Elsbeth leaned her head against the window as they drove back to the farm…
Rose Farm.
The name was perfect. A fitting memorial to the woman who had inspired her whole life.
Tears misted her eyes, but this time they were not so much tears of sadness and loss, but of hope. Hope for a future she had been brave enough to claim.
For a moment, she didn’t fight her emotions. She simply let herself be .
She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been wound until now. How much pressure she’d carried on her shoulders without even noticing.
But sitting here beside Philip, with the sweet scent of flowers still clinging to her clothes and the faint hum of a future blooming in her mind, something inside her had finally—mercifully—begun to loosen.
He didn’t fill the silence with chatter or questions. He simply was.
Steady. Present. Solid in a way that made her ache with something she didn’t quite dare name.
Pushing aside thoughts of Philip, which was almost impossible, she switched her focus to her plans for the Old Larson place… She gave a small shake of her head. Her plans for Rose Farm.
The visit to the garden center had been just what she needed. The abundant blooms that had been carefully nurtured by Alfie had given her new ideas and inspiration. If she’d learned one thing since she decided to open her own flower farm, it was that her plans were constantly in flux.
But then that was one lesson life had taught her again and again. Nothing stayed the same, nothing was ever permanent or set in stone. All you could do was bend like a tree in the wind and not break.
“Here we are,” Philip said as he pulled into the drive and cut the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Elsbeth shifted, unbuckling her seatbelt, suddenly unsure of what came next.
“Thanks for today,” she said finally, her voice a little rough with emotion. “I didn’t realize how much I needed...” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing pink.
Philip smiled. The kind of smile that felt like sunlight cracking through cloud cover.
“I know how easy it is to get caught up in work,” he said simply. “Sometimes you just have to stop…” He paused and cracked a grin. “And smell the roses.”
“Are you trying to compete with Alfie?” Elsbeth asked.
“No one can compete with Alfie.” Philip reached for the door and cracked it open.
Elsbeth’s stomach did a small flip as Philip stepped out of the truck. She’d expected him to leave after dropping her off, but instead, he circled around to her side and opened her door, extending his hand.
“Let me help you,” he said, his deep voice sending a thrill through her.
But it was nothing like the thrill that consumed her as they touched. There was that same sense of connection, that same sense of familiarity.
“Thank you.” She didn’t need help getting out of the truck, but there was something so courteous, so old-fashioned about the gesture that she could not refuse.
Together they walked toward the house, their footsteps crunching in unison on the weed-filled gravel path. The silence between them felt charged, like the air before a thunderstorm.
“Thank you again for today,” she said when they reached her porch, turning to face him. “For everything.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, his eyes meeting hers.
He lifted his hand, and Elsbeth’s breath caught. She closed her eyes instinctively, heart hammering against her ribs as she waited for the touch of his fingers against her cheek.
Instead, she felt a gentle tug at her hair.
“A petal,” he murmured.
Elsbeth opened her eyes, feeling a little foolish for having expected something else.
“A rose petal,” she said softly, recognizing it from her earlier explorations at the garden center.
Philip smiled and reached for her hand. That same unmistakable connection sparked between them as he gently uncurled her fingers and placed the rose petal in her palm, the feather-light touch sending shivers cascading through her body.
“For remembrance,” he said, giving a sheepish grin. “At least, I hope it will remind you of me.”
“It will,” she whispered, closing her fingers around it. How could she tell him that today had been one of the best days of her life?
It would sound so absurd, since today had been a normal day in so many ways. And yet it had been so special. Finding the spring, the visit to the garden center, coffee and cake…all because he had been there by her side.
Drawn to him, Elsbeth leaned forward slightly, her gaze dropping to his lips, wishing...
But Philip suddenly stepped back, breaking the spell. He turned abruptly and strode toward his truck. Elsbeth’s heart sank, confusion and embarrassment washing over her. Had she done something wrong? Been too forward? Too obvious?
Her cheeks burned as she watched him, mortified at the thought that she might have misread everything. What a fool she was!
But then she realized he wasn’t leaving at all. Instead, Philip was at the back of his truck, lifting the tailgate. Relief washed through her as he strode back toward her, something cradled in his hands.
“Here, I nearly forgot,” he said, holding up a bottle with a familiar label. “Mom and Dad insisted I bring this over as a welcome present.”
He held out a bottle of wine with a beautifully designed label bearing the Thornberg Vineyard logo.
“It’s good,” he added, a hint of pride in his voice. “One of our best vintages.”
Elsbeth stared at the bottle, tracing the elegant script of the Thornberg logo with her thumb, feeling a little lost for words. The thoughtfulness of the gesture touched something deep inside her.
“Would you like to share it with me?” she asked before she could stop herself, her voice cracking slightly on the last word.
Philip’s jaw tensed, and for one terrible moment, Elsbeth thought she had overstepped some invisible boundary. But then his expression softened.
“I’d love to,” he said, his voice low and sincere. Then he glanced at his watch and frowned.
“But I have to go to work.” His expression turned regretful. “I have to check on the vines I recently planted.”
“Oh, of course,” she said quickly, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I’ve taken up too much of your time already.”
“Never,” Philip replied with a smile that made her heart skip. Then his eyes darkened slightly, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “But I will be done in a couple of hours.”
She nodded, suddenly feeling tongue-tied. The question she wanted to ask burned in her mind, but the words seemed stuck somewhere between her brain and her mouth.
“Dinner?” she finally managed to say. “I mean, would you like to come back for dinner? With me. Here.” She pointed awkwardly at the house, feeling utterly foolish.
“I would love to,” he said, his smile shy.
“Around seven?” she suggested, already mentally cataloguing the contents of her refrigerator. There wasn’t much, she’d been meaning to go grocery shopping, but she was sure she could cobble together something decent.
“Perfect.” Philip took a step back, as if reluctant to leave her side. “I’ll see you then.”
“I’ll be here.” She watched him walk away, watched him get into his truck. When he raised his hand and waved goodbye, she mirrored him, wishing he didn’t have to go.
There was no use trying to fight her feelings for him. She knew that now. Knew that she would regret it if she denied herself a chance at finding love.
Yes, she might have a dream, a promise to fulfill. But somehow, she’d developed tunnel vision. Elsbeth had become so focused on the flower farm, she had forgotten that her mom also wanted her to find love.
And as Philip’s truck disappeared from view, Elsbeth finally accepted that she might find love with Philip. He was everything she could want in a partner—thoughtful, kind, passionate about the land. They understood each other in a way that felt almost supernatural, sharing the same values, the same dreams, the same connection to growing things. They were in perfect harmony, like two plants thriving in the same soil.
Even after his truck had vanished from sight, she could still feel his presence lingering around her. The strange connection between them didn’t fade with distance. If anything, it intensified, as if invisible threads linked them together across the miles.
And he would be back, she reminded herself. For dinner.
The thought sent a wave of panic through her. Dinner. She’d invited him for dinner, and the contents of her fridge were no match for the wine she held in her hand.
Elsbeth hurried inside, closing the door and leaning against it as her heart raced.
Oh no! She uncurled her fingers to look at the rose petal resting in her palm. Had she squashed it?
No, there it was, delicate, velvety, perfect. She smiled down at it as she walked to the kitchen counter and carefully placed the wine bottle beside the petal. She really needed to make dinner, but first...
The petal. She needed to preserve it.
She went to the bookshelf in the living room where her mother’s old flower press lay.
She hadn’t used it yet in the new house, but it seemed fitting that the first thing she’d press here would be this rose petal. With careful movements, she placed it between sheets of absorbent paper, tightened the screws on the wooden press, and set it aside.
When this was done, she returned to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, surveying its meager contents. There was cheese and fresh bread left over from her lunch. She had pasta in the pantry, and there were more tomatoes ripening in the small kitchen garden. The addition of fresh herbs would make a simple but tasty meal.
First things first, though. She needed a shower.
Upstairs, she stripped off her clothes and stepped under the warm spray of water. As she washed away the day’s work, her mind wandered to Philip. What would it feel like to have him here beside her? His strong hands caressing her skin, tracing the curves of her body? Heat bloomed in her core at the thought, making her breath catch.
“This is crazy,” she murmured, rinsing her hair. She barely knew him, and yet she felt like she’d known him forever. As if their souls recognized each other instantly.
She was falling for him. Falling hard and fast in a way that should have terrified her. But somehow, it didn’t. It felt right.
As if it was always meant to be.
Goodness, now that she had decided to give in to the attraction between them, she was becoming a romantic fool.
But there was nothing foolish about the way he made her feel.
After her shower, Elsbeth wrapped herself in a towel and stood before her closet, suddenly self-conscious. What did one wear for an impromptu dinner date with a man who made your heart race just by existing?
She settled on a simple sundress. Blue with tiny white flowers that her mother had always said brought out the warmth in her eyes. With damp hair twisted into a loose braid over one shoulder, she felt almost ready. But something was missing.
Elsbeth’s hand drifted to her mother’s old jewelry box. Inside, nestled among costume pieces and a few modest heirlooms, lay a delicate silver bracelet with a single charm. A miniature rose. She slipped it onto her wrist, the cool metal warming against her skin. Her mother had worn it on special occasions, always saying it brought good luck.
Maybe some of that luck would rub off on Elsbeth this evening. But that wasn’t why she wore it.
She touched her fingers to the rose charm. No, she wore it because it made her feel closer to her mom.
After months of feeling only loss and sadness when she thought of her mom, today, something had changed.
Today, Philip’s suggestion for the new name of the farm had flipped something inside her. Now she was ready to let go of the sadness. Not all at once, she knew that was impossible.
But she could start to focus on the joy her mother had brought into her life. The laughter they’d shared over failed gardening experiments, the quiet evenings spent planning future gardens while sharing a bottle of wine.
Rose Farm would be a celebration of her mother’s life, not just a memorial to her death.