Page 44 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
‘You can just imagine strolling through here, arm in arm with someone you love, watching the sun set over the mountains…’ Instead of poking and prodding any further, I nod towards the hills in the distance where the sun is heading downwards.
I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised when Darcy holds his arm out, silently asking me to slip my hand through it, and I do so at super speed in case he changes his mind. I edge closer to him as we walk, letting my fingers curl into the sleeve of his jacket and holding his arm as tight to my body as I dare.
The fresh scent of his aftershave combines with the scent of roses in the air and that sense of peace settles over me too. It’s been a while since I felt happy, but in this beautiful place with this beautiful man beside me, it’s easy to believe I could be again one day.
‘This was my dad’s private garden.’ When we get to old redbrick walls and a limp wooden gate that looks like it might blow down in the next gust of wind, Darcy extracts his arm from mine to get the keys from his pocket again. ‘The viscount gifted him this space to do whatever he wanted with. He’d always wanted a rose garden but had no space at home, so that’s what he grew here.’
Inside the gate, there’s a long archway built of climbing frames with roses scrambling all over them, and outside of that are rows and rows of rose bushes with paths between them. Most of them are dormant for winter already, some still have leaves but bare stems where he’s deadheaded the spent flowers, but plenty are still flowering too.
I carry Mrs Potts as he shows us around. I’ve tried to imagine where Darcy works, but I’d never imagined it was somewhere this beautiful. There are white roses that look like they’ve been splashed with pink raindrops and yellow and orange roses that fade to pink as the flowers mature, and bursts of pink and purple flowers all the way through the walled garden.
‘This is where I grow all my stock, and this…’ He invites me into a long greenhouse. ‘This is where I do all my breeding. This is what I wanted to show you.’
The greenhouse has got workbenches running along both sides of it, one side covered with an array of gardening tools and empty pots, and the other covered with rows of seed trays full of tiny rose sprouts and potted larger seedlings.
‘This is the rose I’m breeding this year. It’s a hybrid of that one and that one.’ He points to a tray of young plants and then to a mature yellow rose and a lilac rose further along the workbench. ‘It should grow with lilac petals with blotches of yellow, but each one will be unique. I remember you telling me your mum loved roses, and I thought… What was your mum’s name?’
‘Rosalie. That’s why she was so drawn to them – people called her Rosie for short.’
‘I thought I might name it the Rosalie rose…’ He speaks fast, as though he thinks I’m going to object. ‘I print up information cards with each plant so I can add a little bit about her, if you’d like. “Rosalie Platt loved roses and was a much-loved mum and bookseller” or something. You can decide.’
‘Rosalie Platt was never too old to believe in fairy tales,’ I say instantly. A Tale As Old As Time only exists because of her conviction that it was never too late for a fairy-tale ending.
His voice is thick with emotion. ‘I thought you might like her name to live on. I’ll be selling them as cut flowers and as plants for people to grow themselves, so anyone who buys them will know her name, and have them for many years in their gardens. And obviously I’ll plant some in your garden too, and if you’d like any for family or friends to remember her by, they’re yours.’
I don’t know when I started crying, but tears are pouring down my face and trying to swipe them away does nothing to stem the flow.
‘I don’t know what to say.’ I sniffle but there’s no hiding how touched I am. It’s the most thoughtful, kind gesture, andhehas got the most beautiful heart of gold, and I’m at a loss for how to get across how much this means.
I reach out and deliberately take his right hand. He knows I saw the scars the other day, and he’s going to object but I don’t let him. I hold his gloved hand between both of mine and squeeze it. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done. She’d love that.Ilove that. Darcy, you are…’
He’s closed the greenhouse door behind us, so Mrs Potts is safe and has gone off to watch a spider knitting its web in a corner.
‘I want… Ineedto ask you something.’ I swallow hard and take a deep breath. ‘Take off your glasses. Please. You’re themost beautiful person I’ve ever met, and I’ve never even looked into your eyes. Let me say thank you face to face.’
‘Marnie…’ He looks down at where I’m still clutching his hand, looking like he wishes my grip wasn’t so strong.
‘Whatever you’re hiding doesn’t make you a beast…’
‘Maybe the physical side doesn’t.’ It’s a soft under-the-breath mutter that proves this goes a lot deeper than the scars he keeps hidden, and I squeeze his hand even tighter, keeping my gaze on his face, challenging him with my eyes alone, like a staring contest with an unseen opponent.
Eventually he sighs and gives one curt nod, and I let his hand go so he can turn away and adjust the cap and scarf, as if he’s trying to make sure that I don’t see a millimetre that he isn’t ready to reveal, then he turns back, his dark glasses in his hand, and I’m looking up into Darcy’s blue eyes.
And they take my breath away because I didn’t think we’d ever get to this point. I didn’t think he’d ever trust me enough for something so intimate, and it’s not like my tears had stopped anyway, but they spill over again, streaming down my cheeks because I’m bursting with emotion and crying is the only outlet.
‘That’s most people’s reaction to seeing me.’ The corners of his eyes crinkle up like he’s smiling behind the scarf.
I give his arm a gentle smack. ‘Happy tears, you know that.’
‘I do.’ His eyes look as though they’re starting to water too.
There’s a bandana under the cap that I hadn’t noticed before, pulled right down over his eyebrows, and his eyes are such a beautiful light blue, deep and filled with so many emotions, his pupils wide, and I reach up and cup his face through the scarf, letting my fingers rub over the cable-knit layers of black fabric. He doesn’t drop eye contact and this feels like such a fragile intimacy. If one of us dares to even breathe, the spell will be broken.
‘How can someone who creates such beauty ever think of themselves as a beast?’ I murmur.
He shakes his head without dislodging my hand. He’s not disagreeing, he’s just letting me know it’s something he can’t answer, and I’m not going to push him any further.
Instead, I let my thumb rub his hidden cheek, enjoying the moment, especially when his eyes start to slip closed and his head dips towards me, as though he’s enjoying it too. The swell of affection for him spills over and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve pushed myself up on tiptoes and pressed my lips to the scarf against his cheek.
