In Bloom

Part One: The Eighth Day

Jennie stretched her arms over her head, the Texas sun kissing her skin as she exhaled slowly. The scent of lavender and rosemary filled the warm air, blending with the earthy richness of freshly tilled soil. It had been eight days since she and Lisa arrived at the wellness retreat—a two-month escape from the pressures of their careers, meant to rejuvenate their minds and bodies.

Lisa, a few steps ahead, turned back with a grin. "You actually look relaxed for once," she teased, nudging Jennie's arm.

Jennie rolled her eyes but smiled. "Don't get used to it."

They had spent the past week meditating at sunrise, tending to vegetable beds, and learning the art of slow living. It was a far cry from the flashing lights and deafening cheers of their usual lives, but somehow, it was... nice. Peaceful.

And then, on the eighth day, they met her.

She stood near the entrance to the greenhouse, a watering can in one hand, fingers lightly brushing the petals of a thriving hibiscus plant. Her skin glowed in the golden afternoon light, deep brown curls escaping the loose scarf wrapped around her head. She was striking, effortlessly commanding yet calm, like she belonged to the earth itself.

Lisa, never one to be subtle, whistled under her breath. "Damn," she murmured, too low for anyone but Jennie to hear.

Jennie fought the urge to elbow her, instead tilting her head slightly as the woman turned toward them.

"You two must be the K-pop stars," she said, her voice warm and smooth, carrying a hint of amusement.

Lisa grinned, but Jennie narrowed her eyes playfully. "Are we that obvious?"

The woman shrugged, her full lips curving into a smirk. "Let's just say, you don't exactly blend in with the farmers here."

Lisa laughed, but Jennie was too focused on the way her eyes—dark and knowing—lingered on them. There was something in the way she carried herself, something magnetic.

"Nice to finally meet you," the woman continued. "I'm the owner of this place."

Lisa's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what?"

Jennie blinked. They had assumed the retreat was run by the soft-spoken older couple who gave them instructions every morning. But her? The woman standing in front of them, casually watering plants like she wasn't completely upending their understanding of the place?

"You own the farm?" Jennie asked, intrigued.

"Born and raised here," she confirmed, setting the watering can down. "I like to let people experience the place first before they know who's in charge. Keeps things... authentic."

Lisa's grin widened. "I like that."

Jennie found herself nodding, her curiosity deepening.

And just like that, something shifted.

Part Two: Sweet Beginnings

"Come on," the farmer said, motioning for Jennie and Lisa to follow her into the greenhouse. "Since you two like standing around looking pretty, might as well put those hands to work."

Lisa laughed, nudging Jennie. "She's funny. I like her."

Jennie rolled her eyes, but a small smirk played on her lips as they stepped inside. The heat was more humid in here, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers and fresh earth. Rows of hibiscus plants stretched toward the filtered sunlight, their petals lush and red like velvet.

"The trick to picking hibiscus is being gentle," the farmer explained, reaching out to cup a blossom in her palm. "You want to find the ones that have just started to open, not too tight, not too soft." She plucked one expertly, holding it up between her fingers before placing it in Lisa's hand.

Lisa examined the flower, brows furrowing in concentration. "So, like this?" She mimicked the farmer's movements, carefully picking a bloom and holding it up for inspection.

"Not bad," the farmer said, her lips curling into a smile. "You might have a future in farming after all."

Lisa puffed up playfully. "You hear that, Jennie? I'm a natural."

Jennie scoffed, reaching for a flower herself. "I think I can do better."

The farmer laughed softly, a sound that sent a shiver of warmth through Jennie's chest.

By the time they filled a small woven basket with hibiscus blooms, the farmer led them back toward the kitchen. "Now, let's turn these into something sweet."

⸻

The kitchen was a cozy, rustic space—wooden counters, an old-fashioned stove, and shelves lined with jars of preserves and dried herbs. Lisa lingered near the counter, watching as the farmer moved with ease, heating honey in a saucepan before gently stirring in the hibiscus petals.

The deep crimson of the petals melted into the golden honey, swirling together in a mesmerizing dance.

Lisa leaned in, resting her chin on her palm. "You make this look way too easy."

The farmer glanced at her, amusement flickering in her dark eyes. "It's all about patience. The flavors need time to meld."

Lisa's gaze lingered, and for a brief moment, the air between them shifted. It was subtle, barely noticeable—just the quiet hum of attraction settling between two people who had only just met but already seemed to understand something unspoken.

Jennie, standing by the sink, cleared her throat. "So, what do you do with the honey after it's ready?"

The farmer looked away from Lisa, breaking the moment with a small smile. "Drizzle it over biscuits, stir it into tea, or just eat it straight off the spoon."

Lisa grinned. "I think I like that last option."

The farmer chuckled. "Figured you would."

Before Lisa could tease her again, the clock above the stove chimed softly, reminding Jennie and Lisa that their afternoon retreat activities were about to start.

"Damn," Lisa sighed, stretching her arms. "Guess we have to go back to being wellness retreat participants instead of professional flower pickers."

The farmer leaned against the counter. "The flowers will still be here when you get back."

Jennie met her gaze, something warm settling in her chest. "Good to know."

⸻

Back at their cabins, Jennie and Lisa collapsed onto their respective beds, staring up at the ceiling before turning to look at each other.

Lisa groaned dramatically. "She's cute."

Jennie threw a pillow at her. "Shut up, I was about to say that."

Lisa caught the pillow, laughing. "You think she's single?"

Jennie sat up, pulling off her shirt to change into something more comfortable for the afternoon. "I don't know, but if she is, we're in trouble."

Lisa snorted. "Why? You already planning on making a move?"

Jennie pulled on a loose-fitting hoodie, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "No. But I might have to if you keep flirting with her like that."

Lisa smirked, pulling on a pair of joggers. "Oh, so you get to flirt, but I don't?"

"I didn't say that," Jennie muttered, tugging on her sneakers.

Lisa watched her with a knowing grin. "Sounds like you're jealous already."

Jennie ignored her, grabbing her fishing rod from the corner. "Come on, we're gonna be late."

Lisa followed, still grinning. "Don't worry, Jen. There's enough farmer for both of us."

Jennie swatted at her, but she couldn't stop the small smile tugging at her lips.

As they joined the rest of the group for the walk to the lake, both of them couldn't help but steal glances toward the farm, already anticipating their next encounter with her. 

Part Three: Cast and Catch

The sun hung lazily over the lake, glistening on the water's surface as Jennie and Lisa stood with their fishing rods, side by side, watching the others in their group struggle just as much as they were.

"I thought this was supposed to be relaxing," Jennie muttered, adjusting her grip on the rod.

Lisa, who had already tangled her line twice, huffed. "Yeah, well, I didn't know fishing came with an instruction manual."

Their fellow retreat-goers weren't faring much better. A few had gotten their lines into the water, but most were just awkwardly fumbling with the rods, trying to follow the instructor's directions. The group was a mix of city dwellers looking for peace and seasoned retreat-goers who swore by the farm's healing properties.

Lisa elbowed Jennie and nodded toward a couple a few feet away. "Look at them. They're worse than us."

Jennie stifled a laugh. The husband was standing stiffly, holding the rod with both hands like a baseball bat, while his wife squinted at the reel like it was a foreign object.

"Alright, looks like we need backup," the instructor finally announced, sighing in defeat. He raised a hand to wave over a tall man who had just arrived at the lakeside.

The man, dressed in worn jeans and a gray t-shirt, approached with a confident stride. His dark curls framed a sharp, yet approachable face, and he carried his own fishing rod over his shoulder.

"This is Wynter," the instructor introduced him. "He grew up on the farm and knows these waters better than any of us."

Lisa whispered to Jennie, "Okay, this family has good genes."

Jennie nudged her, but she silently agreed.

Wynter clapped his hands together. "Alright, who needs help?"

The group erupted into murmurs, a few hands hesitantly raising. Jennie and Lisa, despite their own struggles, stepped back to watch the chaos unfold.

"Fishing's about rhythm," Wynter explained, demonstrating the proper way to cast. "If you overthink it, you'll mess yourself up."

Jennie sighed. "We're doomed."

Lisa smirked. "Speak for yourself. I have the rhythm of a—"

Suddenly, a piercing scream cut through the afternoon air.

All heads snapped toward the struggling couple from earlier. The wife stood frozen, her hands clasped over her mouth, while the husband was stumbling backward, his face twisted in agony.

"Oh my God!" she cried. "Oh my God, honey!"

A fishing hook was lodged deep into the man's shoulder.

Chaos erupted.

"What the hell?!" Lisa gasped, clutching Jennie's arm.

"Someone help him!" a woman from the group shouted.

The husband's face was turning red as he groaned through clenched teeth. "You—You hooked me?! You actually—AHH!"

"I didn't mean to!" the wife wailed. "I thought I was casting the line! I—oh my God, oh my God—"

Wynter was already in action, stepping forward with his hands raised. "Sir, stay still. You're gonna make it worse." He turned to the instructor. "Call up to the house. Get them to notify 911."

Jennie's heart pounded as she watched the scene unfold. Lisa's grip on her arm tightened.

"Jennie, I think I'm gonna be sick," Lisa whispered.

Jennie swallowed hard, unable to look away from the blood soaking through the man's shirt.

Wynter pulled out his phone and spoke in a calm but firm voice, "Yeah, we've got an injury down at the lake. Fishing hook accident—yeah, it's deep. He's bleeding a lot... Okay. Got it."

The retreat staff scrambled to help. A first aid kit appeared out of nowhere, but no one wanted to touch the hook until the paramedics arrived. The wife was crying, apologizing over and over while a few others tried to console her.

Lisa exhaled shakily. "Maybe we should've stayed in the kitchen making hibiscus honey."

Jennie didn't disagree.

⸻

Part Four: A Drink to Forget

Later that night, the retreat was unusually quiet. The incident had shaken everyone, and even though the husband was taken to the hospital and was going to be fine, the energy had shifted.

Jennie and Lisa were curled up in their cabin, both changed into oversized sweatshirts and shorts, still reeling from the afternoon's chaos.

A knock at the door made them jolt.

Lisa shot Jennie a look. "If that's Wynter coming to teach us more about fishing, I'm throwing myself out the window."

Jennie smirked but got up to open the door.

It wasn't Wynter.

It was her.

She stood there, holding a bottle of something dark and amber in one hand and three glasses in the other. "You two okay?"

Lisa sat up. "Define okay."

The farmer smiled slightly and stepped inside. "I figured you might need a drink after all that." She set the glasses down on the small wooden table, pouring them each a generous amount.

Jennie sat beside Lisa on the bed, watching as the farmer pulled a chair close. "Did you know your brother is a hero?"

The farmer chuckled. "He does alright."

Lisa exhaled, taking a sip. "I don't think I'll ever go fishing again."

"Fair enough," the farmer said, tilting her glass toward them. "To better days?"

Jennie and Lisa exchanged glances before clinking their glasses against hers.

The alcohol was warm and smooth, sliding down easily.

For the first time since the chaos at the lake, Jennie felt her shoulders relax. Lisa stretched her legs out, leaning back against the headboard.

The farmer studied them for a moment, her expression softer now. "You two really aren't used to country life, huh?"

Lisa scoffed. "Does it show?"

The farmer smirked. "A little."

Jennie swirled the liquid in her glass. "We came here to get away from our usual lives. I guess we weren't expecting to, you know... almost witness a murder-by-fishing-rod."

The farmer laughed, shaking her head. "I promise, that's never happened before."

Lisa glanced at her. "Have you ever had guests like us before?"

The farmer met Lisa's gaze, something flickering behind her eyes. "No. You two are... different."

Jennie felt the warmth in the room shift—something subtle, something charged.

Lisa grinned, setting her empty glass down. "I'll take that as a compliment."

The farmer smirked. "You should."

The air between them grew quiet, comfortable, intimate.

For the first time since arriving, Jennie realized something.

They had come to this retreat looking for peace, for a break. But now, she wasn't so sure peace was what she wanted.

Not when she  was sitting right there, looking at them like that.

The warmth of the drink settled in Jennie's chest, spreading through her limbs as she leaned back against the headboard. The tension from earlier had faded into something lighter, easier. Lisa was sprawled out beside her, absently rolling her empty glass between her fingers, while she—the farmer—sat across from them, still nursing her own drink.

Jennie found herself watching her more than she intended to, her sharp yet gentle features relaxed under the dim cabin light. The way she moved—unhurried, intentional—was different from the fast-paced world Jennie and Lisa were used to.

Lisa was the first to break the silence. "So, you own this whole place, huh?" She stretched her legs, crossing them at the ankles. "That's pretty badass."

The farmer smirked, tilting her glass slightly. "It's not as glamorous as it sounds. I spend half my time fixing things that break and the other half making sure no one sets the barn on fire."

Jennie raised an eyebrow. "Has someone actually done that?"

The farmer sighed dramatically. "Not yet. But there was a close call last year when a guest thought it would be fun to roast marshmallows inside."

Lisa snorted. "Some people just shouldn't be allowed outside."

"Agreed," the farmer said, grinning. She set her glass down and leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. "But what about you two? What do you do when you're not struggling to fish?"

Jennie and Lisa exchanged a glance.

Lisa smirked. "Well, when we're not pretending to be country girls, we sing, dance, travel, do photoshoots, perform in front of thousands of screaming fans."

The farmer arched an eyebrow. "Casual."

Jennie laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's a lot, but we love it. Most days, anyway."

Lisa nudged her. "Don't be shy. Tell her what you really love doing."

Jennie shot her a look, then sighed. "Okay, fine. When I get time to myself, I like watching old movies. The really dramatic, artsy ones."

The farmer's eyes lit up. "Like what?"

Jennie hesitated, then shrugged. "In the Mood for Love, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, The Handmaiden—"

Lisa groaned. "Ugh. She loves those tragic romances. If there's no heartbreak, she's not interested."

The farmer chuckled. "That explains a lot."

Jennie narrowed her eyes playfully. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The farmer smirked. "Just that you seem like the type to enjoy a little suffering."

Lisa burst out laughing, clinking her glass against Jennie's. "She gets you."

Jennie rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile. "What about you?" she asked, shifting the focus to the farmer. "What do you like?"

The farmer leaned back, considering the question. "I like cooking. Not just for survival, but the kind of cooking that slows you down, makes you appreciate the process. Baking bread, making jams, pickling vegetables—things that take time."

Lisa groaned. "Now I'm hungry again."

Jennie ignored her. "That's really cool. You must have a lot of patience."

The farmer shrugged. "I had to learn it. When you grow up on a farm, you can't rush things. You plant, you wait. You harvest, you wait. You make mistakes, you start over. It's all about timing."

Lisa tilted her head. "Okay, but what do you do for fun? Please don't say something farm-related."

The farmer chuckled. "I like music. I play a little guitar, but mostly, I just listen to whatever I'm in the mood for. Lately, it's been a lot of R&B and old-school hip-hop."

Lisa perked up. "Oh? Like who?"

The farmer thought for a moment. "Lauryn Hill, Anderson .Paak, Sade, Erykah Badu."

Lisa gasped. "You're speaking my language."

Jennie smirked. "Careful, Lisa. You might fall in love."

Lisa placed a dramatic hand over her heart. "Too late."

The farmer laughed, shaking her head. "And you? What do you listen to?"

Jennie tapped her fingers against her glass. "It depends on my mood. Sometimes it's classical music, sometimes it's pop, sometimes it's just... quiet."

The farmer nodded in understanding. "I get that. Silence can be nice when everything else is too loud."

For a moment, they just looked at each other, something unspoken passing between them.

Lisa, ever the disruptor, cleared her throat. "Okay, but real question: do you watch trashy reality TV?"

The farmer grinned. "Only when my sister forces me to. But I have to admit, some of it is addictive."

Lisa sat up excitedly. "Wait—have you seen Terrace House?"

Jennie groaned. "Not Terrace House again."

The farmer laughed. "I have. It's surprisingly wholesome."

Lisa clapped her hands. "Yes! Jennie doesn't appreciate the slow-burn drama."

Jennie scoffed. "Because nothing happens."

The farmer shrugged. "Sometimes, the smallest moments are the best ones."

Lisa pointed at her. "See? She gets it."

Jennie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. The conversation flowed easily, their laughter filling the cabin as they swapped more stories—Lisa's embarrassing childhood memories, Jennie's secret talent for writing bad poetry, the farmer's mischievous younger years spent sneaking into the barn to read instead of doing chores.

At some point, the drinks ran low, and their voices grew softer. The night outside was still, the crickets singing their usual lullaby.

Jennie stretched, letting her head fall back against the pillow. "This has been the most unexpected retreat ever."

Lisa hummed in agreement. "And we still have weeks to go."

The farmer glanced between them, something unreadable in her expression. "You think you'll survive out here?"

Lisa grinned. "If you keep bringing drinks and saving us from fishing disasters, we might."

The farmer chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."

Jennie, feeling the warmth of the alcohol and the company settle deep in her bones, met her gaze once more. "I think we'll be okay."

And for the first time in a long time, she actually believed it.