Page 4

"You like gardens, I like discovering the heart of a city." His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me around a corner.

At the restaurant, he pulls out my chair and helps me sit, like a true gentleman. He orders us wine and then we order our meals.

“So, Jenna Hart, tell me about you.” His green gaze watches me and for the first time, I feel seen.

“There’s not much to tell. I was raised by my mom. I’ve learned all there is to know about gardening on the estate from her and took over when she… retired. What about you?”

He shrugs, swirling his wine in the glass. “Born and raised in Boston. I now work as part of the Keans’ protection unit.”

“Do you have family?”

Again, I see a flash of something dark that makes me recoil. But as quick as it’s there, it’s gone. “My parents have passed. I have a few brothers.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I reach out and put my hand over his. He stills and his jaw tightens. I imagine the loss must have been difficult. Considering his reaction, I’m surprised when he turns his hand over and clasps my hand.

“It was a while ago.”

“Still. I can’t imagine your loss.” I think about my mother, knowing her illness will likely take her from me sooner than later. I don’t know how I’ll survive without her.

The conversation continues, and I’m amazed at how he actually listens when I talk about my dreams for the estate gardens. His eyes crinkle when he laughs at my story about the time I accidentally fertilized the roses with coffee grounds and the whole garden smelled like a cafe for weeks.

His genuine interest warms something deep inside me, a place I didn't realize had grown cold from years of one-sided pining.

I take a sip of wine to hide my smile, but it spreads anyway.

How many times had I tried to share these same stories with Ronan?

The attempts always ended with his brushing past, phone to his ear, too important and busy for someone like me. Just the help.

"You know what's funny?" I trace the rim of my glass. "I used to practice conversations in my head while I worked, imagining a magazine wanting to do a story and asking about the gardens."

Blaise's hand finds mine across the table again. His thumb brushes my knuckles, sending tingles up my arm. "I’m not a magazine, but your practice has paid off."

I tilt my head to study him, feeling a little bit like he’s too good to be true. “Please tell me you’re really interested in gardens.”

His eyes sparkle. “I’m really interested in you.”

All those years spending my heart on someone who never gave me a second glance. And now, here with Blaise, I finally understand what real connection feels like when it’s two-sided.

He gives me a sheepish smile. “This is the time when you tell me you’re interested in me too.”

My face feels hot. I duck my head, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t interested.”

He laughs. “But you’d rather be with Ronan?”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“It’s no secret that you like him. I can see why. Rich. Powerful. Handsome.”

“You’re handsome,” I blurt out.

“Well, I’ve got one thing going?—”

“And you’re kind. No one has ever shown an interest in the garden like you have.

” I have this panicky feeling like he’s going to leave.

“Ronan doesn’t know I exist. It was just a silly school girl crush.

For a time, I thought if I worked harder, planted prettier flowers…

" I shake my head, realizing I’m babbling.

"No." Blaise squeezes my hand. "Sometimes, the best blooms come from letting go of what isn't growing."

A laugh bubbles up. "Did you just make a gardening metaphor for me?"

His grin dazzles me. "Maybe I'm learning a thing or two from you."

The joy fizzes through me like champagne bubbles. I can't remember the last time I felt this alive. This is real.

“And for the record, Ronan is an idiot to ignore you, although if you tell him I said that, he might have me killed.”

I flinch. It’s not like I don’t know the sort of business the Keans are in. But they’re not murderers. I decide it must be a joke, albeit not a good one. He’s just trying to make me feel good.

“For me to tell him, he’d have to notice me.”

Blaise pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I notice you, Jenna. From the moment I laid eyes on you.”

I swallow, feeling overwhelmed by all this. Maybe I’m dreaming. If I am, I’m not ready to wake up.

After dinner, true to his word, he drives me home. Helping me from the car, he walks me to the front door of the cottage.

"I had an amazing time," I whisper, not ready for the night to end.

"So did I." Blaise steps closer, his green eyes intensely gazing into mine. My breath catches as his palm slides up my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. His other hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip.

"Jenna…"

The space between us disappears. His lips capture mine, soft at first, then with growing intensity. My hands find his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He tastes like the tiramisu we shared for dessert, sweet and rich and perfect.

The world narrows to just this, the press of his body against mine, his fingers tangled in my hair, the small sound that escapes my throat when he deepens the kiss. All thoughts of Ronan vanish. For the first time in my life, I'm with someone who wants me right back.

He pulls back, his eyes narrowed as if he is experiencing something unexpected. For a moment, I worry he didn’t like the kiss.

A smile forms on his face. “Goodnight, Jenna.”

“Goodnight, Blaise.” I lean against the door frame, watching him walk back toward the main house. My lips still tingle from his kiss, and I press my fingers to them, savoring the memory.

Everything feels different. Brighter. More vivid. The stars seem to shine just for me, and even my garden glows in the moonlight. I've spent years dreaming of romance, but nothing in my fantasies comes close to this reality.

God, what a silly woman I am. All those hours I spent arranging Ronan's office flowers just so, hoping he'd notice the careful color combinations. The way I'd time my garden work to catch glimpses of him through windows… What a waste of my time.

This thing with Blaise is real. He doesn't just see me. He wants to know me.

I unlock the door, floating more than walking inside. Mom's already asleep in her chair, her crossword puzzle fallen to the floor. As I drape a blanket over her, I realize I'm smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

For the first time, I understand what I've been missing. Love isn't about chasing someone who doesn't see you. It's about this wild, wonderful feeling of being wanted in return.