So wise. Too wise.
“I love that you care so much,” Daisy said, cupping her cheek. “But that’s not your job. I’m happy because I have you. Okay?”
Amelia nodded and grinned.
“All right, sweet stuff. Ready to see the house?”
Amelia barely left her new bedroom all afternoon. Her LA room had nothing on this one. It was twice the size, with a little castle built into the corner, and a queen bed canopied in pink and purple tulle.
And then there was Gus. Jameson’s dog, finally with a yard of his own. Amelia was smitten within minutes.
Great,Daisy thought.Now she’ll never want to come back home.
While Amelia played, Daisy and Jameson sat on the back patio, fleece jackets pulled tight, hands wrapped around mugs of hot tea, looking out at the manicured lawn. A gentle breeze stirred the orange trees along the fence line, their scent mingling with the faint salt drifting in from the ocean.
“This place is incredible,” Daisy said. “You have a beautiful home.”
Jameson shook his head. “Not quite yet.”
Daisy scoffed, playful. “You have a massive pool, a tennis court, a dedicated croquet setup, and a whole Jacuzzi on your bedroom balcony. What else could you possibly need?”
“It’s a great place,” he conceded. “But right now it’s just a big, extravagant house.We—you, me, and Amelia—the memories we’ll make here… that’s what makes it a home.”
Cue butterflies.
Daisy blushed and looked over at him. “I’ve told you—”
“I know,” he murmured. “You already have a home.”
“… but,” she finished for him, “I can help make this one, too.”
His smile dimpled. They fell into an easy silence, one without strain. She noticed the way his thumb traced the rim of his mug, how his knee brushed hers beneath the table, unintentional, maybe, but electric all the same.
“And for the record,” he added after a beat, “there’s no more croquet.”
“Oh, shucks. I wasreallyexcited about that,” she teased. “What happened to it?”
His gaze drifted toward the back of the property, as if weighing his next words. “I want to show you something. Come with me.” He stood quickly, before he could lose his nerve.
“Come where?”
“Trust me. We’ll be right back.”
He headed across the lawn, disappearing past the pool to where the croquet lawn used to be. Daisy followed, trying to catch up.
“Jameson, wait up. I swear if you turned this into some—” Her voice cut off as she stopped beside him.
The clipped green expanse was gone. In its place: color. Rows and rows of it. A garden had been carved into the earth. It was soft and alive.
“Jameson,” she breathed. “You didn’t.”
He smiled, a little shy. “It’s supposed to resemble…”
“… my mother’s garden,” she finished.
Daisy stepped forward and the years fell away. The air smelled of wet soil and spring. Bees hovered over lavender. For a second, she could almost hear her mother’s voice, hands deep in the dirt beside her, planting tomato seeds, flowers, and herbs. When she left for college, it was the last time she ever saw that garden, and her little studio that sat beside it. She’d told Jameson a few weeks ago she wished she could see it once more, to stand there and breathe it in.
“Tulips, marigolds, lilies…” she murmured.
