Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Graham
" K eep your eyes closed." I guide Lila along the newly laid stone path, my hand hovering near her elbow. The morning air is cool, heavy with the scent of fresh mulch and something sweeter. The first blooms of spring.
"Graham Hart, if you let me walk into a rosebush..."
"That was one time," I protest, remembering our teenage mishap. "And as I recall, you were the one who insisted on taking that shortcut to the lake."
Her laugh makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
"A few more steps,” I assure her.
We round the corner of the old Carlton house where a weathered trellis creates a natural archway. Beyond it lies what used to be a forgotten corner of the property, hemmed in by mature azaleas. The ones Lila insisted we save. Now...
"Okay," I say softly. "Open them."
Lila's sharp intake of breath tells me I got it right. The space isn't large, maybe twenty feet square, but every inch has been transformed. Winding paths of crushed granite curve between beds of early spring flowers—purple hyacinths, yellow daffodils, and the coral bells she loves so much. In the center, a simple wooden bench sits beneath a flowering dogwood tree.
"Graham..." She takes a step forward, then another. "This isn't in the plans."
"Consider it a surprise addition." I follow her into the space, watching her face as she takes it all in. "The layout's different, but I tried to capture the feel of our old spot by Miller's Creek. Remember how the trees made it feel like our own private garden?"
She touches a hyacinth bloom gently. "Where we used to meet to talk about everything and nothing." Her voice goes soft. "Where you told me you were leaving."
And there it is. The shadow that always falls between us. But maybe it's time to step out of it.
"I've thought about that day so many times." I sit on the bench, leaving space for her to join me if she wants. "How young and stupid I was, thinking I had to choose between you and baseball. Like I couldn't have both if I just..."
"If you just what?" She settles beside me, not quite touching.
"If I'd been brave enough to ask you to come with me." The admission costs me, but it feels right to finally say it. "I was so scared of holding you back, of making you choose between me and your grandmother, that I never gave you the choice at all."
Lila's quiet for a long moment, watching a butterfly dance between the flowers. "I was angry for a long time," she says finally. "Not only because you left, but because you shut me out completely. And then I met David, and he was safe. Steady. Here."
"Your ex-husband?" I've heard bits and pieces around town, but never the full story.
She nods. "We had a good life, really. Calm. Drama-free. But sometimes..." She plucks a piece of grass from the path, twirling it between her fingers. "Sometimes I'd catch myself wondering what would have happened if I'd chased after you that day. But then I think about my grandmother managing the store by herself. She needed me."
"I wasn't exactly living a fairy tale," I admit. "Six months in the minors, playing through the pain until my shoulder gave out completely. Then Janet's father offered me work at his landscaping company, and Janet was around a lot. We talked and she was understanding. Maybe a bit of a distraction from a dying dream. We tried to make it work for fifteen years."
"What happened?"
"We wanted different things. She wanted the suburbs, book clubs, and planned vacations. I wanted..." I gesture at the garden around us. "This. Creating spaces that mean something. Only took me twenty years to figure that out."
"Better late than never." Lila's shoulder brushes mine as she leans back. "You know what I remember most about our spot by the creek? That silly carving you made in the big oak tree."
"G + L," I smile at the memory. "Your grandmother caught me doing it. Thought she was going to murder me with her pruning shears."
"She liked you, you know. Even after..." She trails off, then changes direction. "She's the one who taught me that gardens are like life. Sometimes you have to prune away the dead parts to let new growth happen."
I turn to look at her, really look at her. The morning light catches the auburn in her hair, and there's a smudge of dirt on her cheek that my fingers itch to brush away. "Is that what we're doing here? Pruning away the past?"
"Maybe." Her eyes meet mine. "Or maybe we're giving the roots time to strengthen before the bloom."
Something shifts between us, as subtle as a change in the breeze. On impulse, I reach into my pocket and pull out my pocket knife.
"Graham?"
I stand and move to the dogwood tree. "Think the town council will mind one more renovation?"
She laughs, following me. "You're not seriously..."
But I am. The bark is smooth and pale, perfect for carving. "For old time's sake?"
Lila watches as I carefully etch the letters, just like I did thirty years ago by Miller's Creek. When I'm done, she traces them with her fingertip. "G + L," she reads softly. "In a secret garden."
"Not so secret once the festival starts," I point out. "Half the town will probably have their pictures taken on that bench."
"Let them." She's still touching the carving, a small smile playing at her lips. "Maybe some other teenage couple will find it years from now and wonder about our story."
"What will they guess, do you think?"
She turns to face me, so close I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes. "That sometimes the best gardens take years to grow." She takes a shaky breath. "That sometimes you have to trust that what looks like an ending might just be a new beginning."
The morning sun filters through the dogwood branches, dappling her face with light and shadow. It would be so easy to lean down, to close the distance between us. Instead, I reach up and gently brush away that smudge of dirt on her cheek.
"We should get back," she whispers, but she doesn't move away. "There's still so much to do before the festival."
"Yeah," I agree, letting my hand fall. "But Li?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you for giving me a second chance to get it right."
She smiles then, bright as the morning sun. "Thank you for coming home to try."
The community center's temporary outdoor dining area buzzes with conversation and laughter. String lights crisscross overhead, casting a warm glow over familiar faces. I spot Tessa and Hale sharing pie at one of the long tables, sitting close together, their heads bent in conversation as my father talks with them.
"The garden's looking amazing," Tessa tells me as I pass by. "I can't believe how much you've transformed it already."
"Wait until everything's in bloom," I say. "Though I can't take all the credit."
"Oh, we know," Hale grins, his arm draped casually around Tessa's chair. "Sarah's been telling everyone about you and Lila working together. Says it's just like old times."
Dad catches my eye with a knowing look. "Your mother would have loved seeing you back in a garden. Remember that little space she made for you behind the garage?"
“The miniature garden? How could I forget.” The memory warms me. "Complete with a tiny door made from popsicle sticks."
"Speaking of gardens," Tessa leans forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "Sarah says you built Lila a secret one. That's so romantic!"
"It's for the festival," I say, but I'm saved from further interrogation by Hazel calling everyone to attention.
"Before we wrap up this lovely evening," she announces, "I want to thank everyone who's worked so hard on the community center project. Especially Lila Bloom and Graham Hart, who've created something truly magical with the gardens."
The crowd applauds, and I catch sight of Lila across the space, pink-cheeked in a sundress patterned with tiny bluebells. Our eyes meet briefly before she looks away.
As people begin to drift home, I find myself gravitating toward the coffee station where Lila stands alone, warming her hands around a mug.
"Quite a turnout," I say, pouring myself a cup.
"Juniper Falls loves any excuse for Sarah's food." She moves slightly, making room for me in the quiet corner. "The kids seem taken with your fairy house."
"Had to do something with all those broken pot pieces we found while clearing the lot." I lean against the table. "Though I might have gotten carried away with the tiny garden."
"You always did have an eye for details." She takes a sip of coffee. "Janet must have loved that about your work."
The mention of my ex-wife catches me off guard, but maybe it's time for this conversation. "Actually, she thought it was impractical. Said I spent too much time on little touches that didn't add to the bottom line."
"That doesn't sound very happy."
"It wasn't, toward the end." I stare into my coffee. "We looked good on paper. Successful landscaping business, nice house, dinner parties with the right people. But there was always something missing."
"What?"
"Magic." I glance at her. "The kind I used to feel building fairy houses with my mom. The kind I felt showing you our spot by Miller's Creek. Janet wanted everything planned, controlled. No room for secret gardens or surprise blooms."
Lila's quiet for a moment. "When did you know it was over?"
"Remember those coral bells you loved? I planted them everywhere, in every project. Janet finally asked why, and I..." I take a breath. "I couldn't tell her they reminded me of you. That's when I knew I'd never really moved on. It helped that our kids were almost grown, building lives of their own."
The string lights reflect in her eyes as she looks up at me. "Graham..."
"I'm not telling you this to pressure you," I say quickly. "I want you to know that leaving Juniper Falls, leaving you—it wasn't because I didn't care enough. If anything, I cared too much. Was too scared of failing my potential. Of failing you, of not being enough."
"And now?"
"Now I know that the only real failure was not trusting in us enough to try."
My hand finds hers on the table, and for a moment, she lets it rest there. Her skin is warm from the coffee mug, soft despite the garden work. Then I feel her tense.
"I can't." She pulls away gently, wrapping both hands around her mug. "Graham, everything you're saying, it's..."
"Too much too soon?"
She nods, blinking rapidly. "I built a life here after you left. It's not perfect, but it's mine. And seeing you again, feeling like this again..." She takes an unsteady breath. "It terrifies me."
"Li—"
"I should go. Early morning tomorrow." She sets down her mug. "I have a bunch of work to wrap up for the festival setup."
"At least let me walk you?—"
"No." Her smile is sad. "I need some time. Please."
I watch her weave through the empty tables, stopping to hug Hazel goodnight. The string lights blur above me, and I realize I'm still holding my cooling coffee, the phantom warmth of her hand against mine fading like the evening light.
"Give her time, son." Dad appears beside me, his walker squeaking slightly. "Some gardens need a gentle touch to bloom."
I help him navigate toward the car, stealing one last look at the community center garden where tiny lights twinkle in the tiny fairy house. Maybe Dad's right. Maybe, like the garden, some things can't be rushed.
But standing there in the growing dark, I wonder if Lila and I will ever find our way back to the simple magic we once shared, or if some flowers are meant to bloom only once.