Page 27

Chapter twenty-seven

R uby

I pasted on a smile that felt more like a flimsy Band-Aid than confidence.

It was the kind of smile you wear when your insides are tangled tighter than a florist’s ribbon drawer.

Cedar Springs’ town square shimmered with fairy lights and flower crowns, the scent of fresh cinnamon rolls wafting through the air, carried on the early evening breeze.

“He’ll be here,” Hazel said beside me, nudging my elbow. “He said sunset.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, tucking a wild strand of hair behind my ear. “So did the Mayan calendar.”

She snorted, but I could see the flicker of worry in her eyes too. The kind of worry you only feel when you know someone else’s heart is on the line.

Children chased each other between picnic tables, sparklers fizzing in their hands like tiny comets.

A hand-painted banner stretched across the bakery awning: Welcome Home, Dr. Cole!

A daisy looped through every letter. The townsfolk had shown up with everything short of confetti cannons—and if I’d given them time, they probably would’ve added those too.

I scanned the winding road leading into town for the hundredth time. Empty. Still.

Eleanor came up behind me, her cane tapping softly against the brick as she offered a paper cup of cider. “Faith,” she said with a sage smile, “is like planting a seed—you water it with hope.”

I gave a short laugh, not quite able to meet her eyes. “Well, mine’s about to shrivel from overwatering.”

She chuckled, patting my arm. “Then maybe it’s just resting before the bloom.”

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe the text Damien had sent—Back by sunset—meant he was actually coming. That he hadn’t changed his mind in the middle of some highway, or worse, decided that the city with its glossy hospitals and sharp corners was where he truly belonged.

A horn honked somewhere in the distance and every head turned. But it was just Marge’s husband, pulling up with a tray of cupcakes balanced precariously on the passenger seat.

“Maybe there was traffic,” Hazel offered.

“Maybe he stopped for gas,” Marge added, fluffing a flower crown like it might summon him.

“Or maybe,” I said quietly, “he needed time to be sure.”

Because the truth was, I wasn’t the same girl he met in the garden weeks ago.

And he wasn’t the same man who walked into my shop with thunder in his eyes and a chip on his shoulder.

We’d both grown, fractured, healed—and changed.

Maybe that change meant finding our way back to each other. Or maybe it meant... not.

I tried to push that thought out of my mind, but it lingered like a weed in the middle of a perfect bouquet.

Hazel reached for my hand and squeezed. “You know what I think?”

I tilted my head toward her.

“I think if he was going to walk away, he wouldn’t have sent a text. He would’ve sent silence.”

That hit something in me I wasn’t ready to name. So, I just nodded, gripping her hand a little tighter.

The sun began its slow descent behind the hills, painting the sky in strokes of apricot and lavender. The townsfolk started to fidget. Kids sat on hay bales, yawning. Mr. Becker adjusted the light strings for the third time.

Then someone said what everyone was thinking.

“Maybe he’s not coming.”

It wasn’t cruel—just honest.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying not to show how much that sentence hurt. Trying not to let it crack open the fear I’d buried beneath hope and flower petals and a banner that fluttered like a promise in the breeze.

And just when I was about to turn away—when I almost whispered to Hazel that maybe we should pack up and try again tomorrow—headlights appeared over the crest of the hill.

A collective gasp rippled through the square. Then—cheers. Wild, beautiful, ridiculous cheers.

His truck.

The same beat-up truck with mismatched mirrors and a dent in the door that I secretly loved because it was so... him.

It pulled into the square slow and steady. Like it knew exactly what it was doing. Like it had taken the long road home on purpose.

My breath hitched. My heart forgot how to pace itself. My hands trembled—until I felt Eleanor’s steady grip on one shoulder and Hazel’s on the other.

The engine cut off. The door opened.

And there he was.

Damien Cole. In jeans and a button-up rolled at the sleeves, a soft shadow of stubble across his jaw. He looked tired. And maybe a little scared.

But mostly?

He looked like he’d come home.

The sun had nearly slipped below the horizon when the headlights crested the hill.

My breath caught.

I stood frozen, clutching the hem of my dress like it could anchor me.

Around me, Cedar Springs buzzed with hopeful energy—kids still waving sparklers, Eleanor humming a hymn under her breath, Hazel bouncing on the balls of her feet like she might levitate from joy.

But all I could see was that familiar truck rolling down the gravel path.

He came.

He really came.

I ran.

Shoes forgotten, hair tangled in the breeze—I sprinted like the earth tilted just to push me forward. People cheered around me, but their voices blurred as my chest heaved with every step. By the time I reached him, I didn’t stop—I collided into him like I was returning to my own gravity.

His arms wrapped around me before I even touched the ground. He lifted me slightly, just enough to press me close. My fingers curled into the back of his shirt, and I buried my face into the space between his neck and shoulder, inhaling that impossible scent of soap, cedar, and Damien.

We didn’t speak for a full minute. Maybe more.

He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes glassy, voice thick with something unspoken.

“You were my heartbeat,” he murmured, “even when I couldn’t hear it.”

I pulled back just enough to see his face, to memorize the lines of wear and tenderness etched there. “You found your way back.”

He nodded slowly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You were the way.”

A tear slipped from my cheek. He caught it with his thumb like it mattered.

“Why are you always so late, Dr. Cole?” I whispered with a half-laugh, half-sob. “Couldn’t you have come down that hill ten minutes earlier and spared me a full emotional meltdown?”

He smiled—the real kind, the kind that reached his eyes and shook something loose in my chest. “Had to make an entrance.”

“Mission accomplished.”

He lowered me to the ground, but his arms didn’t leave my waist. “You changed everything, Ruby.”

“You let me,” I said.

Around us, the crowd erupted into applause. Someone handed us flower crowns. Hazel did a full spin and shouted, “I knew it! He’s a man of his word!”

Damien lifted my hand and kissed it, slow and deliberate, before turning to the crowd. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You brought the heart back to this town,” Eleanor called out, placing her wrinkled hand over her chest.

“No,” Damien replied, eyes never leaving mine. “She did.”

A lump formed in my throat. This wasn’t a dream. This was Cedar Springs, our homecoming, and the final piece falling back into place.

The mayor coughed politely. “So, uh, do we still unveil the ‘Welcome Home, Dr. Cole’ banner or is this moment too perfect to interrupt?”

Laughter rippled across the gathering. Damien chuckled, shaking his head.

“I vote banner,” I said, wiping my tears. “And cookies. There better be cookies.”

Hazel grinned. “Burned ones. Just like you fake-hate.”

I laughed as Damien leaned in and whispered, “Still my favorite.”

He glanced around the square, then back at me. “Think we can do this? Build something real here?”

“We already did,” I said. “Now we just get to live in it.”

The twinkle lights above flickered on, painting golden dots across the trees and faces around us. Someone strummed a guitar, and children danced in the grass.

Damien tucked a flower crown onto my head—crooked, of course. “Let’s stay a while.”

I reached for his hand. “Let’s stay forever.”

The sun had long dipped behind the hills, leaving a soft indigo wash over Cedar Springs. String lights twinkled above the square, casting a golden hue over familiar faces. My cheeks hurt from smiling, but I couldn’t stop. Not with Damien standing beside me, solid and real, like a promise kept.

He cleared his throat and turned toward the crowd. “Thank you,” he said, voice steady but full of something deeper. “Thank you for welcoming the grumpiest man in Cedar Springs.”

Laughter rippled through the gathering.

He glanced at me, then looked back at everyone. “I left behind a life of prestige and sterile perfection. But I did it because I wanted something better. I wanted a life that feels real. And I found it—with her.”

My breath hitched.

The square erupted in applause. Marge tossed a handful of biodegradable confetti over our heads, squealing like a teenager.

Hazel strummed her ukulele off-key but with so much heart that people swayed to the rhythm anyway.

Someone handed me a flower crown, and I slipped it on with a grin as Damien reached for my hand.

Our fingers laced together effortlessly, like they’d been waiting their whole lives to fit just right. I leaned in, laughter catching in my throat. “You really went for the dramatic monologue, huh?”

“I practiced in the rearview mirror,” he whispered, deadpan.

I laughed, then kissed him—soft but full of everything we’d been holding in. The crowd cheered louder, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just us and the warmth of being seen, chosen, loved.

When we finally pulled apart, Hazel was still playing, and Marge had started a conga line that involved at least two toddlers and a goat on a leash. Cedar Springs, in all its eccentric glory.

As the party wound down and people started packing up leftover cupcakes and twinkle lights, I slipped my hand into the tote at my side and pulled out the folded garden blueprint. It was worn at the edges, crinkled from hope and revision.

I turned to Damien. “You ready to build something that’ll outlive us both?”

He looked at the blueprint, then at me. “Only if you’re designing the flower beds.”

Tears prickled behind my eyes again—but this time, they were the good kind. The kind that told me I wasn’t dreaming.

Because this? This was the life we were choosing to build. Not out of obligation. Not because we were perfect. But because we were finally brave enough to bloom where we were meant to.