Page 20 of Love in Full Bloom

"Yes, but maybe we should eat first?" She's already moving toward the small kitchen area, setting down the bags. "I'm starving, and it smells amazing."

I follow her lead, helping to unpack the food and pour the wine. Her movements are stiff, almost nervous, so different from the fluid grace I observed yesterday. Something is definitely wrong.

"Jasmine," I say quietly as she reaches for plates. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course." Her response comes too quickly. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"You seem... different. Did I do something wrong?"

She sets the plates down with a small sigh. "No, Ben. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But something's changed since yesterday."

She busies herself with opening containers, avoiding my gaze. "I just... I've been thinking."

"About?"

"About us. About how different we are." She finally looks up at me, and the uncertainty in her eyes makes my chest tighten. "Your work is so structured and precise. Mine is emotional. Almost silly. We're complete opposites."

I study her face, trying to understand where this is coming from. "I thought that's what made our connection interesting. Complementary perspectives, remember?"

"Is it, though?" She fidgets with her wineglass. "Or is this just a temporary fascination with something different from your usual world?"

The question catches me off guard. "Where is this coming from, Jasmine? Yesterday you seemed happy about our connection."

"I was. I am." She looks down again. "But I ran into someone who knows your work professionally. She seemed surprised you'd be interested in someone like me."

Understanding dawns. Someone's planted a seed of doubt, and it's taken root in fertile ground. I recognize the pattern—I've seen it in her paintings, the way she captures the beauty in overlooked places while simultaneously questioning if others will value them.

"Let's take our food into your studio," I suggest, changing tactics. "I still want to see where you create."

She looks surprised but nods, helping me gather the food and wine. We move into the studio space, which is even more vibrant than the rest of the apartment. Canvases in various stages of completion surround us, each one a window into how Jasmine sees the world. I notice one canvas turned to face the wall and wonder about its significance.

We settle on a small couch beneath the window, plates balanced on our laps. For a few minutes, we eat in silence, but it's not the comfortable quiet we shared yesterday. This silence feels heavy with unspoken doubts.

"The painting you started after we met," I say finally. "Is that the one facing the wall?"

She nearly chokes on her wine. "How did you know?"

"Just a guess. May I see it?"

She hesitates, then sets her plate aside and moves to retrieve the canvas. When she turns it around, I understand immediately why she hid it. It's a garden unlike any I've seen before—structure and wildness intertwined, architectural elements softened by untamed growth. It's our worlds meeting, creating something new.

"It's not finished," she says quickly. "And the composition doesn't quite work. The colors clash in places, and the concept feels forced?—"

"It's beautiful," I interrupt, setting my plate down and moving closer to examine it. "It's exactly what I've been trying to create at my property. This balance between order and spontaneity."

"You really think so?" Her voice is small, uncertain.

"I know so." I turn to face her directly. "Jasmine, whoever made you doubt our connection was wrong. Our differences aren't an obstacle—they're the entire point."

The art festival event is starting in an hour across town at the botanical gardens. We're supposed to attend together—her paintings are being featured in the garden setting, a perfect fusion of our worlds. But I'm not sure she's in the right headspace for a public event.

"We don't have to go to the festival tonight if you're not feeling up to it," I offer.

"No, we should go. My work is already set up, and the curator is expecting us." She sets the painting back against the wall, this time facing outward. "I just need a few minutes to change."

While she disappears into her bedroom, I study her paintings more closely. Each one reveals something about how she sees the world—beauty in overlooked places, resilience in unexpected forms, emotion in every brushstroke. I'm drawn to a new piece I haven't seen before—a study of water reflecting light, reminiscent of the pond at my property.

---