Page 15 of Love in Full Bloom

"Especially those parts." I reach over and gently lift her chin, bringing her eyes back to mine. "They're what make you real."

The air between us changes, thickens with possibility. Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back up. I lean forward slightly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to.

She doesn't.

Our lips meet softly at first, a gentle exploration. Her mouth is warm, tasting faintly of strawberries and coffee. When her hand comes up to rest against my chest, I deepen the kiss, drawing her closer. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat that sends heat coursing through me.

When we finally pull apart, her eyes remain closed for a moment, as though she's memorizing the sensation. When they open, they're darker than before, the green flecks more pronounced.

"That was..." she begins.

"Overdue," I finish, smiling.

She laughs, the sound slightly breathless. "I was going to say 'perfect,' but that works too."

I tuck a strand of copper hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. "I've wanted to do that since I saw you at the festival."

"Even after I spilled coffee on you?"

"Especially after that. Your horrified expression was adorable."

She groans, hiding her face against my shoulder. "Don't remind me. Not my smoothest moment."

I wrap my arm around her, enjoying the way she fits against me. "I liked that it wasn't smooth. It was real."

We sit like that for a while, talking quietly as the sun climbs higher. I point out the hawks circling above the meadow, the subtle color variations in the new growth emerging throughout the garden. She tells me about her painting process, how she often works through the night when inspiration strikes, losing all track of time.

Eventually, I stand and offer my hand. "There's one more section I want to show you. It's where I could use your input the most."

She takes my hand, allowing me to pull her to her feet. But instead of releasing it, I keep her hand in mine as we walk. Her fingers intertwine with mine naturally, as though we've been doing this for years instead of minutes.

I lead her to the farthest corner of the property, where a small stream cuts through a wooded area. Here, I've started creatinga series of tiered gardens that follow the natural contours of the land, descending toward the water.

"This is the most challenging section," I explain, guiding her along a rough path. "I want to preserve the wild character while adding elements that draw the eye and invite exploration. But everything I've sketched feels too... constructed."

Jasmine walks slowly through the space, taking in the dappled light, the sound of water over rocks, the volunteer plants already establishing themselves on the slopes.

"What if you work with what's already happening?" she suggests, crouching to examine a cluster of native violets growing near the stream bank. "Look at how these violets have naturally colonized this area. What if you enhanced that pattern, maybe adding some complementary native plants that would thrive in similar conditions?"

I kneel beside her, seeing the area through her eyes. "Instead of imposing a design, amplify the natural patterns."

"Exactly." Her face animates with excitement. "You could create little moments of surprise—a particularly beautiful rock positioned just so, a small sitting area nestled among existing vegetation, stepping stones that guide without dominating."

As she speaks, I can see it—a garden that feels discovered rather than designed. A space that honors the wildness while subtly enhancing it.

"That's brilliant," I tell her, genuinely impressed. "It's exactly the approach this area needs."

Her smile is radiant. "Really? You like the idea?"

"I love it." I stand, helping her up. "It solves the problem I've been wrestling with for months. How to intervene without intruding."

"That's what I try to do in my paintings," she says. "Show what's already beautiful without imposing too much of myself on it."

"Yet your perspective is what makes them special." I squeeze her hand gently. "Just like your perspective is exactly what this garden needed."

We spend the next hour exploring the stream area together, identifying plants already thriving there and discussing others that might complement them. Jasmine sketches quick impressions in a small notebook she pulls from her pocket, capturing the quality of light, the movement of water, the relationship between different elements.

I find myself watching her as much as the landscape—the focused expression as she draws, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when concentrating, the graceful movement of her hands as she gestures to explain an idea. There's a freedom in how she approaches the space, unburdened by the technical constraints that sometimes limit my thinking.

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