Page 21 of Love in Full Bloom

When Jasmine returns wearing a flowing green dress that makes her eyes more emerald than hazel, I'm struck again by how beautiful she is—not in a conventional way, but in a way that feels alive and authentic.

"Ready?" she asks, though her voice suggests she's anything but.

The botanical garden glows with string lights when we arrive, creating a magical atmosphere as twilight deepens. Jasmine's paintings have been placed throughout the garden, each onepositioned near the type of plant it depicts. It's a brilliant curatorial choice—her wild rose painting beside a heritage rose garden, her dandelion study near a section on beneficial "weeds," her meadow piece in an open area where multiple plant communities converge.

Visitors move through the garden, pausing to admire both the plants and Jasmine's interpretations of them. I watch her interact with people, explaining her work with passion despite her earlier uncertainty. When she's in her element talking about art, she shines.

But I notice the tension returns whenever she's not actively engaging with others. She keeps a subtle distance between us, and twice I catch her watching me when she thinks I'm not looking, her expression troubled.

After an hour of mingling, I find her alone by her meadow painting, staring at it with a furrowed brow.

"Your work is the highlight of the exhibition," I say, approaching slowly. "I've overheard at least a dozen people saying so."

"Thanks." She doesn't look up. "The garden setting helps. Your world makes mine look better."

The way she phrases it confirms my suspicions about what's troubling her. "Jasmine, can we talk? Somewhere private?"

She nods, and I lead her to a secluded bench beneath a flowering dogwood, away from the crowds. We sit side by side, not quite touching.

"I know that someone said something that made you doubt us."

She stares at her hands folded in her lap. "It wasn't just what she said. It was realizing how different our worlds are. Your work is respected, professional. Mine is..." She gestures vaguely.

"Emotional? Intuitive? Filled with heart?" I finish for her. "Those aren't weaknesses, Jasmine. They're what make your work powerful."

"But they're not what make a successful career. Or a successful relationship." She finally looks at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I'm afraid you'll eventually realize I'm not... enough. Not structured enough or professional enough or..."

"Stop." I take her hands in mine, holding them firmly. "Listen to me. Before I met you, I was creating technically perfect landscapes that lacked soul. My work was admired but not loved. You showed me what was missing—the emotional connection, the wildness that makes a space truly alive."

She blinks, a tear escaping down her cheek. "But?—"

"No buts." I reach up to wipe away the tear with my thumb. "I've spent my entire career imposing order on nature, and you've shown me the beauty in letting things grow where they will. Do you know how valuable that perspective is to me? Not just professionally, but personally?"

"I just don't want you to wake up one day and realize I'm too much. Too emotional, too scattered, too..."

I smile gently. "Jasmine, I've spent my life being too structured, too controlled, too focused on perfection. You balance me. You show me what I've been missing."

Her eyes search mine, looking for sincerity. "Really?"

"Really." I take a deep breath, deciding to be completely vulnerable. "The truth is, I'm scared too. Scared that I'm too boring for someone as vibrant as you. That my methodical approach to everything will eventually frustrate you. That I won't be able to keep up with your creative energy."

Surprise flashes across her face. "You're afraid of not being enough forme?"

"Of course I am." I laugh softly. "You see beauty everywhere. You feel everything so deeply. I worry that my more reserved nature will disappoint you."

"That's ridiculous," she says immediately. "Your thoughtfulness, your attention to detail, the way you notice things others miss—those qualities are what draw me to you."

"And your emotional openness, your intuitive understanding of beauty, the way you find meaning in things others overlook—those are what draw me to you." I squeeze her hands gently. "Don't you see? We're not too different. We complement each other."

She's quiet for a moment, absorbing my words. "Like structure and wildness in a garden."

"Exactly." I smile, feeling the tension between us finally begin to ease. "Neither is complete without the other."

A soft breeze stirs the dogwood blossoms above us, sending a few white petals drifting down around us like snow. One lands in Jasmine's hair, and I reach up to brush it away, letting my fingers linger against her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "For pulling away. For letting my insecurities create distance between us."

"Don't apologize for being human." I lean closer, resting my forehead against hers. "Just promise you'll talk to me next time, instead of withdrawing."

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