Page 16

Chapter sixteen

D amien

The ribbon trembled in the breeze, a thick satin strip stretched across the wooden archway Ruby had draped in lavender, baby’s breath, and the first blush of early summer roses.

Fairy lights blinked softly above the crowd gathered in the garden, casting a warm glow over the rooftop space we’d poured our hearts into.

Cedar Springs had shown up in full force—Eleanor with a tray of lemon bars, Hazel bossing vendors like a benevolent dictator, even Brandon, who’d driven up from the city just to stand at the back with a proud smirk and a camera.

But none of them held my attention.

My eyes were on her.

Ruby stood in the center of it all, a deep green dress hugging her curves like ivy clinging to stone, her curls pinned loosely, a single daisy tucked behind her ear. She glowed—radiant, alive, and absolutely, entirely mine.

She caught me staring and rolled her eyes. I grinned.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hazel called out, her voice echoing through the rooftop. “Thank you for joining us tonight for the official opening of Hearts in Bloom, a healing garden built on hope, hard work, and a fair amount of duct tape.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Hazel gestured to me. “And now, a few words from the co-founder, and our very own reluctant town transplant—Dr. Damien Cole.”

Applause rose like a tide. I stepped forward, smoothing the lapel of my jacket as Ruby passed me the mic. Her fingers brushed mine—just long enough to anchor me.

I cleared my throat.

“I didn’t come to Cedar Springs looking for a second chance. I came to hide. To breathe. To remember who I was without the noise.”

A hush fell. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

“But this town… it doesn’t let you disappear. It sees you. Shows up for you. And if you’re lucky, like I was, it gives you someone who reminds you that healing isn’t just something you do for others—it’s something you deserve, too.”

I turned toward Ruby. Her eyes shimmered.

“This garden isn’t just about flowers. It’s not just about wellness, or plants, or pretty things. It’s about hope. And if I’ve learned anything from this town—from her—it’s that hope blooms best when you’re not afraid to plant roots.”

Ruby’s hand flew to her mouth. The crowd murmured, touched.

I continued, my voice steady.

“So today isn’t just about cutting a ribbon. It’s about opening doors. Because starting next month, Hearts in Bloom won’t just be a garden. It will also be home to Cedar Springs’ first integrated wellness program.”

Gasps and applause burst all at once.

“We’ll be offering free community classes in stress management, grief support, floral therapy, and preventative care.

Ruby will teach her design workshops. I’ll host weekly health talks.

We’ll have visiting counselors and local volunteers.

A place where your heart—no matter how bruised or tired—can come to breathe again. ”

The rooftop exploded with cheers. I caught Brandon’s low whistle and Hazel’s tearful clap. But again, I only saw her.

Ruby’s eyes met mine, wide and glassy with disbelief. And something else.

Pride.

I stepped back and handed her the scissors for the ribbon.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she took them. “You didn’t tell me you were going to say all that.”

I leaned in close. “Some things are better as surprises.”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “You’re really staying.”

“I’m really staying.”

She turned to the crowd and lifted the scissors high. “Cedar Springs, welcome to Hearts in Bloom.”

The ribbon fell.

Confetti flew.

And somewhere beneath the twinkle lights, with the town cheering and our fingers intertwined, I felt it fully—settled, whole, exactly where I was meant to be.

Right beside her.

The celebration carried on behind us—laughter, clinking glasses, Eleanor’s booming voice corralling people into group photos. But Ruby and I slipped away, past the garden arch and toward the far end of the rooftop, where the fairy lights dimmed into a soft golden haze.

She didn’t say a word. Just reached for my hand, warm and calloused from digging in flowerbeds, and pulled me into the quiet. A breeze stirred her hair, and I could still smell lilacs on her skin.

I pulled her close, settling one hand at her waist, the other slipping into hers.

“Music,” she whispered. “We forgot music.”

“We don’t need it,” I murmured, swaying with her under the stars. “You hum off-key anyway.”

She gasped in mock offense. “That’s slander.”

“Truth.”

She shook her head, laughing, and then—before I could see it coming—she plucked a tiny white blossom from the nearby planter and tucked it behind my ear.

I blinked. “Really?”

“Perfect,” she declared, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Now you’re a daisy in disguise.”

I deadpanned, “If anyone finds out about this, I’m moving to Alaska.”

“Too late,” she said with a smirk. “Hazel definitely took a photo.”

I caught her around the waist and pulled her in again. “Then I guess I’ll have to stay and redeem my reputation. One flower at a time.”

Her eyes sparkled as we moved slowly in our little corner of the night. There were no speeches here, no expectations—just us, hearts beating in sync beneath the strings of lights.

She rested her cheek against my chest. “You realize all this… happened fast. The garden, the gala, the wellness center… us.”

“I know,” I said softly, my voice low against the crown of her head. “And it’s good. But fast doesn’t have to mean fragile.”

She lifted her gaze to mine, searching, always searching.

I let her see everything.

“No rushing,” I said. “Let’s build slow. So it lasts.”

She let out a breath like she’d been holding it all night. “Slow sounds… nice.”

I kissed her temple. “We’re not racing anyone.”

She nodded, though her eyes drifted toward the far edge of the rooftop, beyond the garden beds, toward the hills that rolled endlessly east. That flicker of restlessness still lived in her—equal parts ambition and wonder.

“You’re thinking about the next thing,” I said.

She gave me a sheepish smile. “Maybe. A little. It’s just… this garden is more than I dreamed, and now I’m dreaming bigger. Does that make me greedy?”

“No,” I said without hesitation. “It makes you you.”

Her smile widened.

“You want the moon,” I said, brushing hair from her face. “I just want to be the guy who makes sure your ladder doesn’t wobble.”

She leaned into me, soft laughter vibrating through both of us. “And what do you want, Dr. Cole?”

I hesitated. “I think I used to want to be extraordinary.”

“And now?”

“Now I want ordinary moments with someone who makes them feel extraordinary.”

She went quiet at that, and I didn’t press her. Some feelings are better left suspended between heartbeats.

We stayed like that, dancing in silence as the celebration behind us swirled on—our small world carved out under the stars, full of laughter, healing, and everything still unwritten.

But the next morning, everything shifted again.

I was still in bed, stretching toward the scent of coffee drifting in from the kitchen, when I heard Ruby gasp. Sharp, delighted. The kind of sound that said something big just landed.

I padded into the front room, shirt half-buttoned, hair a mess.

She stood barefoot by the door, a sleek white envelope in one hand, the other clamped over her mouth.

“What is it?” I asked.

She looked up, eyes wide as sunlight. “It’s from the State Botanical Council.”

“That sounds… official.”

“It is.” She held up the envelope. “They’re inviting me to showcase my floral work at the Tri-State Bloom & Design Showcase next month. It’s huge. Like... life-changing huge. Only ten designers in the region get picked.”

I stared at her, caught between pride and something that felt a lot like awe. “You’re one of them.”

“I guess I am.” Her voice cracked. “Damien, this could open so many doors.”

I crossed to her slowly. “You going to walk through them?”

Her mouth parted, but she didn’t answer.

Not yet.