She took off down the gravel path, probably to rally the others.
I exhaled, rolled my shoulders, and started toward the porch. Whatever came next—press, mayors, awkward dancing—I was ready.
Because for the first time in a long time, I knew exactly where I belonged.
Chapter thirty-three
Ruby
The first thing I noticed was the sound. Laughter. Soft music spilling from the speakers Eleanor swore were Bluetooth but somehow still needed a dozen cords. The buzz of conversation wove through the air like a happy hum, and every corner of the Hearts in Bloom Center felt alive.
Kids darted past me, chasing butterflies and one another, their sticky fingers clutching juice boxes and wildflower crowns. Elders lounged beneath the pergola in the herb garden, sipping lemonade and chatting like old friends who finally had the time. Someone was playing a gentle melody on a violin near the sensory trail, and the scent of rosemary, lavender, and just-cut daisies lingered in the air.
It was everything we dreamed.
I moved slowly through the garden path, soaking it in. The signage was perfect, the flower beds full of promise, and every detail bore the fingerprints of love—Hazel’s handmade signs, Eleanor’s poetry quotes painted on stones, even Marge’slopsided topiary rabbit by the welcome arch. It was chaotic, colorful, and completely Cedar Springs.
Inside the main building, Damien stood in the wellness commons, holding a foam heart model in one hand and sporting a flower crown made by a very enthusiastic five-year-old named Molly. It tilted dramatically to one side, pink carnation clinging for dear life.
“So,” Damien said to a circle of attendees, “when it comes to heart health, it’s not just about blood pressure. It’s about joy. Movement. Connection. Like showing up to a grand opening wearing this ridiculous thing because a kid asked you to.”
The crowd chuckled. He smiled.
And my knees? They wobbled. Right there, in the middle of a medical demonstration.
I leaned against the doorframe and watched him work the room—in his own awkward, surprisingly charming way. He’d always been commanding, but this version of him? Playful. Grounded. Happy.
I slipped away before he caught me staring like a starstruck teenager.
Near the reflection pond, I found Hazel directing a group of kids planting sunflower seedlings. "You're not just digging holes, tiny gardeners. You're making history."
"History's itchy," one of the boys grumbled, scratching his arm.
Hazel winked. "So's greatness."
I laughed and helped a little girl find a missing glove, marveling at how far we’d come. Just a year ago, this place was a pile of permits, dreams, and overgrown weeds. Now? It was something real. Something we built with our hands, hearts, and just enough chaos to make it interesting.
Eleanor approached with a clipboard and a confident stride. “You haven’t cried yet. Impressive.”
“I’m pacing myself,” I said, blinking back a suspicious prickle behind my eyes.
She handed me a fresh corsage. “For the woman who made hearts bloom.”
I took it gently, fingers brushing the petals. “That plaque still makes me cry, you know.”
“Good. It’s supposed to.”
We hugged, and she moved off to manage the guestbook table, shouting something about ink refills and rogue glitter.
I took a slow lap around the outer courtyard, letting my fingertips graze the leaves, the bricks, the railings. My lungs filled with cedar-sweet air, and the knot that had lived beneath my ribs for years slowly, sweetly, began to unravel.
“Excuse me,” a man said behind me. I turned to find a visitor holding one of our maps upside down. “Is this where the meditation garden is, or have I wandered into a tea party for bees?”
I grinned. “That’s actually both. Meditation garden that way, honeybee education circle to your left.”
“This place is incredible,” he said.
It really, really was.