Page 12 of Love in Full Bloom

We stand together in comfortable silence, watching the heron successfully catch a small fish and take flight, its massive wings carrying it effortlessly across the water. The moment feels significant somehow—a shared experience that's creating something new between us.

"Thank you for showing me these places," Ben says finally. "For helping me see what I've been missing."

"Thank you for seeing it," I reply softly. "Most people just think I'm weird for finding beauty in abandoned lots and overgrown corners."

"Not weird. Visionary." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with gentle pressure. "You see possibilities where others see weeds."

The warmth of his palm against mine sends a current up my arm. Such a simple touch, but it feels monumental. Significant. His thumb brushes across my knuckles in a small, unconscious gesture of intimacy.

"I have a garden I'm designing," he says, still holding my hand. "A private project on some land I own outside the city. Would you... would you want to see it sometime? Maybe offer some thoughts on how to incorporate some of these wildflower communities?"

The invitation hangs between us, clearly more than just a professional consultation.

"I'd love to." I squeeze his hand gently. "Maybe you could see my studio too. I'm working on that painting I mentioned—the one inspired by you."

His smile brightens his entire face. "It's a date, then."

A date. An actual, intentional date. The word makes everything real in a way it wasn't before.

As we walk back to the car, still hand in hand, I feel something taking root inside me—something fragile but persistent. Like a wildflower finding its way through concrete, determined to bloom against all odds.

Hope.

CHAPTER SIX

BEN

I stand at the edge of my property, watching the morning light filter through the trees. The land stretches before me—five acres of potential that I've been slowly transforming over the past two years. Not for a client, but for myself. My own canvas where I don't have to compromise vision for practicality or budget constraints.

Jasmine's coming today. The thought makes me smile as I take another sip of coffee, surveying what she'll see. Will she understand what I'm trying to create here? Will she see past the unfinished sections to the possibility beneath?

It's been three days since our wildflower expedition, and I can't stop thinking about her. About the way her eyes lit up when she showed me that stubborn rose growing through concrete. About how her hand felt in mine as we walked back to the car. About the painting she's creating that somehow blends her world and mine.

She's bringing color into my carefully structured life, and I'm still trying to understand what that means.

My truck's headlights catch movement at the end of the long driveway. It's Jasmine's car approaching through the early morning mist. I take a deep breath, surprised by the flutter of nervousness in my chest. This isn't a business meeting. We both know that.

Her car pulls up beside my truck, and she emerges wearing jeans and a light sweater the color of spring leaves. Her auburn hair is pulled back in a loose braid, with tendrils already escaping around her face. She looks both excited and nervous as she spots me.

"You found it," I call, walking toward her.

"Your directions were perfect." She smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Though I wasn't expecting quite so much... space."

"Five acres." I gesture to the surrounding land. "Most of it was cleared for agriculture decades ago, but I've been letting sections return to their natural state while designing others more intensively."

"It's beautiful." Her eyes scan the property, taking in the mix of open meadow, young woodland, and the beginnings of my more structured garden areas. "I can already see what you're trying to do here."

"Can you?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Creating dialogue between the wild and the cultivated." She steps forward, moving toward the nearest garden bed where native perennials grow in carefully considered groupings. "Showing how they can enhance each other rather than compete."

Her insight surprises me. That's exactly what I've been attempting, though I've never articulated it quite so clearly.

"Come on," I say, offering her the extra travel mug I brought. "Let me show you the whole place."

We walk side by side through the property, our shoulders occasionally brushing. I explain my vision for each area: the meadow I'm establishing with native grasses and wildflowers, the small orchard of heritage fruit trees, the woodland garden where shade-loving natives grow beneath the canopy of mature oaks.

"This is the section I'm currently working on," I tell her as we approach a partially completed garden room. Stone paths wind through plantings that are still taking shape, leading to a small circular patio. "It's meant to be a contemplative space. Somewhere to sit and observe the changing seasons."

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