Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Graham
S omething's different. I notice it in the way Lila drops off supplies without lingering to discuss the garden plans. How she sends texts instead of stopping by. The way she steps back whenever I get too close, like she's afraid I might reach for her again.
I find her early in the morning, checking the flower beds we planted last week. The sun hasn't quite crested the mountains, but she's already fully immersed in her work, kneeling in the damp grass with her clipboard beside her.
"The coral bells are thriving," I say, keeping my voice casual.
"Mm-hmm." She makes a note without looking up.
"Li." I crouch beside her, careful to maintain enough distance that she won't feel crowded. "Did I do something wrong? I hardly see you anymore."
"I’ve been busy." She stands quickly, brushing dirt from her knees. "The festival's in two days."
"I know, but?—"
"The south bed needs more mulch." She's already moving away, her floral dress fluttering in the morning breeze. "And some of the daffodils are drooping. Maybe check the soil moisture?"
I watch her retreat toward her shop, remembering how different things felt just days ago in the secret garden. How she'd traced the carved letters with her fingertip, how for a moment it seemed like we might...
Did I read it all wrong?
I throw myself into the work, grateful for the physical demands of gardening. Mulch needs spreading? I'll do it myself instead of calling the crew. Soil needs turning? Better than letting my mind turn over and over, trying to figure out where I went wrong.
The morning wears on, the sun climbing higher, sweat soaking my shirt. I'm on my knees, checking the daffodils' soil as requested, when a shadow falls over me.
"You're doing too much." Dad's voice carries the gruff concern I've known all my life. He leans on his walker, surveying the garden. "Should pace yourself."
"Says the man who won't use his walker in his own garden."
He snorts. "Noticed she's avoiding you."
Leave it to Dad to cut straight to the heart of things. "That obvious, huh?"
"Son, this whole town runs on gossip and good intentions. And lately, there's been plenty of both going around."
I sit back on my heels, really looking at him. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying maybe you should ask yourself why a woman who's lived her whole life here might be scared of trusting someone who's made a habit of leaving."
The words hit hard, mainly because they ring true. I reach for another daffodil, gentling its drooping head. "I'm not that person anymore."
"Does she know that?" He shifts his weight on the walker. "More importantly, do you?"
I think about my half-unpacked boxes, about how I still haven't changed my business cards to show the Juniper Falls address. About how easy it would be to run again if things got too hard, too real.
"I want to be here," I say finally. "For the first time since Mom died, I'm exactly where I want to be."
He nods slowly. "Might want to make sure she knows that."
"If she'd stay still long enough to listen."
"Then don't tell her." He gestures at the garden around us. "Show her."
I look around at the space we've created. Lila's vision and my execution are coming together in something neither of us could have managed alone. Maybe Dad's right. Maybe I need to let the garden speak for me.
"Thanks, Dad."
"Don't mention it." He starts to turn, then pauses. "Oh, and son?"
"Yeah?"
"Get some help with that mulch. You're not twenty anymore."
I laugh, the tension easing slightly. "Yes, sir."
He heads back toward the house, his walker squeaking slightly. I turn back to the daffodils, but now I'm seeing them differently. Each bloom, each careful placement, tells a story. Maybe it's time to make sure it's telling the right one.
I pull out my notebook, flipping to a fresh page. If Lila won't let me tell her how I feel, maybe I can show her. One flower at a time.
I'm adding the finishing touches to a new planter near the community center entrance when Hazel appears, two cups of coffee in hand.
"I figured you could use this." She offers me one of the cups. "And maybe a friendly ear."
"That obvious?" I accept the coffee, grateful for the break. My back protests as I straighten up. Dad was right about not overdoing it.
"Graham Hart, I've known you since you were shorter than my rosebushes." She settles onto a nearby bench, patting the space beside her. "You've got that same look you used to get before big games. Like you're carrying the weight of the world and trying not to show it."
I sink onto the bench, the coffee warming my dirt-stained hands. "Been a while since anyone's read me that well."
"Except Lila."
"She's not reading me at all lately." The words come out more bitter than I intend. "She's barely speaking to me."
Hazel takes a thoughtful sip of her coffee. "You know what I notice about you, Graham? You're doing everything halfway."
"What?"
"Oh, you're here physically. Working hard, taking care of your father, making this garden beautiful." She gestures at the space around us. "But you've got one foot out the door."
"I don't?—"
"Your truck still has out-of-state plates. Your business cards list your old address. You haven't even put up a proper sign for Mountain Green Landscaping." She fixes me with a knowing look. "People notice these things in a town like this."
The truth of her words sits heavy in my chest. "I have a lot going on. With Dad's health, the business..."
"Excuses," she says firmly. "You're scared. Scared to fully commit because then you might fail. Might hurt people again. Might get hurt yourself."
"When did you get so wise?"
"About the time you got so foolish." But her smile is kind. "Graham, do you know what Lila did after you left?"
I shake my head.
"She planted roots. Deep ones. Took over the shop, got involved in town council, made herself indispensable to this community. She built a life that couldn't be pulled up and tossed aside." Hazel's voice softens. "And now here you are, tiptoeing around the edges of your own life like you're afraid to disturb the soil."
"So what do I do?"
"Stop hiding behind careful plans and safe distances. If you want to stay, stay. If you want Lila, fight for her. But for heaven's sake, stop acting like you're passing through."
I stare into my coffee, thinking about Dad's words earlier. About actions speaking louder than words. "I need to make some changes."
"Yes, you do." Hazel stands, straightening her cardigan. "And you might want to start by doing something about that sign. Hard for people to trust you're putting down roots when you won't even put up your name."
She leaves me sitting there, my coffee growing cold as plans start forming. Not garden plans this time, but something bigger. Something permanent.
I pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find the number I need. "Hey, Michael? Remember that idea we discussed for the business? Yeah. I think it's time. How fast can you get those papers drawn up?"
By the time I hang up, the sun is setting behind the mountains, painting the garden in shades of possibility. Tomorrow, I'll start proving to everyone—especially Lila—that some things are worth staying for.
And this time, I'm not going anywhere.