Page 283 of The Heart You Kept

“You did?” He frowns as he looks down at it.

“Open it.” I smile.

He opens the tin and unfolds the white tissue paper and his mouth falls open. “You made this?”

“It’s probably not very good,” she whispers. “Umm….” She points into the tin. “This is macadamia and this side is lemon, and this row is traditional English shortbread.”

“Alora got up at 3 this morning while I was sleeping because she wanted it to be fresh for you,” I tell him.

His eyes meet mine and an unexpected emotion fills me.

“Well…. Alora.” He smiles. “This is the most thoughtful present I have received in a very long time.”

She smiles softly and honestly…how is she mine?

“Shall we go and make some tea to have with it?” my father asks as he holds his hand out toward the kitchen.

“Okay.” She walks in front of us.

“Alora loves English tea too, Dad, don’t you?”

“I do,” she replies.

My father’s eyes meet mine. “Finally.”

ALORA

If heaven were a place on earth, this is it.

Our week in London has been a dream come true. We’ve spent our days in the sunshine with his father and sister, Charlotte. We had dinner with the extended family at Charlotte’s place one night and I got to meet all of the aunts and uncles; her husband, Spencer, is hilarious.

But by night, when we’ve been alone, is where the magic has happened.

We’ve fallen even deeper in love.

I don’t know what happened last week when Edward saw me in the shower, but it did something to him, changed him somehow. It’s like an invisible wall he was keeping me out with came down and everything I knew that he could be, was waiting for me on the other side.

To have what we do now has been worth every single second of heartache, I couldn’t possibly love him more than I do in this moment.

I kiss his chest as we lie in the darkness, the red glow of the open fire flickers across the bedroom and his regulated breathing tells me that he’s fast asleep. This house, this family…this man.

I’ve found my happily ever after.

I lean over on my hands and knees and pull out the weed. I have gardening gloves on and a giant hat. I’m in Harold’s vegetable patch; we’ve been working in it together for hours over the last week, turns out that we really do have a lot in common.

“How did you get into gardening?” he asks as he snips bean vines.

“My mother loved gardening and when she died I wanted to keep it alive for her.” I lean over and pull out some more weeds. “And then I don’t know.” I lean back onto my knees and wipe the perspiration from my brow as I look over at him. “It made me feel closer to her, so I did it more and more.” I shrug. “It kind of became my happy place, I guess.”

He smiles as he listens.

“Why do you like gardening?” I ask.

“My dear Angelique loved gardening.”

“She did?” I frown. “Edward’s mother liked gardening?”

“She did.”