Page 22 of Love in Full Bloom

"I promise." Her eyes meet mine, the uncertainty replaced by something warmer. "If you promise the same."

"Deal." I seal the promise with a gentle kiss, feeling her respond with a sigh that seems to release all the tension she's been holding.

When we part, she smiles—a real smile that reaches her eyes. "We should probably get back to the exhibition."

"Probably." But neither of us moves. Instead, I take her hand, intertwining our fingers. "For what it's worth, I think we're creating something beautiful together. Something neither of us could create alone."

"Like your garden," she says softly. "A collaboration between structure and wildness."

"Exactly like that." I stand, pulling her gently to her feet. "And I can't wait to see what grows from it."

As we walk back toward the exhibition, hand in hand, I feel a newfound certainty about us. There will be more moments of doubt, more challenges to navigate. But underneath it all is something solid: a connection built on seeing and appreciating each other's true nature, not despite our differences but because of them.

Jasmine squeezes my hand as we approach the garden where her wildflower paintings glow in the evening light, surrounded by the real plants that inspired them. "Thank you," she says simply. "For seeing me."

"Always," I promise, knowing that whatever grows between us will have both strong roots and the freedom to bloom in its own unique way.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BEN

I hold Jasmine's hand as we walk from the botanical garden exhibition back to her apartment. The evening air carries the scent of night-blooming jasmine—a coincidence that makes me smile. The conversation at the dogwood bench has cleared the air between us, but there's still something I need to tell her. Something I've been holding back.

"Your paintings were the highlight of the exhibition," I say as we approach her building. "The way they complemented the actual plants... it was perfect."

"Thanks to the curator's placement," she replies, fishing her keys from her purse. "She really understood what I was trying to convey."

I follow her inside, watching as she kicks off her shoes and turns on a small lamp that bathes the room in soft, golden light. She looks beautiful in that green dress, her hair slightly tousled from the evening breeze, her eyes still bright with the excitement of the exhibition's success.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asks, moving toward the kitchen. "Tea? Wine?"

"Actually, there's something I need to tell you first." I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "About how we met."

She turns, her expression curious. "What about it?"

"It wasn't a coincidence." The words come out in a rush. "Me being at your booth that day. I went to the festival specifically to find you."

Jasmine goes still, her brows drawing together. "What do you mean?"

I gesture toward her couch. "Can we sit?"

She nods, and we settle on the small sofa, angled toward each other. I take her hands in mine, gathering my courage.

"My sister Leah didn't just sign me up for the matchmaking service," I explain. "She'd seen your work at a gallery opening last year. She bought one of your wildflower paintings for her office—the chicory, I think. She told Krissa about you, about how your art made her feel."

Jasmine's eyes widen. "So when we met at the festival..."

"Krissa had already told me about you. About your paintings of overlooked wildflowers, about how you see beauty where others don't. She thought we might connect over our different approaches to the natural world." I squeeze her hands gently. "I was skeptical, to be honest. But then I saw your work, and it was..." I search for the right word. "Revelatory."

"You knew who I was before I spilled coffee on you?" A small smile plays at her lips.

"I did. But the coffee was definitely not part of the plan."

She laughs softly, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "So our meeting was... arranged?"

"The introduction was arranged," I clarify. "Everything that happened after was real. Completely real."

I watch her process this information, emotions flickering across her expressive face—surprise, confusion, and something else I can't quite read.

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