Page 23

Chapter twenty-three

R uby

The welcome sign into Cedar Springs had never looked so sweet. Its hand-painted flowers and curling vines greeted me like old friends, and yet… my stomach twisted.

Hazel had gathered half the town at the corner of Main Street and Cedar Avenue.

Streamers hung between the lampposts, and someone—I suspected Mrs. Laramie—had made a banner that read: Welcome Back, Bloom Queen!

I laughed softly as I climbed out of the car, the air thick with the scent of sugar cookies, lilac, and anticipation.

People swarmed. Hugs. Compliments. A toddler even handed me a crumpled drawing of flowers and a glittery heart that said “Miss Ruby You’re My Favorite.” I pressed it to my chest like it was a trophy.

But I didn’t see Damien.

Not leaning against the garden gate. Not in the crowd. Not waiting with that quiet smile of his that always made my pulse flutter like loose petals in the breeze.

Hazel spotted it instantly—how my eyes searched the sidewalk behind her, flicking toward the empty clinic windows across the street.

“Hey,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “Don’t do that. Don’t let one missing face shrink what you just did.”

I let her hold on a second longer than necessary.

“Is he okay?” I finally asked. My voice was careful, like walking on wet pavement in heels.

Hazel leaned back, brow creased with something that wasn’t quite concern—but wasn’t casual either.

“He’s been off,” she said slowly. “Quiet. Like… in his own head a lot. Comes to town, does his rounds, checks on the garden. But it’s like he’s chasing something he can’t name.”

My fingers tightened around the bouquet someone had thrust into my hands—bright peonies and wild forget-me-nots. Damien’s favorite kind of mess.

“Maybe he’s busy,” I said too quickly. “Maybe he’s working through it. I mean, we’ve both had a lot going on.”

Hazel gave me a look I’d seen since we were kids. The one that said, Ruby, you can lie to anyone else, but don’t try it with me.

I sighed. “Okay, maybe I’m panicking just a little.”

She linked arms with me. “You don’t have to. You’re home now. Let things bloom.”

I let her words settle as we strolled down the path toward my shop. Everything looked the same, but I didn’t. That was the strange part. I’d grown in just a few weeks—roots deeper, colors brighter—and now I wasn’t sure how to fit back into the pot I’d left behind.

Inside the shop, everything was in perfect order. My assistant had clearly done wonders while I was away. Ribbons lined up in rows. Tools polished. Petals fresh and perky in their buckets. Even the back corner chalkboard had a doodled quote: “Grow through what you go through.”

I ran my fingers over it, tracing the loops. I missed him. And the not knowing—it scraped like sandpaper inside my chest.

I placed my suitcase down and wandered to the garden behind the shop.

The beds were thriving. Someone had pruned the dahlias.

The rosemary had been freshly clipped. The wooden swing under the arbor creaked in the breeze.

I could picture Damien there, legs stretched, a book open in his lap, pretending not to watch the door in case I came outside.

But the bench was empty now.

I sat on the swing anyway.

Maybe he needed space. Maybe the hospital job offer was still looming over him like a storm cloud. Maybe he was scared of what this all meant—what I meant.

I thought back to his note, the one tucked in my bag: “You are the color in my grayscale world…”

How did a man write something like that and then vanish?

The swing rocked back and forth in the silence. I closed my eyes and let the wind rustle through my hair. Maybe Hazel was right. Maybe I just needed to let things bloom, even if the soil felt shaky.

Because that’s what flowers do, right?

They bloom anyway.

And maybe—just maybe—so could we. If we were both brave enough to meet in the middle.

But when I stood, the emptiness didn’t quite leave my chest.

Because no matter how much confetti the town tossed, no matter how many hands I shook or smiles I faked—

The one person I wanted to see at the finish line… wasn’t there.

And somehow, that absence said everything.

The afternoon sun glinted off the new windows of the Hearts in Bloom event space, casting golden slants across the polished floors. Marge held the front door open with the dramatic flair of a stage assistant revealing a prize behind curtain number three.

“Voilà!” she declared. “Our very own bloom barn.”

Eleanor followed with a satisfied nod. “We kept the rustic beams, just like you wanted. And added proper ventilation, plumbing, and—” she gestured grandly, “a storage room that doesn’t require spelunking.”

I stepped inside slowly, my shoes tapping against the freshly sanded wood, and took in the space.

It was… stunning. The open ceilings stretched high above my head.

Skylights poured in gentle light. The walls were painted a soft linen cream, and along one side, a row of cedar planter boxes waited like empty canvases.

It was everything I’d dreamed.

And yet…

I didn’t say anything right away. I just walked the length of the room, fingers trailing across the wall, pulse fluttering like tissue paper.

“This is incredible,” I finally managed. “Really.”

Marge beamed. “Wait until you see the new walk-in cooler. Your hydrangeas are going to think they’ve died and gone to floral heaven.”

I smiled, but it felt… distant. Off somehow. Like I was trying to slide into a dress that no longer fit the same way.

“You okay, hon?” Eleanor asked softly. “You look like someone dropped a petunia in your coffee.”

“I’m fine,” I said, too quickly. “Just… adjusting.”

She patted my shoulder. “We’ll give you a minute.”

Once they disappeared into the back, I let out a breath and sat on the edge of a planter box, elbows on my knees.

The space was everything I’d envisioned for the future of Hearts in Bloom. A place for weddings, seasonal classes, floral retreats. A hub for creativity, color, and community.

So why did I feel like I was visiting someone else’s life?

Hazel found me twenty minutes later in the garden behind the shop. She didn’t say anything at first—just handed me a cup of chai and plopped down beside me on the bench, legs stretched out, hair pulled into a messy knot.

“You’ve got that look,” she said, sipping. “The one you get when you’ve made the perfect bouquet but still feel like something’s missing.”

I took a long drink before answering.

“I just walked through the new space,” I said quietly. “It’s gorgeous. Everything I wanted. Everything I planned for.”

“But?” she prompted.

“But now that I’m back… I don’t know.” I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. “It feels like I’ve grown into someone I don’t quite recognize. Like the dream didn’t shrink—it grew. And I’m not sure I belong in the same version of it anymore.”

Hazel was quiet for a beat, then said, “That sounds an awful lot like growth.”

I gave her a look. “Isn’t growth supposed to feel… good?”

“Sometimes it feels like vertigo,” she said with a shrug. “Especially when the ground underneath you starts shifting to match who you’ve become.”

I let her words settle. The wind stirred the tall grasses nearby. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked lazily. Cedar Springs continued on like it always had—steady, sweet, and small.

And I… wasn’t sure if I still fit inside it.

“I keep wondering,” I said, “what if I’m becoming someone who doesn’t fit this life anymore? What if I left for the competition and came back too… different?”

Hazel tilted her head. “Or maybe your life is just catching up to who you were always meant to be.”

I blinked.

She smiled softly. “You’ve always had this way of bringing people together, Ruby. Whether it’s flowers or fundraisers or friendship—your chaos makes people feel like they belong. Maybe this new version of your life is finally big enough to hold all the pieces of you.”

The words hit me like warm rain—gentle, cleansing, and undeniable.

I nodded slowly, emotion rising in my throat. “What if I don’t know how to do both? Be bold out there and stay rooted here?”

“Then you figure it out one petal at a time,” Hazel said. “You don’t have to bloom all at once.”

I smiled, misty-eyed.

And then I stood, stretching my arms wide toward the sky. “Okay, metaphor queen. That was actually helpful.”

She grinned. “I know. I should charge for this.”

We laughed, and for the first time since I stepped back into Cedar Springs, I felt a little less like a stranger in my own garden.

Maybe I hadn’t outgrown this life.

Maybe I was just… rearranging it.

One bloom at a time.

…

I pressed the phone tighter against my ear as the line rang for the fifth time.

Then the sixth. The familiar voicemail prompt kicked in, Damien’s deep voice clipped and professional.

It didn’t match the version of him I knew—the one who kissed my shoulder while brushing flour off his shirt or whispered sweet nothings between the garden beds we planted together.

“Hey, it’s me,” I said after the beep, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice. “No big reason for the call. Just… wanted to hear your voice.”

I hesitated, then added more softly, “I missed you today. Thought you might want to know that the garden room turned out beautifully. Marge and Eleanor practically cried when I told them we could host our first event in three weeks. And Hazel called dibs on booking the first birthday party—even though it’s not for another six months. Classic Hazel.”

Still no answer. Just the eerie silence after a voicemail sends and the echo of too much space between us.

I set the phone down and stared at it like it might blink to life with a message, a missed call, a sign.

Nothing.

So I opened the recording app and hit the button for a voice note. My voice came out low and careful, like I was writing with a pen I wasn’t sure still had ink.

“Hi, Damien. I know you’re probably swamped—and if this is about work, that’s okay.

I just wanted you to know I’m here. I know we’re both navigating something big right now, and maybe we’re not saying everything we should.

But I believe in us. In this. In whatever we’re building, even if the blueprint keeps changing.

So just… when you’re ready, call me, okay? ”

I stopped the recording, heart thudding in my chest like I’d just run a race instead of poured my feelings into a digital bottle and tossed it into the sea of silence.

It was after nine when I wandered out into the garden.

The string lights Damien had hung months ago flickered gently overhead, casting soft halos on the stone path. The air was cool, but not cold, and the scent of lavender and late-blooming roses drifted around me like the memory of his cologne.

I sank onto the wooden bench beneath the pergola, wrapping my arms around myself and staring at the space beside me—where he’d sat so many nights with his thigh brushing mine and his fingers laced through mine.

It felt hollow now.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and whispered into the quiet, “Tell me you’re still in this with me.”

The breeze rustled the leaves but gave no reply.

I closed my eyes.

It wasn’t like Damien to vanish. He didn’t play games. He wasn’t the kind of man who ghosted. He was solid, steady—even when broody. Which meant something was wrong. Or heavy. Or hard.

And I couldn’t fix it with fresh-cut flowers or warm muffins or another heartfelt voicemail.

I needed his voice.

Just as I started to rise, the phone buzzed in my hoodie pocket.

Damien.

I didn’t even check the screen before I answered. “Hey.”

His voice cracked down the line, low and uneven. “Ruby.”

My breath caught.

There was silence for a beat too long, and then he exhaled like he’d been holding it all day.

“I need to talk,” he said, the edge of something raw in his voice. “I did something today I haven’t done in a long time—and it changed everything.”

My heart kicked hard in my chest. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said honestly. “But I will be. I just… I need to tell you face-to-face. I owe you that.”

“Damien,” I whispered, gripping the phone tighter. “You’re scaring me a little.”

“I don’t mean to.” His voice dropped. “It’s not bad. Just… big. Like something cracked open in me today. And now I have to figure out what to do with it.”

The garden lights flickered in the wind. I closed my eyes again, grounding myself in the sound of his voice.

“Okay,” I said softly. “I’ll be here.”

“I know,” he murmured. “And that’s the only reason I can even say this out loud.”

The call ended with a soft click, and I sat there in the dark, phone resting against my chest, heart pounding like a question that hadn’t been answered yet.

Whatever was coming… it was going to change everything.

Again.