One blazing summer’s afternoon, I’m sweating over a bed of ivory roses in the enormous grounds of the earl’s manor and absolutely  regretting my life choices. Although I love the rose garden, days like this make tending them a nightmare: the sun is beating down relentlessly on my back and neck, the flowers’ sharp thorns drawing both blood from my fingers and cursing from my lips. 

Putting my injured fingers in my mouth, I contemplate the afternoon’s work. In an hour, I’ve managed to cut the dead leaves and petals away from the healthy ones, turn over the earth and carefully drip whatever water I can spare over the dry, cracked soil. Although I’ve tried my hardest, these roses are beginning to succumb to the baking heat. Without shade and water, they’re sure to die, even with my devoted care. The thought saddens me, because I know there’s nothing I can do to save their fleeting beauty. 

Reaching out, I stroke the velvety softness of a drooping snowy petal. Its delicate hairs are the finest, silkiest satin, like the softly ruffled edge of a ballgown, or the drifting seeds of a dandelion, or the brand-new feathers on a chick’s nape. 

‘Why do you have to go?’ I say sadly, gazing at it. 

Suddenly, a voice comes from behind me. 

‘Curious pastime, that. Talking to plants.’ 

I whirl in shock, a gasp wrenching out of me. A boy around nineteen summers is leaning against the low redbrick wall that surrounds the rose garden, a slight smile on his face. Curly ginger hair frames his face in wild abundance, setting off the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen in my - very long - life. He’s taller than me by about an inch, his height making his slenderness more pronounced. His clothes are clearly expensive, but he doesn’t look at me like I’m something he’s found on the bottom of his shoe.

It’s a nice change.

'Why're you sneaking up on me?!' I bluster, trying to hide how cute I think this boy is. He raises a perfect eyebrow, as if daring me to object. I raise one right back, fighting the smile tugging at my lips.

Then his mouth splits into a radiant grin, and it lights up his face like he's full of sunshine. I finally release my own smile, laughing with him; I've forgotten the cuts on my fingers, the sweltering heat, the plight of my roses. The only thing that exists in the world is this boy with hair of flames.