Page 10

JENNA

I float into the kitchen. Even after a few days, my body still tingles from Blaise's touch. Every inch of my skin remembers the press of his fingers, the warmth of his lips, the way he felt moving inside me.

Debbie looks up from chopping vegetables. "Good God, girl, what is up with you? For the last few days, you look like your feet haven’t touched the ground. Has Ronan finally taken an interest in you?”

I shake my head. “No, but I am in love.” I haven’t told Debbie all the details about Blaise. I don’t know why I’ve held back, except maybe out of fear that it wasn’t real.

“Do tell.” Debbie abandons her knife and drags me to the corner table.

“It’s Blaise.”

“Hot new guard Blaise?”

I nod. "He packed this amazing picnic. We went to a spot near the east gate. There’s an oak grove… He brought me strawberries, and we talked. He actually listens to me, you know?"

"And?" Debbie leans forward, resting her chin on her hands, eyes sparkling. "That dreamy look says there's more."

My face burns hotter. "We… um… we… ah… you know."

“Oh, my God, Jenna, did you fuck him?” She grabs my hands.

Fuck sounds too feral for what we did. We made love. “It wasn’t just the act. It was perfect. The way he held me, how gentle he was… And afterward, he said he loves me."

Her head jerks back and her eyes narrow. "Already? Wow."

"I know it sounds fast, but when you know, you just know." I press my hands to my chest, feeling my racing heart. "It's nothing like my crush on Ronan. That was just fantasy. This is real. Blaise sees me, the real me."

Debbie squeezes my arm. "As long as you're happy.”

But I sense her concern. I get it. I hardly know Blaise. And up until he showed up, I was smitten with Ronan Kean.

"I never knew I could feel this way. I never wanted to give myself like I wanted?—”

“Wait. Was that your first time?” Now her eyes are rounded.

“Yes, and it was… well… perfect.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite mask the concern I see in her eyes.

“I thought you’d be glad I’d given up on Ronan.”

“Well, I knew that would go nowhere. And if you’re happy and sure about Blaise, then I’m happy for you. And I’m happy that I won’t have to listen to you describe Roman’s perfect hair for the millionth time."

I give her a small whap. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, girl, you were.”

She’s right. "God, I was pathetic." I cover my face with my hands. "Nearly ten years of pining after someone who barely knew I existed. The most attention he ever gave me was asking about the rose bushes."

"And you replanted that whole section three times trying to make them perfect."

What a dummy.

“But you were what… fourteen when you developed your crush on him?”

“Thirteen—”

“Right. Those first loves are brutal. Especially with someone older. I mean he was what, eighteen? Did he even notice you then?”

Memories from a summer ten years ago flood back.

This was before the fire and my mother worked for the Ifrinns.

I always helped during the summer, partly hoping to get a glimpse of Ronan who often came with his father, Hampton.

The Keans and Ifrinns were business associates and friends, spending a lot of time together.

I remember being in the yard, clipping some roses when Ronan stopped to examine them.

"These are pretty," he'd said, leaning close to inhale their scent. His shoulder had brushed mine, sending electricity through my body. "Are you working with your mom this summer, Jenna?"

He'd known my name that day.

I remember how he'd lingered in the garden, asking about the different varieties. For those precious minutes, I wasn't just the gardener's daughter. I was someone whose knowledge he valued. He'd even smiled, a real one that reached his eyes.

There were other moments that summer. I was dealing with ivy growing up a trellis, and instead of walking past like usual, he steadied the ladder, telling me stories about using a trellis to sneak out of his house.

Or when he found me crying behind the greenhouse after Mom’s health first started to decline.

He'd sat with me, awkward but saying if he could help us, he would. And after the fire, he did just that, making sure Mom and I had a place to stay and a job, a job that has come to me now that Mom can’t do it.

Those glimpses of kindness made me believe there was more to him than his cold exterior.

That maybe, just maybe, he saw me as more than staff.

Now I have to acknowledge that in my youth and naivety, I imagined deeper meaning in simple acts of kindness.

I’m still grateful to him for all he’s done for me and Mom, but I have to accept that he has no interest in me beyond caring for the garden and setting up floral arrangements.

“He’d talked to me a few times, but I read more into it,” I answer Debbie’s question. “But Blaise, he noticed me right away. He’s so sweet, and he kisses—” I stop myself, not sure if I want to go into more detail than I already have.

“Oh, no, you can’t say that and not finish the sentence,” Debbie teasingly admonishes me.

“He kisses really well.”

“Well, he’s definitely better than Mr. High-and-Mighty who can't remember your name half the time."

"Have you noticed that Blaise knows everyone's name, from the kitchen staff to the grounds crew? He treats people like they matter."

"Plus he actually asked you out instead of making you wait around hoping he'd notice you exist."

"Exactly." I smile, remembering how nervous I'd been when Blaise first approached me. "It's nice being with someone who wants to be with me too."

"That's what real love should be."

“It is real, Deb. When he said he loved me, I knew it was true.”

Again, her expression becomes concerned. “I know you’re feeling all the feels, Jen. But it’s okay to take things slow.”

“I know it seems fast and it is a little scary, but it’s also so wonderfully thrilling.

” I laugh giddily. "Remember when we'd watch those romantic movies, and I'd always say how unrealistic they were?

How no one actually falls in love that fast or feels butterflies just from someone looking at them? "

"You're eating those words." Debbie grins.

"Completely. When Blaise looks at me, my knees go weak. When he touches me?—”

The kitchen door swings open and immediately, Debbie and I rise from our chairs, not wanting to be caught sitting on the job.

Ronan strides past us toward the office that Chef Marcus is currently working in. "We'll need the full spread for Saturday. Father's bringing in some important associates,” Ronan tells him.

A year ago, that voice would have melted me into a puddle. Now I notice how he speaks down to the staff, like we're beneath him.

"Of course, Mr. Kean." Chef Marcus nods. "The usual selections?"

"Add caviar this time. And make sure there's enough champagne. Staff needs to be in full dress." Ronan's eyes sweep the kitchen, passing over me like I'm part of the furniture. "These people expect the best. And the floral arrangements need to be impressive."

"I can handle those, Mr. Kean," I speak up, my voice steady. The old Jenna would have stammered.

He finally looks at me, but there's no recognition in his eyes. "Good. Make them spectacular. Nothing ordinary."

I think of all the times I rearranged entire garden beds just because he mentioned liking a certain color. How I memorized his schedule so I could "accidentally" be working near the path when he took his morning walk. God, I was such an idiot.

"Yes, Mr. Kean." I meet his gaze now, something I never dared before. He's still handsome, but the spell is broken. I see the coldness behind those green eyes, the way his smile never quite reaches them.

I watch Ronan leave, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft whoosh. It’s almost like my childhood has left with him.

"Hey." Debbie squeezes my shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just… It's strange. He’s not as appealing as I remember.”

She snorts out a laugh. “Blaise helped you take those rose-colored glasses off. Thank God.”

“I guess I was a silly girl. I used to think if I just tried harder, worked longer, made everything perfect, then he'd see me.”

“He doesn’t see anyone but himself. Have you noticed that whenever he passes a reflective surface he checks himself out?” She purses her lips and shakes her head.

“He does?” I’m not surprised. Ronan is vain.

“And you’re not silly. You were young. We’ve all been there. I remember crushing on my eighth grade English teacher and bawling my eyes out when I learned he was married.”

I give her a hug. “You’re the best, Deb.”

“Of course. Don’t forget it.”

“I’ve got to get to work. I’m checking the arrangements in the house first.”

“Will I see you for lunch or will you be fucking behind the old oak tree?”

My cheeks heat. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

I leave the kitchen, making my way toward the foyer to check on the large floral display on the entry table. The stems aren’t wilting and the flowers are bright and open, so I decide it can stay one more day.

I start toward the living room when Ronan approaches me. His eyes narrow, like he's trying to place me in his mental catalog of servants even though he just saw me five minutes earlier. "You're the gardener's daughter."

“I was. Now I’m the gardener.”

"Jenny—”

“It’s Jenna. Jenna Hart.” My voice is firm, not wistful like how I used to be around him. "I've been tending your gardens for three years."

"Right. The roses." He crosses his arms, actually looking at me for once. “This meeting on Saturday is important. Everything needs to reek of power and money, even the flowers.”

“Okay. I could sketch some arrangements if you’d like to see them first.” Already, I’m thinking I might have to order flowers, as we have a limited number of blooms in spring in Boston. Plus, ordering something exotic would help him reek of power and money.

Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, or curiosity. "You sketch the designs?"

"Every arrangement. It helps visualize the final piece." I meet his gaze steadily now, where once, I would have looked away.

“Do that. Leave them with my mother or Keira. One of them will take care of it.” He glances at his watch, already dismissing me. "Just make sure they're impressive."

"Of course, Mr. Kean."

He's already turning away, phone in hand, probably forgetting I exist before he reaches the door. For a moment, sadness fills my chest, but it’s not at his dismissal of me. It’s for the girl who wasted so much time trying to earn his attention. Ronan was my first crush, my teenage dream.

But now I have something real, someone who doesn't make me question my worth or leave me wondering whether I matter. I have Blaise, whose eyes light up when he sees me. Who asks about the garden and actually listens to my answers. Who touches me like I’m a precious treasure.

I return to work, and I think of ways I can do something to make Blaise feel as special as he makes me feel. For the man who taught me the difference between dreams and reality.

Maybe I’ve fallen too fast, too easily, but after years of holding back, of loving from afar, I want to embrace this feeling with both hands. I want to hold on to it, cherish it, give myself fully over to it because I trust Blaise with my heart.