Page 13 of Love in Full Bloom (Zaftig Ever After #2)
JASMINE
I wake before dawn, my body still curved against Ben's, his arm heavy across my waist. The soft rhythm of his breathing tickles my neck, and I allow myself a moment to simply feel—the warmth of his skin, the weight of his presence, the rightness of being here together.
Six months have passed since that night when everything changed between us. Six months of discovering each other, of creating together, of learning how our different approaches to life can complement rather than conflict.
Carefully, I slip from beneath his arm, smiling when he mumbles something unintelligible before rolling onto his back.
I pull on his discarded shirt and pad barefoot to the kitchen to start coffee.
Through the windows of what is now our shared cabin, I can see the first hint of sunrise beginning to color the eastern sky.
Our garden calls to me. I grab my sketchbook and a mug of coffee and step outside into the cool morning air.
The transformation is breathtaking. What was once Ben's solitary project has become our joint creation—a living testament to what happens when function and form meet, when precision embraces spontaneity.
I follow the stone path he designed, now softened by the wildflowers I encouraged to grow between the pavers.
Queen Anne's lace nods in the gentle breeze, catching the first golden rays of sunlight like delicate prisms.
I settle on the bench beneath the flowering dogwood, the same spot where I first began to understand that Ben saw me—truly saw me—for exactly who I am. My sketchbook opens naturally to a half-finished drawing of the stream garden, our most successful collaboration.
Ben's architectural eye provided the bones—thoughtfully placed stones creating gentle pools, a small wooden bridge that seems to float above the water.
My contribution was in the planting—allowing native species to thrive where they naturally wanted to grow, adding complementary wildflowers to enhance what was already happening.
The result feels neither designed nor accidental, but perfectly, naturally right.
Like us.
"There you are."
I look up to find Ben walking toward me, hair still tousled from sleep, carrying two fresh mugs of coffee. The sight of him still makes my heart skip. Not just because he's undeniably handsome, but because of what he represents: acceptance, partnership, growth.
"Couldn't sleep," I explain, accepting the mug he offers. "Too excited about today."
He sits beside me, his thigh warm against mine. "Nervous?"
"A little," I admit. "It's a big step."
Today marks the opening of our joint exhibition at the botanical garden—"Structured Wild," a showcase of our collaborative work.
My paintings of the garden's evolution hang alongside Ben's architectural renderings, showing how our creative visions have merged over the months.
Outside, visitors will tour the actual gardens we've created together, seeing the physical manifestation of our artistic dialogue.
"They're going to love it," Ben says, his confidence in our work unwavering as always. "Just like I love you."
I lean against his shoulder, soaking in his certainty. "Remember when I was convinced you'd eventually get tired of my whimsical nature?"
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Remember when I thought my structured approach would bore you?"
"We were both so wrong." I turn to face him, taking in the features I've come to know as well as my own.
The laugh lines around his eyes have deepened over the months, partly from our shared joy, partly from squinting in the sun as we work side by side in the garden.
"You've taught me that structure creates the space for creativity to flourish. "
"And you've shown me that wildness brings life to even the most carefully designed spaces." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch still sending electricity through me after all this time. "We're better together, Jasmine. In every way."
The sun crests the horizon fully now, illuminating our garden in golden light. We sit in comfortable silence, watching as the day awakens around us—bees beginning their work among the flowers, birds calling from the trees, dew sparkling on spider webs stretched between grasses.
"Do you remember the first time you brought me here?" I ask, setting my empty mug aside.
"How could I forget? You immediately saw what I was trying to create, even when it was barely started."
"And you understood my paintings when most people just saw pretty flowers." I smile at the memory. "We were recognizing each other before we even knew it."
Ben takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm in that way he knows makes me shiver. "I have something for you. Before we head to the exhibition."
"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, curious.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. My breath catches as he places it in my palm.
"It's not what you think," he says with a smile. "Not yet, anyway. Though that's coming too, when you're ready."
I open the box to find a delicate silver pendant—a wild rose intertwined with architectural lines that suggest a garden structure. It's us, captured in a single perfect design.
"Ben," I whisper, emotion making my voice catch. "It's beautiful."
"Turn it over."
On the back, a simple inscription: Where structure meets wilderness, love blooms.
Tears fill my eyes as he takes the necklace and fastens it around my neck. The pendant rests against my skin, cool at first but quickly warming.
"I wanted you to have something to remind you," he says, his voice soft against my ear. "That your creativity is exactly what I love. That you never need to doubt your place in my life or worry about being too much."
I turn to face him fully, cupping his face in my hands. "And I never want you to think your thoughtfulness, your attention to detail, your need for order is anything but perfect for me. We balance each other, Ben. We make each other better."
He kisses me then, beneath the flowering dogwood where we once shared our deepest insecurities. Now that same spot holds a different kind of vulnerability: the openness that comes with absolute trust, with knowing you are fully seen and loved exactly as you are.
When we part, I rest my forehead against his. "We should probably get ready. People will be arriving at the exhibition soon."
"Probably," he agrees, though neither of us moves. Instead, he pulls me closer, both of us watching as the morning light filters through the branches above, creating patterns of light and shadow across our intertwined bodies.
In this perfect moment, I see our future stretching before us—a garden we'll tend together, allowing both structure and wildness their proper place.
There will be seasons of abundant bloom and periods of necessary dormancy, times when we'll prune back and others when we'll let growth run wild.
But through it all, we'll create something beautiful together, something neither of us could achieve alone.
Like the wildflowers I paint and the gardens he designs, our love has found its perfect growing condition. It's nurtured by understanding, strengthened by difference, rooted in acceptance of each other's true nature.
And like those resilient blooms that first brought us together, pushing through concrete to reach the sun, our connection will continue to find a way to flourish, no matter what challenges we face.
As we finally rise to prepare for our exhibition, Ben keeps my hand in his, our fingers intertwined like the plants in our garden—different in form and function, but creating something more beautiful together than either could alone.
This is what I've been searching for all along, I realize. Not someone who merely tolerates my whimsical nature or appreciates my art, but someone who sees the strength in my sensitivity, the wisdom in my wonder, the structure within my seeming chaos.
Someone who looks at me—all of me—and says, "This is exactly what I want. This is exactly who I need."
Someone like Ben.
As we walk back to the cabin, morning light gilding our shared garden, I touch the pendant at my throat and smile. Where structure meets wilderness, love blooms indeed.
And ours is just beginning to flower.