The flower that blooms

Previously

…He looked at her, a playful glint in his eye. “Like… a hint of ginger. A little kick.” Lillian laughed, a genuine, unrestrained sound that echoed through the glass panes of the greenhouse. It was a sound Marcus Thorne had never heard, a sound that Marcus Thorne could never create. It was a sound of hope, of defiance, of a flower that was, against all odds, beginning to bloom. The carnations outside, their ruffled petals unfurling in the afternoon sun, seemed to nod in agreement. Fascination, distinction. And a quiet, unfolding strength.