now, I guess.

I've been experimenting with creating custom scent blends for the past few years, trying to understand how different combinations affect mood and emotion. "

The explanation only added to her wonder as she began to understand that this wasn't just a garden—it was a laboratory, an art studio, a place where science and creativity merged to create something entirely new.

Tables along the walls held an array of equipment that looked part chemistry set, part artist's studio: glass vials of various sizes, mortars and pestles, what appeared to be distillation equipment, and notebooks filled with precise handwriting and detailed sketches.

"You make perfumes?" she asked, fascinated by the complexity of what he'd clearly been working on for years.

"Among other things," he confirmed, his excitement overcoming his shyness as he warmed to the subject.

"I started with essential oils for aromatherapy—you know, lavender for relaxation, peppermint for energy, that sort of thing.

But then I got curious about more complex combinations, about how you could layer different scents to tell stories or evoke specific memories. "

He led her to one of the work tables where dozens of small vials were arranged in neat rows, each labeled with precise handwriting that spoke to meticulous attention to detail.

The liquid in each vial caught the candlelight differently—some clear as water, others golden or amber or deep burgundy, creating a rainbow of captured essences.

"This is my latest project," he said, gesturing to a collection of vials that seemed to glow in the warm light. "I'm trying to create a blend that captures the essence of a perfect spring morning —you know that feeling when you step outside and everything smells like possibility?"

The romantic poetry of his description, combined with the intimate setting and the way the candlelight played across his features, made something flutter in Marigold's chest. This was so different from the clinical precision of her former world, where every movement was calculated and every expression measured.

Here, surrounded by living beauty and the fruits of genuine passion, she felt herself relaxing into wonder.

"Can I smell them?" she asked, genuinely curious about his work.

"Of course," he said eagerly, selecting several vials from the collection. "But let's do this properly. Scent is all about layering and timing, about how different elements interact with each other and with your own natural chemistry."

He guided her to a comfortable chair positioned near a particularly lush section of flowering vines, the air around them thick with the natural perfume of jasmine and honeysuckle.

From a nearby shelf, he selected a strip of special paper designed for perfume testing, explaining the process as he worked.

"First, we start with the base note," he said, applying a small amount of liquid to the paper. "This is what grounds everything else, what lingers longest on the skin. For this blend, I'm using cedar and a touch of amber—earthy but warm, like sun-warmed wood."

He handed her the strip, and she inhaled carefully, immediately understanding what he meant. The scent was rich and grounding, reminiscent of the barn where she worked with the horses but refined into something more complex and appealing.

"Now the heart," he continued, adding a second layer to a different section of the paper. "This is where the personality lives, the emotional center of the fragrance. I'm using rose petals and a hint of green tea—floral but not overwhelming, with enough freshness to keep it from being too heavy."

This scent was more complex, the floral notes dancing with something clean and bright that made her think of morning dew and new growth. Combined with the base, it created something that was indeed reminiscent of spring mornings, of potential waiting to unfold.

"And finally, the top notes," Gus said, his voice taking on an almost reverent quality as he completed the blend. "These are what you smell first, what draws you in and makes you want to experience more. Bergamot and a touch of grapefruit, bright and clean and hopeful."

The completed blend was stunning—complex and layered, evolving as she continued to smell it, revealing new facets with each breath. It was indeed like spring morning made manifest, like optimism given physical form.

"This is beautiful," she said, meaning it completely. "I've never experienced anything like this. How did you learn to do this?"

The question seemed to touch something deep in him, and his expression grew soft with memory.

"My mother taught me the basics," he said quietly.

"She was an Omega, and she had this incredible sensitivity to scent, this ability to create blends that could change how people felt, help them heal from emotional wounds. "

He moved to another section of the greenhouse, gesturing for her to follow, and she found herself in what was clearly a more personal space—less laboratory, more sanctuary.

Here, the plants were arranged more casually, and personal touches were evident: family photographs tucked between pots, a comfortable reading chair positioned to catch morning light, a small collection of books about aromatherapy and botanical medicine.

"She used to say that scent was the most direct path to the heart," he continued, settling into the reading chair and gesturing for her to take the cushioned bench opposite him.

"That you could tell someone's entire emotional story just by understanding what fragrances called to them, what made them feel safe or energized or loved. "

The intimacy of the confession, shared in the soft candlelight surrounded by the fruits of his passion, made Marigold's chest tight with emotion. Here was another glimpse into the depth beneath Gus's cheerful exterior, another reminder that everyone carried stories that weren't immediately visible.

"She sounds wonderful," she said softly. "Is she... did she pass away?"

Gus nodded, though his expression remained peaceful rather than pained. "When I was sixteen. Cancer. But she left me with so much knowledge, so many recipes and techniques that I'm still discovering. This greenhouse is really her legacy, her way of understanding the world made manifest."

The way he spoke about his mother, with such obvious love and respect, made something warm unfurl in Marigold's chest. How different her own experience had been, raised in a world where Omegas were valued primarily for their achievements rather than their inherent worth.