Page 14 of Love in Full Bloom

"Smaller than you might think." Something vulnerable flickers across her face again. "Most people don't get it. They see pretty flowers, but they miss the point."

I watch her profile as she looks out across the meadow. There's a tension in her shoulders that wasn't there before, a slight furrow between her brows.

"What is the point?" I ask softly. "Beyond the beauty."

She's quiet for a moment, considering. "That there's value in the overlooked. That persistence matters. That finding your own way to bloom is more important than fitting someone else's idea of what you should be." She glances at me, then away. "That probably sounds silly."

"Not at all." I shift slightly, turning toward her. "It's why your work resonates so deeply. It's honest."

"Honest." She repeats the word thoughtfully. "That's what I'm trying for. But sometimes I worry I feel things too deeply. That I care too much about what most people overlook—like wildflowers growing in the cracks. That my passion is overwhelming, or that I’m just not practical enough."

The insecurity in her voice surprises me. How can someone so talented doubt herself so deeply?

"Jasmine." I wait until she looks at me. "Those qualities are exactly what make your work powerful. What make you interesting."

She studies my face, as though searching for insincerity. "Most men I've dated found it charming at first, then irritating later. My 'artistic temperament,' as my last boyfriend called it."

"Then they were fools." The words come out more forcefully than I intended. "Sorry. I just... I don't understand how anyone could see your passion as a negative."

A small smile tugs at her lips. "Says the man who's known me less than a week."

"Sometimes you recognize something valuable right away." I meet her gaze steadily. "I've built my career on seeing potential where others don't."

The tension in her shoulders eases slightly. She reaches for another strawberry, her fingers brushing mine in the basket. The simple contact sends a current up my arm.

"What about you?" she asks. "Any romantic disasters I should know about?"

I laugh, leaning back against the bench. "Nothing dramatic. Just the usual story—too focused on building my career to maintain relationships. At least, that's what my sister tells me."

"The one who signed you up for the matchmaking service?"

"That's the one. Leah thinks I need someone to 'draw me out of my shell,' as she puts it."

Jasmine tilts her head, studying me. "Are you in a shell?"

The question catches me off guard with its directness. "I... maybe. I've always been more comfortable with plants than people. They don't expect conversation."

"And yet here you are, talking quite comfortably with me."

"You're different." The words slip out before I can consider them.

"How so?"

I look out across the property, gathering my thoughts. "It’s like we’re looking at the same landscape from two different vantage points. Where I see structure and form, you see emotion and story. But we're both looking at the same thing—the beauty in what others overlook."

When I glance back, she's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Soft. Open. Maybe a little surprised.

"That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," she says quietly.

"I find that hard to believe."

"It's true." She sets down her coffee cup. "People compliment my work or my appearance, but you... you see me. The way I think. What matters to me."

The morning sun illuminates her face, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheek, the slight dusting of freckles across her nose. I'm struck again by how beautiful she is—not in a conventional, perfect way, but in a vivid, authentic way that makes it hard to look anywhere else.

"I like what I see," I tell her simply.

Her cheeks flush, and she looks down at her hands. "Even the messy parts? The insecurity and the overthinking and the obsessing over plants most people consider weeds?"

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