Chapter 35
K athleen stood in her kitchen three weeks after the garden surprise, watching Patrick through the window.
He was adding more wooden plant markers to the herbs he’d bought at the general store.
The morning light caught the silver in his hair, and she felt the familiar flutter in her chest whenever he was near.
The garden had become her sanctuary, just as Patrick had intended. In the early mornings before the café opened, she would slip out with her coffee and walk the brick pathways, touching the leaves and inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers.
The reporters and curiosity seekers had largely moved on after Percy’s carefully orchestrated announcement about “common Victorian artifacts,” but the peace the garden brought her had nothing to do with escaping publicity. It was about the love that had created it.
Every detail spoke of Patrick’s careful attention to what brought her joy.
The wooden bench was positioned to catch the morning sun.
The pathways curved to create intimate spaces perfect for quiet reflection, and the raised beds were the right height for comfortable tending without straining her back.
He’d thought of everything, and more importantly, he’d thought of her .
“You’ll wear a hole in that floor if you keep pacing,” Isabel said from her seat at the kitchen table. She was helping Lynda address invitations for the historical society’s upcoming fundraiser.
Kathleen hadn’t realized she was pacing. “I’m not pacing.”
“You’ve walked past that window seventeen times in the last ten minutes.” Isabel set down her pen and studied her friend. “What’s really going on?”
Kathleen paused mid-step, caught. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s usually dangerous,” Susan said, looking up from the laptop where she’d been reviewing catering orders for the same fundraiser.
Kathleen smiled and ignored Susan’s teasing. “I’ve been thinking about Patrick and how he created the garden for me.”
“Yes, he did,” Lynda agreed patiently. “And you’ve thanked him approximately forty-seven times.”
Kathleen turned from the window to face her friends. “But I haven’t shown him what he means to me. I’ve been so careful, so worried about moving too fast or expecting too much, that I haven’t let him know how deeply I care for him.”
Susan closed her laptop with a decisive snap. “It’s about time.”
“What’s about time?” Kathleen asked, startled by her friend’s emphatic tone.
“That you admit he’s your soulmate. We’ve known you love him for weeks, but a soulmate is someone extra special.”
Kathleen leaned against the window frame. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to everyone who’s ever seen you both in the same room,” Isabel said with fond exasperation.
“Yesterday, he brought you a single iris from his own garden because he noticed the one in your new garden bed looked lonely,” Susan added. “That’s not something a man does for a friend, Kathleen. That’s something a man does when he’s completely smitten.”
Through the window, Kathleen watched as Patrick stood and dusted the soil from his knees. He looked toward the house, and when he saw her in the window, his face brightened with a warm smile that made her heart skip a beat. He raised his hand in a small wave, and she waved back.
With a sigh, she turned to her friends. “I bought something,” she said suddenly, the words tumbling out before her courage failed her. “Last week, when I went to Kalispell for supplies.”
Her friends leaned forward with identical expressions of intense interest.
Kathleen walked to the kitchen drawer where she kept her important papers. From the back, behind her homeowner’s insurance documents and the deed to the house, she withdrew a small velvet box. Her hands shook as she placed it on the table.
“Kathleen Armstrong,” Isabel breathed. “What did you do?”
“It’s not an engagement ring,” Kathleen said quickly, opening the box to reveal a simple but elegant silver band with a small Celtic knot design. “It’s a friendship ring. The jeweler explained that in Celtic tradition, these rings represent eternal bonds between people who matter to each other.”
Susan picked up the box, examining the ring with professional appreciation. “It’s beautiful. And perfect for Patrick.”
“I’ve been carrying it around for a week, trying to work up the courage to give it to him,” Kathleen admitted. “But every time I start to, I chicken out. What if he thinks it’s too much? What if I’m misreading our friendship? What if?—”
“What if he’s been hoping for exactly this kind of sign from you?” Lynda interrupted gently. “Kathleen, that man built you a garden. He didn’t do that because he thinks of you as just a friend.”
Isabel reached across the table and squeezed Kathleen’s hand. “Remember what you said at my wedding? About how you thought it was time to find out if you were a late bloomer?”
Kathleen nodded, remembering the conversation and the hope that had filled her heart that night.
“This is your moment,” Isabel continued. “Stop overthinking everything and follow your heart.”
Before she could lose her nerve, Kathleen slipped the ring box into her sweater pocket. “I’m going to do it.”
“Right now?” Susan asked.
“Right now.” Kathleen’s voice grew stronger with each word. “Before I can think of seventeen reasons why I shouldn’t.”
She walked to the back door, then paused with her hand on the knob. “What should I say?”
“The truth,” Lynda said simply. “Tell him what he means to you.”
Kathleen stepped onto the veranda, breathing in the scent of lavender and chamomile that drifted from the garden.
Patrick was now beside the birdbath, adjusting its position to catch more morning sun.
He looked up when he heard the door close, and his face brightened with the smile that had become as essential to her happiness as morning coffee.
“Good morning,” he called, wiping his hands on a work rag. “I hope you don’t mind me being here this early. I wanted to plant these herbs before it gets too hot.”
“It’s fine. I like seeing you here.” Kathleen walked along the brick pathway toward him. “Could I talk to you for a minute, Patrick?”
Something in her voice must have worried him, because his expression became concerned. “Of course, you can. Is everything all right?”
They stood beside the birdbath, surrounded by the garden he’d created for her. Kathleen heard the soft murmur of her friends’ voices from the kitchen window. Even though she didn’t know what they were saying, it made her feel more confident.
“I need to tell you something, Patrick,” she began, her heart hammering against her ribs. “About what this garden means to me. About what you mean to me.”
Patrick’s eyes softened, and he took a step closer. “Kathleen.”
“You built me a sanctuary,” she continued, the words coming easier now that she’d started.
“Not just a garden, but a place where I can honor Florence and Miriam while finding peace for myself. You organized an entire community to help create something perfect. But more than that, you saw what I needed before I even knew I needed it.”
She reached into her pocket, her fingers closing around the velvet box. “You know how much I love you, but I’ve never shown you how much I care about you.”
“You don’t need to,” Patrick told her. “I see it in your smile, and the way you include me in everything you do.”
Kathleen took a deep breath. “I want to do more. You deserve more.” With trembling hands, she pulled out the jewelry box and opened the lid.
“This is for you, Patrick. It’s a Celtic friendship ring.
The lady in the store told me it represents an eternal bond between people who matter deeply to each other. ”
Patrick stared at the ring, then at her face, his expression cycling through surprise, wonder, and something deeper that made her breath catch.
“But I have to warn you,” she said, her voice growing playful despite her nervousness. “If you accept this, you’d better be careful. I might decide to propose to you when you least expect it.”
For a moment, Patrick was utterly still. Then he threw back his head and laughed, a sound of pure joy that seemed to make the garden itself brighter. When he looked at her again, his eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“Kathleen Armstrong,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to threaten to propose to me.”
He took the box from her hands with the same care he’d used when handling the delicate heritage seedlings. “It’s beautiful. And perfect.” He looked up at her. “Just like this moment.”
“Will you wear it?” she asked, suddenly shy.
Instead of answering, he removed the ring from its box and held it out to her. “Would you put it on my finger? I think that would make it official.”
With hands that were steadier than she expected, Kathleen took the ring and slipped it onto Patrick’s finger. It was the perfect fit, as if it had been made specifically for him.
“There,” she said softly. “Now you’re officially warned.”
Patrick lifted his hand to examine the ring, then reached up to cup her face with both hands, the silver band catching the morning light. “In that case, I’d better practice saying yes.”
And there, in the garden he’d built for her, Patrick kissed Kathleen with the tenderness of a man who understood that the best love stories were worth waiting for.
From the kitchen window came the sound of applause and cheering, reminding them both that love, when it finally arrives, is meant to be celebrated by everyone who cares about your happiness.
When they finally broke apart, Patrick rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, Kathleen. I always will.”
“I love you too,” she whispered back.
As they stood together in their garden, Kathleen thought about Florence and Miriam, about James’s letters and the love that had endured despite separation and uncertainty. Some stories, she realized, were meant to have happy endings.
At sixty-six, with silver in her hair and a lifetime of experiences behind her, Kathleen had finally found her own love story. And she intended to make the most of every beautiful moment of it.
THE END