Page 116 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

She snorted. “You clearly haven’t seen my budgeting spreadsheets.”

We both laughed, the kind of laughter that fills in the cracks and makes them stronger. Around us, the community buzzed like a well-loved beehive. Kids chalked the sidewalk with daisies and hearts. Hazel had roped Eleanor into running a tie-dye station. Even Marge had taken charge of the lemonade stand with frightening efficiency.

Delays didn’t scare me anymore. What mattered wasn’t a perfect schedule. It was moments like this—the chaos, the joy, the unmistakable heartbeat of something real.

I looked over at the unfinished foundation, its raw edges waiting for walls, windows, and stories.

“We’ll still open,” I said. “A little later than planned. But with more heart than I ever thought possible.”

Ruby nodded. “I think the town’s already falling in love with it.”

I glanced back at the sign we’d propped up for the day: The Hearts in Bloom Center: Where Medicine and Magic Meet.

She followed my gaze. “You think we’re crazy?”

“For planting dreams in dirt and calling it a future?” I grinned. “Completely.”

She nudged me with her shoulder. “That’s how you know it’ll grow.”

I leaned in closer, my voice low. “Tell me we’re doing the right thing.”

She didn’t hesitate. “We’re not just doing the right thing, Damien. We’re doing the real thing.”

A breeze rustled the garden beds, carrying with it the scent of lavender and possibility. I took it all in—the sun, the sounds, her—and let it root itself deep.

Delays, I could handle.

What mattered was standing next to Ruby, ready to pivot. Ready to build. Ready for forever.

The scent of rosemary and fresh mulch lingered in the air as I crouched by the front steps of the Hearts in Bloom Center, sealing the welcome kit with a small ribbon of twine. Inside were lavender sachets, a bandage tin, and a note Ruby hand-lettered with care: "You are welcome here. Just as you are."

Behind me, Ruby adjusted the last planter, fluffing a stubborn marigold that refused to sit still. She had daisies tucked behind both ears and smudges of dirt on her cheek, and she’d never looked more radiant.

“Okay,” she said, stepping back with a satisfied nod. “That’s the last one. Tell me it looks like we didn’t just sprint through the final lap of a marathon.”

I stood and joined her, taking in the space. Sunlight streamed through the glass-paneled roof, casting golden patterns over the garden beds. Wooden benches circled the central fountain—heridea—and the mural by the kids from Cedar Elementary spilled color across the wall like joy made visible.

“It looks like we built a miracle,” I said.

She smiled, eyes soft. “We built this.”

“From nothing but daisy chains and sheer determination,” I added.

We stood in silence, our hands linked, surrounded by the place that had nearly broken us—and healed us in the same breath.

Hazel’s soft humming floated through the air as she walked by with Eleanor and Marge, who were arguing over where to place the final bulletin board. The old women huffed and fussed, then waved us off when Ruby tried to intervene.

“They’ve got it,” she whispered, turning to face me.

I slid my hands around her waist. “So do we.”

Ruby laid her head against my chest, and we started to sway, right there in the middle of the welcome hall, our footsteps echoing faintly across the polished floor. No music but Hazel’s humming, no spotlight but the sun, and no audience but a few nosy petunias.

“You know,” I murmured, “I’ve done a lot of things with my life. But I’ve never danced in a wellness center with a barefoot florist in overalls.”

She leaned up and kissed my jaw. “Guess we’re both breaking patterns.”

We swayed until the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long, until our breaths aligned and the rhythm of our hearts quieted the world around us.

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