Page 30 of Worth the Risk (Worth It All #1)
“You built the road map for Highland’s permanent protection. I just provided the vehicle to get there.” I pause, studying her expression. “Maya, what you accomplished in two weeks of legal preparation is exactly what the foundation wants to help other communities create proactively.”
She looks at me, and I can see her mind working through the implications. “You’re saying other communities could use Highland’s legal framework as a template?”
“I’m saying you’ve created a replicable model for community land trust establishment that could protect gathering places across California. Highland’s trust isn’t just about saving one building—it’s about proving that community ownership can work on a larger scale.”
Maya is quiet for several minutes, processing everything I’ve told her. Around us, the garden hums with morning life—bees visiting jasmine blossoms, birds nesting in olive branches, the quiet satisfaction of plants taking root in soil that’s been tended for generations.
“Why are you telling me this in your garden?” she asks finally.
“Because this is where I figured out what I want to build instead of what I want to demolish.” I gesture toward the tomato seedlings waiting to be transplanted.
“Three years as Pierce Enterprises’ CEO, and I never created anything that would last longer than a fiscal quarter.
This morning, I planted vegetables that will feed people for months. ”
“And Highland?”
“Highland will serve families for generations, protected by legal frameworks that guarantee community control.” I extend my hand to help her up. “Want to see what we’re planting?”
Maya allows me to lead her through the garden, past raised beds filled with herbs and vegetables, fruit trees heavy with developing citrus, flower borders that attract butterflies and provide cut flowers for the house.
It’s the garden my grandfather built, and my father ignored and I’m finally learning to tend.
“This is beautiful,” Maya says, pausing beside a plot where heirloom tomatoes are staked and ready for summer growth. “How long have you been working on it?”
“Seriously? Since I resigned from Pierce Enterprises a week ago.” I kneel to check the soil around a Cherokee Purple plant. “Granted, I have gardeners who got everything started, but turns out I like growing things more than tearing them down.”
“Is that why you saved Highland? Because you wanted to grow something instead of destroying it?”
I look up at her, noting how the morning light catches the gold flecks in her dark eyes. “I saved Highland because you showed me what building something meaningful actually looks like. Because I wanted to prove that community preservation and business innovation can support each other.”
“And because you love me?”
The question is soft, vulnerable, asked without the defensive armor she’s been wearing since she arrived.
“Because I love you more than corporate success, more than my father’s expectations, more than anything I thought mattered before I met you.
” I stand, brushing soil from my hands. “Maya, I didn’t buy Highland to win you back.
I bought it to honor the legal work you’d already done and to become someone worthy of the partnership you offered. ”
“Partnership?”
“Business partnership in the foundation. Personal partnership in building something extraordinary together.” I step closer, close enough to see the tears gathering in her eyes. “Community partnership in proving that love and social responsibility can strengthen each other.”
“Declan.” My name comes out like a prayer. “I love you too. I’ve been fighting that feeling for three weeks, but standing here in your garden, seeing Highland’s legal framework activated by someone who understands what community preservation requires—I realize I don’t want to fight it anymore.”
“Maya.” I cup her face with hands that probably still smell like soil and growing things. “I love you. I want to build extraordinary things with you. I want to prove that some partnerships are worth risking everything to protect.”
“Then show me,” she whispers. “Show me what love looks like when we’re both fighting for the same things.”
I lean down and kiss her, soft at first, then deeper when she responds by threading her fingers through my hair. She tastes like morning coffee and possibility, like everything I’ve been hoping for during three weeks of learning to create rather than destroy.
When we break apart, both breathless, she rests her forehead against mine. “Your hands smell like tomatoes.”
“Sorry. I’ve been gardening since dawn.”
“Don’t apologize. It smells like growth. Like things taking root.” She smiles, the first completely joyful expression I’ve seen from her in weeks. “I like this version of you better than the CEO I first met in that lobby.”
“Good. Because this is who I want to be. Someone who builds things that last, who partners with communities instead of displacing them, who measures success in relationships rather than profit margins.”
Both our phones start ringing simultaneously—hers from her purse, mine from the garden table where I left it beside the tomato seedlings.
“The press conference,” Maya says, checking the time. “Highland’s reopening celebration.”
“Highland’s homecoming,” I correct, answering my phone to find Elliot coordinating logistics. Maya’s phone shows Lianne’s name on the screen.
“We should go,” I say, though every instinct tells me to ignore the calls and show Maya the rest of the garden I’m learning to tend.
“We should,” she agrees, but doesn’t move toward the cars. “Highland’s community is waiting to celebrate.”
“Tonight,” I promise, taking her hand as we walk toward my car. “After Highland’s celebration, after all the reporters go home, I want to show you exactly what I’ve been planting in this garden. And I want to hear about every detail of the legal framework you created.”
“Tonight,” she agrees, squeezing my fingers. “But Declan? This conversation isn’t over. We have a lot to figure out about partnership and communication and building a future together.”
“I know. But Maya?”
“Yeah?”
“We have the rest of our lives to figure it out. And Highland will be there for all of it—protected by your legal work, community-controlled, and never threatened again.”
She smiles, stopping to kiss me once more beside the car. “Let’s go home.”
Home. She means Highland, but as we drive toward the arts district with our hands intertwined, I realize home is wherever Maya chooses to build something beautiful.
And for the first time in three weeks, I’m certain she’s choosing to build it with me.