Page 10 of Love in Full Bloom (Zaftig Ever After #2)

CHAPTER SEVEN

JASMINE AND BEN

I drive home from Ben's property with my heart so full it feels like it might burst. The morning we spent together keeps replaying in my mind—the way he looked at my paintings with genuine understanding, the feel of his hand in mine as we walked through the gardens, that kiss that still makes my skin tingle when I think about it.

For the first time in forever, I feel seen.

Not just as an artist, but as a person. Ben doesn't just tolerate my "whimsical" side—he appreciates it.

Values it, even. The way he listened to my ideas about the stream garden, his excitement when I suggested working with the natural patterns already forming.

.. it wasn't patronizing. He truly wanted my perspective.

I hum along to the radio as I pull into the parking lot of my apartment building, already thinking about tomorrow evening when he'll come to my studio.

I should clean up a bit, maybe move some of the half-finished canvases to make space.

But not too much—I want him to see my creative process, messy as it sometimes is.

My phone buzzes.

Elena: Coffee at Perks in 30? Need to hear EVERYTHING about Garden Man.

Me: Be there in 45. Need to shower off the garden dirt first.

At home, I quickly shower and change, unable to stop smiling as I get ready. The reflection in the mirror looks different somehow—my eyes brighter, my movements more confident. Is this what happiness looks like on me? It's been so long I barely recognize it.

Forty minutes later, I push open the door to Perks, the local coffee shop where Elena and I have been meeting for years. She's already there, waving from our usual corner table, two mugs steaming in front of her.

"There she is!" Elena calls as I approach. "Looking suspiciously happy for a Monday."

I slide into the chair across from her, wrapping my hands around the mug she's ordered for me—chai latte with an extra shot of espresso, my usual.

"So?" She leans forward, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "How was the garden tour with Mr. Landscape Architect? And don't leave anything out."

I take a sip of my latte to hide my smile. "It was... perfect. His property is amazing, Elena. Five acres that he's transforming into this incredible blend of wild and cultivated spaces. And he actually values my perspective on plants. He asked for my input on a section he's designing."

"Input on his garden? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Elena waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"Stop!" I laugh, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "It wasn't like that. Well, not entirely."

"Oh my god, details immediately." She sets down her coffee cup with such enthusiasm that some sloshes over the side.

"We kissed." I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "And it was... wow."

"Just kissed?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, just kissed. It's only been a few days since we met." But even as I say it, I know that time doesn't really matter here. The connection between Ben and me feels deeper than the brief span we've known each other.

"And? When are you seeing him again?"

"Tomorrow evening. He's coming to my studio. To see my work," I add quickly when she gives me another suggestive look.

"I'm sure that's all he wants to see." Elena grins, then her expression softens. "Seriously though, I'm happy for you. You're practically glowing. It's been a long time since I've seen you this excited about someone."

"I know. It's just..." I trace the rim of my mug with my finger, trying to find the right words. "He gets me, Elena. Not just my art, but me. The way I see the world. And he doesn't think it's silly or impractical."

"Why would he think that?" Elena frowns slightly.

I shrug, uncomfortable with the question. "You know how people can be. They think artists are flighty or unrealistic. Especially when you paint things most people consider weeds."

"Speaking of which, how's the commission for the Hendersons coming? They're still set on the wildflower meadow piece for their dining room, right?"

"Almost finished. I just need to add some final details to the foreground. I think they'll love it."

We chat about work for a while—her promotion at the marketing firm, my upcoming gallery showing, the commission I need to complete this week. It feels good, normal. But my mind keeps drifting back to Ben, to the way he looked at me when we said goodbye, like he couldn't wait to see me again.

As we're finishing our coffees, the bell above the door chimes, and I glance up to see my friend Mara entering with a woman I don't recognize. Mara spots us and waves, making her way over to our table.

"Hey, you two!" She smiles brightly. "This is Sophie, my new colleague from the design department." She turns to the woman beside her. "Sophie, this is Elena and Jasmine."

We exchange pleasantries, and Mara asks about my festival showing. I tell her about the sales and the positive feedback, feeling that familiar rush of pride and gratitude.

"That's amazing, Jas!" Mara beams. "I knew people would connect with your work. Oh, and how was the garden thing with the landscape guy? Did that happen yet?"

"This morning," I confirm, unable to keep the smile from my face. "It was wonderful."

"Ooh, details!" Mara pulls up a chair, gesturing for Sophie to join us. "Is he as dreamy as his portfolio suggests?"

"Even dreamier," I admit, feeling my cheeks warm again. "And he has this incredible property he's designing himself. It's like nothing I've ever seen—this perfect balance of structure and wildness."

"Just like the two of you," Elena interjects with a smirk.

I roll my eyes at her, but can't deny the accuracy of her observation.

"Wait," Sophie says, looking interested. "Is this Ben Thompson? The landscape architect who did the Riverside Plaza renovation?"

"Yes, that's him." I'm surprised she knows his work. "Do you know him?"

"Not personally, but I've admired his designs for years.

My firm collaborated with his on a commercial project last year.

" Sophie takes a sip of her coffee. "He's incredibly talented.

Very detail-oriented and precise. Not the type I'd expect to be interested in.

.." She pauses, gesturing vaguely toward me.

"In what?" Elena asks, her tone suddenly cooler.

Sophie seems to realize her misstep. "Oh, I just meant... his aesthetic is so structured and architectural. Very clean lines and deliberate compositions. And your work is more..." She searches for a word. "Whimsical? Free-form? I'm just surprised, that's all. You seem like artistic opposites."

"That's what makes it interesting," Mara jumps in, clearly trying to smooth over the awkward moment. "Complementary perspectives, right?"

But Sophie's words have already lodged themselves in my mind, feeding the insecurities that never fully disappear.

She's right. Ben and I are opposites in many ways.

His work is precise, controlled, respected in professional circles.

Mine is emotional, intuitive, often dismissed as merely decorative.

"Absolutely," I say, forcing a smile. "Opposites attract and all that."

The conversation moves on, but I'm only half-listening.

Sophie's observation—casual as it was—has cracked open the door to all my doubts.

Would someone like Ben, with his prestigious clients and technical expertise, really be interested in someone like me?

Or is this just a temporary fascination with something different from his usual world?

By the time I get home, the glow from the morning has dimmed considerably. I stare at my phone, at the text Ben sent while I was at coffee.

Ben: Still thinking about this morning. Can't wait to see your studio tomorrow. And you, of course.

I type and delete several responses before settling on

Me: Looking forward to it. See you then.

Short. Safe. Not revealing the sudden tumult of insecurities churning inside me.

In my studio, I look at the painting I started after our first meeting—the one blending structure and wildness, inspired by the space between Ben's world and mine.

It had felt so promising, so full of possibility.

Now I see all its flaws—the composition that doesn't quite work, the colors that clash in places, the concept that feels forced.

I turn it to face the wall. Maybe Sophie is right. Maybe we're too different. Maybe what I saw as understanding was just professional courtesy or passing interest.

My phone buzzes again.

Ben: Everything okay? That seemed a little brief.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. He notices everything.

Me: Just busy with commissions. Talk tomorrow.

I set my phone down and pick up my brushes, determined to lose myself in work rather than worry. But as I face the Henderson commission, I find myself second-guessing every stroke. Is this too fanciful? Too emotional? Too much?

Am I too much?

The question haunts me as I work into the evening, my earlier joy replaced by a familiar companion: doubt. By the time I clean my brushes and prepare for bed, I've convinced myself that whatever Ben saw in me will eventually disappoint him when he realizes how different we truly are.

Tomorrow, when he comes to my studio, he'll see the real me—the messy, emotional artist who paints weeds because she identifies with their struggle to be valued. And then what? Will his interest fade when the novelty wears off?

I curl up in bed, pulling the covers tight around me.

The rational part of my brain knows I'm spiraling, creating problems where none exist. But the wounded part—the part that's been dismissed and underestimated before—whispers that it's only a matter of time before Ben realizes I'm not what he wants.

And the worst part is, I've already started to fall for him.