Molly Prescott

She grew up near the North Carolina coast with salt air and her grandmother's plant nursery teaching her patience. At nineteen, the greenhouse manager she trusted walked away without warning, leaving her alone with rows of seedlings and the sudden weight of being the one people relied on. She learned to stop waiting for permission and started trusting her own hands. Now she runs the campus greenhouse, bakes for her neighbors most nights, and fills her apartment with cuttings she's propagated herself. She wants someone who sees past the sweetness to the spine underneath, but she's terrified of letting someone close enough to leave her again.