She felt his body jerk, just a little, just once, then it settled in against her, warm and true. “I don’t see a problem with that. You’re sure?”
“Couldn’t be more sure. I want to go to bed with you at night, wake up with you in the morning. I want to sit and have coffee with you whenever I please. Know you’re there for me, and I’m there for you. I want you, Mitch, for the rest of my life.”
“I’m ready to get started on that.” He kissed her bruised cheek, her uninjured one, her brow, her lips. “I’m going to learn how to tend at least one flower. A rose. My black rose.”
She leaned on him. She could lean on him—and trust him to step back when she needed to stand on her own.
Everything inside her calmed, even when she looked at the destruction of what was hers. She would fix it, save what could be saved, accept what couldn’t.
She would live her life, and plant her gardens—and walking hand-in-hand with the man she loved, watch both bloom.
And in the gardens of Harper House, someone walked, and raged, and grieved. With mad eyes burning into the candy-blue sky.
