Page 20 of Oops I Fell For The Billionaire Next Door

Desi's business is growing faster than she expected. The Nelson client's property redesign was featured in a BC landscaping magazine. Margot's referral turned into three more. She hired a part-time assistant last month, a forestry student from the college in Castlegar who worships her methodology and calls her "Ms. Laurent" despite being told not to.

Jake Winters visited last month. Brought his wife Trish, who took one look at Desi's stone wall, the garden beds, the walkway with the thyme blooming between the flagstones, and said "You need to come to Crimson Hollow and meet everyone." Desi's already been twice. Sage at Bean & Bloom gave her a standing invitation to Saturday morning breakfast. Venus at Tangled Roots did her braids. Nadia, who's engaged to one of the Ridge brothers, referred two landscape clients from her marketing contacts.

"Your girlfriend is more popular than you," Trish told me while Desi was deep in conversation with Sage about soil amendments for the café's window boxes.

"Everybody's more popular than me."

"True. But she's especially more popular."

Today is Saturday. The house is done. Greta left yesterday with a handshake and a bottle of wine from Iron Vine Estate that Desi picked out. The construction crew packed up last week. For the first time since I bought this property, the road is quiet. No trucks. No saws. No gravel delivery at dawn.

Just the mountain. The wind. The creaking of two houses settling into the ridge, side by side.

Desi's in the garden. Where else. On her knees in the raised bed I built under her supervision last month. It took me three attempts to get the corner joints right. She watched me fail twice without offering help, let me ask on the third try, then showed me how to cut a proper lap joint with a hand saw. My joints still aren't as clean as hers. They hold, though. She tested them by sitting on the edge, bouncing twice, nodding.

"Not bad, Rhodes."

Highest praise she's ever given me.

My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. My mother, calling from Ontario. She calls every Sunday but today's Saturday so this is off-schedule, which means my father told her.

"Hi, Mom."

"Your father says you bought a ring."

"Dad has a big mouth."

"Is it a good ring?"

"It's a sapphire. The jeweler in Nelson said it was the best stone he's had in years. Set in a gold band. Simple."

"Does she know?"

"She will tonight."

My mother goes quiet. Then: "Beckett, honey. Is she the one who made you plant flowers?"

"Groundcover. And yes."

"I like her already."

We talk for a few more minutes. She makes me promise to call tomorrow regardless of the answer. Hangs up. The house is quiet again.

The ring has been in my sock drawer for two weeks. Small velvet box from the Nelson jeweler who asked me three questions: Is she flashy or understated? Does she work with her hands? What color are her eyes?

Not flashy. Extremely. Brown so dark they're nearly black.

He pulled out a sapphire. Deep blue, almost black in certain light. "It'll match her," he said. He was right.

Tonight the plan is simple. Porch. Sunset. The two Adirondack chairs I built for my deck under her supervision. They're slightly uneven because my left armrest is a quarter inch higher than the right, but they hold weight and the view from them stretches across the entire valley to the Selkirks.

There's a bottle of wine from Iron Vine. Two glasses. The cactus mug sitting on the side table between the chairs because at this point the mug is a permanent fixture of our life. It holds pens on my desk during the day, coffee in the morning, wine when we forget to bring proper glasses outside.

Desi comes in from the garden at five. Boots off in the mudroom. Soil on her knees. Braids piled under a bandana. She walks through the great room trailing her fingers along the stone fireplace surround she helped me pick, past the bookshelves I built under her guidance, into the kitchen where I'm standing at the counter with two steaks and a recipe pulled up on my phone.

"You're cooking."

"Attempting."