Page 30

Chapter thirty

D amien

The morning sun bathed the construction site in gold as I stepped out of the cottage, coffee in one hand and Ruby’s latest to-do list in the other.

The scent of tilled soil and fresh lumber filled the air.

It wasn’t sterile or controlled, like the hospital halls I used to walk—it was chaotic, honest, alive.

The foundation had been poured. Beams stretched toward the sky. And in front of it all, staked proudly into the earth, stood a wooden sign we’d painted the night before in Eleanor’s garage: The Hearts in Bloom Center: Where Medicine and Magic Meet

Ruby insisted on the tagline. I hadn’t argued.

“Think it’ll hold up to wind?” Hazel asked, appearing beside me with a tray of lavender muffins. Her cheeks were already smudged with flour.

I nodded. “If not, we’ll plant another.”

She grinned and passed me a muffin. “We’re expecting about fifty people today.”

By the time the first families arrived, the makeshift garden path buzzed with voices and laughter.

Ruby greeted volunteers with hugs and a paintbrush tucked behind one ear.

Kids swarmed the art tables to paint planter boxes shaped like animals.

Seniors strolled through the herb section, kneeling to plant thyme and basil, their fingers steady despite the years.

In one corner, Eleanor—draped in a shawl that looked like it belonged on a Renaissance stage—held court beneath a flowering trellis.

“Today,” she announced, “we write verses to honor the noble petunia! Who here knows what rhymes with ‘bloom’?”

“Doom!” one of the kids yelled.

Ruby laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Let’s keep it cheerful, Mason.”

I wandered toward the shade tent where a few curious onlookers hovered near a first-aid booth Hazel had propped up with a garden hose, a tub of aloe, and a roll of duct tape. Improvised, but familiar.

“Alright,” I said, clearing my throat. “Who here knows what to do if someone cuts their hand while gardening?”

A few adults stepped closer. Ruby nudged a folding chair my way, then winked. “You’re up, Doc.”

I grabbed the zucchini from the demo table and the hose from Hazel. “First, you stay calm. Then you wrap the wound to slow the bleeding. And if you’re lucky enough to have a garden hose handy—”

I wrapped the zucchini with gauze, looping the hose like a tourniquet. The kids cracked up. The seniors nodded. And someone clapped.

When I looked up, Ruby stood across from me, hands on her hips, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining.

“You’re a natural,” she said.

I shook my head. “Hardly. But I like this classroom a lot better.”

By midday, the site buzzed with energy. Picnic blankets dotted the hill, music drifted from Hazel’s speaker, and Eleanor passed out cookies shaped like anatomical hearts. Ruby leaned into me as we watched from a bench beneath a willow tree we’d saved during the clearing process.

“We really did it,” she whispered.

“We’re just getting started,” I replied.

And I meant it. Because this wasn’t just a building. It was the beating heart of something new—something we’d built not from ambition or obligation, but from love.

The call came just after lunch, when the scent of fresh basil from Ruby’s new herb beds still lingered on my shirt. I stepped away from the crowd of volunteers painting the fence in mismatched pastels and answered with a casual, "This is Damien."

“Dr. Cole,” the contractor said, voice tight. “We’ve had a delay with the custom flooring shipment. Manufacturer issue. It’s going to set us back about a week. Maybe more. I’m really sorry.”

A year ago, that kind of news would’ve had me snapping like a dry branch. Back then, I would’ve launched into damage control—emails, escalation, firing threats.

Instead, I looked over at Ruby. She was helping a group of kids stencil wildflowers onto ceramic tiles. One of them had paint in his hair and a grin the size of Texas. Ruby glanced up and caught my eye, raising a brow in that teasing, questioning way that said, “Are we okay?”

I smiled.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I told the contractor. “We’ll pivot. Just keep me updated.”

He exhaled in relief. “You got it. Again, I’m sorry.”

I pocketed my phone and walked over to Ruby, slipping an arm around her waist. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned into me.

“Was that the flooring guy?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“And?”

“Shipment’s delayed. Opening’s pushed back a week.”

She winced. “Yikes.”

I nodded, then shrugged. “We pivot.”

Her smile bloomed instantly. “You just used my favorite word.”

“Pivot?” I asked, pretending to frown. “Not ‘efficiency’ or ‘scalpel’?”

“Nope,” she said, looping her arms around my neck. “We.”

That one word hit harder than I expected. She didn’t mean it as a throwaway. It was the difference between who I used to be and who I was now. Not a solo force. Not a fortress. But a partner. A teammate. A man willing to pivot.

I kissed her temple and whispered, “You make ‘we’ feel easy.”

She snorted. “You clearly haven’t seen my budgeting spreadsheets.”

We both laughed, the kind of laughter that fills in the cracks and makes them stronger.

Around us, the community buzzed like a well-loved beehive.

Kids chalked the sidewalk with daisies and hearts.

Hazel had roped Eleanor into running a tie-dye station.

Even Marge had taken charge of the lemonade stand with frightening efficiency.

Delays didn’t scare me anymore. What mattered wasn’t a perfect schedule. It was moments like this—the chaos, the joy, the unmistakable heartbeat of something real.

I looked over at the unfinished foundation, its raw edges waiting for walls, windows, and stories.

“We’ll still open,” I said. “A little later than planned. But with more heart than I ever thought possible.”

Ruby nodded. “I think the town’s already falling in love with it.”

I glanced back at the sign we’d propped up for the day: The Hearts in Bloom Center: Where Medicine and Magic Meet.

She followed my gaze. “You think we’re crazy?”

“For planting dreams in dirt and calling it a future?” I grinned. “Completely.”

She nudged me with her shoulder. “That’s how you know it’ll grow.”

I leaned in closer, my voice low. “Tell me we’re doing the right thing.”

She didn’t hesitate. “We’re not just doing the right thing, Damien. We’re doing the real thing.”

A breeze rustled the garden beds, carrying with it the scent of lavender and possibility. I took it all in—the sun, the sounds, her—and let it root itself deep.

Delays, I could handle.

What mattered was standing next to Ruby, ready to pivot. Ready to build. Ready for forever.

The scent of rosemary and fresh mulch lingered in the air as I crouched by the front steps of the Hearts in Bloom Center, sealing the welcome kit with a small ribbon of twine.

Inside were lavender sachets, a bandage tin, and a note Ruby hand-lettered with care: "You are welcome here. Just as you are."

Behind me, Ruby adjusted the last planter, fluffing a stubborn marigold that refused to sit still. She had daisies tucked behind both ears and smudges of dirt on her cheek, and she’d never looked more radiant.

“Okay,” she said, stepping back with a satisfied nod. “That’s the last one. Tell me it looks like we didn’t just sprint through the final lap of a marathon.”

I stood and joined her, taking in the space. Sunlight streamed through the glass-paneled roof, casting golden patterns over the garden beds. Wooden benches circled the central fountain—her idea—and the mural by the kids from Cedar Elementary spilled color across the wall like joy made visible.

“It looks like we built a miracle,” I said.

She smiled, eyes soft. “We built this.”

“From nothing but daisy chains and sheer determination,” I added.

We stood in silence, our hands linked, surrounded by the place that had nearly broken us—and healed us in the same breath.

Hazel’s soft humming floated through the air as she walked by with Eleanor and Marge, who were arguing over where to place the final bulletin board. The old women huffed and fussed, then waved us off when Ruby tried to intervene.

“They’ve got it,” she whispered, turning to face me.

I slid my hands around her waist. “So do we.”

Ruby laid her head against my chest, and we started to sway, right there in the middle of the welcome hall, our footsteps echoing faintly across the polished floor. No music but Hazel’s humming, no spotlight but the sun, and no audience but a few nosy petunias.

“You know,” I murmured, “I’ve done a lot of things with my life. But I’ve never danced in a wellness center with a barefoot florist in overalls.”

She leaned up and kissed my jaw. “Guess we’re both breaking patterns.”

We swayed until the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long, until our breaths aligned and the rhythm of our hearts quieted the world around us.

Then Hazel’s voice broke through. “Ahem. I hate to ruin the romance—actually, that’s a lie, I live for it—but you’ve got mail.”

Ruby turned, brows furrowed. “Mail?”

Hazel twirled a long envelope between two fingers. “It came through the old PO box. Looked too fancy to be a bill, so I peeked. You’re welcome.”

Ruby snatched it with a laugh and tore the seal. As she read, her expression morphed from confusion to disbelief to... amusement.

I tilted my head. “What is it?”

She handed it to me. “Guess who’s coming to visit, sunshine?”

I read the name once. Then twice.

Nathan. Ruby’s old admirer. And apparently, he’d be staying through the grand opening.

I blinked. “Well... this just got interesting.”

Ruby grinned, folding her arms. “Don’t worry, Doctor. This garden’s already got a keeper.”

I smirked. “Good. Because I don’t plan on losing my plot.”

She laughed and tucked her hand into mine again. The kind of laughter that rooted itself deep and bloomed wide.

No storm, no surprise visitor, no zoning hiccup could change what we’d built.

Together.