Page 15 of Spring Fling

I placed my hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry you went through that. At least now everyone knows your arrangement was ruined on purpose. No one can doubt your skill.”

She swallowed. “Greta said she’d alert the judges that I was sabotaged, so my booth should still have a fair shot. I hope it isn’t too late.”

I brushed a hand along her soft cheek. “You’ll do great. Even if you don’t win, your display speaks for itself. Sponsors or no sponsors, cameras, or no cameras, I believe in you.”

Her eyes misted. “Thank you, Hayden.” She leaned her forehead against my chest. For a moment, we just stood there, letting the morning sun bathe us in warmth. Vendor carts rolled past, festival-goers bustled about, but it felt like we were in our own little oasis.

She looked up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “So… no Ariana, no reality show. Are you all right with that?”

I smiled back, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss across her lips. “More than all right. I never wanted it in the first place. I just want to help people connect with nature, maybe publish another practical gardening book someday. And I’d like to do it all while staying true to myself—and to you, if you’ll let me.”

Daisy pressed her palms lightly against my chest. “I think I’d like that very much.”

We shared a brief, tender kiss that dispelled every lingering worry about Ariana or sabotage. In the distance, I heard the voice of an announcer over the loudspeakers, calling for participants to finalize their displays before the big ceremony. Daisy pulled back, cheeks flushed, eyes shining with excitement.

“They’ll start judging any minute,” she said. “I need to touch up my booth.”

I took her hand. “Then let’s get you ready. I’ll be cheering you on, no matter what.”

We made our way through the festival grounds, hand in hand, weaving past bright pavilions and blooming arches. People laughed and snapped photos, the air fragrant with fresh blossoms and newly cut stems. As we walked, I couldn’t help sneaking glances at Daisy, marveling at how this messy week had led to such clarity. The sabotage was exposed, the staged relationship storyline was dead, and all that remained was the reason we both came here: the glory of Mother Nature, creativity, and a chance to share it all.

We paused for one last embrace before reaching her booth. She placed a gentle kiss on my cheek and whispered, “Thank you. For everything.”

I drew her close. “No, Daisy—thank you.” Then I let her go so she could focus, stepping aside to watch her greet early customers and fuss over her flowers.

In a couple of hours, we would all gather for the award ceremony. Maybe Daisy would triumph; maybe not. But standing there, seeing her eyes light up as she worked, I felt a surge of certainty.

Whatever happened next, I had found something genuine—something worth more than any sponsor contract.

And that was enough for me.

Chapter Nine

Daisy

I stood among the gathered crowd, my heart hammering so loud I was sure the entire festival could hear it. The stage in front of us was draped in spring blossoms, a vibrant sea of tulips, daisies, and lilies that mirrored the colorful energy of the Flower & Garden Market’s final day. In the background, cameras flashed and onlookers buzzed with anticipation, waiting for the announcement of this year’s Best in Bloom.

Greta Nordin adjusted her jacket and stepped up to the microphone, her smile warm and genuine. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, pausing to survey the sea of faces. “This year’s entries have been especially creative, making our judging more difficult than ever. However, after much deliberation, we are thrilled to present the Best in Bloom award to…” She paused dramatically, gazing down at the envelope in her hand. “William Ortiz!”

A wave of cheers and applause surged through the crowd as William—the kind older man with the booth next to mine—took several steps forward, leaning on his cane for support. His family erupted with excitement behind him: his wife, children,and a handful of bright-eyed grandchildren all cheered, calling his name and snapping photos on their phones. Tears of joy shone in William’s eyes as he accepted the plaque and a huge bouquet of congratulatory flowers.

Though my heart pounded with its own hopes, I found myself beaming at William, moved by his obvious passion. He had told me once that owning his flower shop in New Mexico was the culmination of a lifetime of dreams, and now he was living yet another dream: winning Best in Bloom at this prestigious festival. Photographers, journalists, and sponsors rushed toward the stage to interview him, thrusting microphones and notepads in his direction. He looked positively radiant.

With William’s moment in full swing, I expected the ceremony to wind down; the top prize had been given. I wasn’t disappointed for myself—my booth had gotten good feedback despite the earlier sabotage, and I felt accomplished simply being there. But then, I noticed Lucille Garry, the elegant silver-haired woman who had stopped by my booth on the first morning, lean in to whisper in Greta’s ear. Greta’s eyes lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically.

Stepping back to the microphone, Greta raised one hand to quiet the crowd. “Folks, we have another announcement! Ms. Lucille Garry here represents a very popular national home-and-garden publication, and she’s brought some exciting news.” Greta motioned for Lucille to step forward, but the older woman simply smiled and gave Greta a little gesture to go ahead and speak on her behalf. Greta cleared her throat and beamed at the audience. “We’re delighted to share that Daisy Parker, of Bloom & Grow Floral Design, will receive a special second-place prize: an upcoming feature article and photo spread in the magazine,as well as a monetary award equal to half the Best in Bloom prize.”

A flash of disbelief rippled through me. My hands flew to my mouth, and I struggled not to squeal out loud. The crowd erupted again, offering a warm congratulations. Greta waved me forward, and I made my way onto the stage, cheeks burning with excitement. My eyes instantly found Hayden in the crowd—he was clapping like crazy, a huge grin stretching across his face.

Lucille smiled and inclined her head. “You have a wonderful gift for mixing colors and textures, Daisy,” she said over the din. “We look forward to showcasing your work along with William’s.”

I stammered my thanks, not entirely sure how I made it through the impromptu photo session that followed. My heart felt lighter than it had in ages, buzzing with the realization that all my labor, all those miles on the road and hours perfecting my designs, had led me to this special moment.

The next day, the festival field was quiet. Most of the booths had been dismantled, and the celebratory bunting hung limp in the gentle breeze. In my room at the Evergreen Inn, I finished tucking the last of my things into my suitcase. My mind replayed the night before—Hayden and I had toasted my surprise win at a small Italian restaurant recommended by Rory and Cass, the soft glow of candlelight making our table feel like our own little universe. We had talked for hours, sharing stories, getting personal about our pasts, reveling in how good it felt not to hide anymore.

After dinner, we returned to my room and lost ourselves in each other again, the connection between us somehow growingeven deeper. I fell asleep in his arms, not worrying about tomorrow for the first time in a long while.

I zipped my suitcase shut, determined to hold on to the sense of hope that had blossomed inside me. A soft knock sounded at my door, and my pulse quickened. I opened it to see Hayden, looking relaxed in a comfortable shirt and jeans, a far cry from the tense figure I’d first encountered at the start of the festival.

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