Chapter 20
Rowan
YOU MAKE MY DREAMS COME TRUE BY DARYL HALL I prune the mint and lavender like it’s my therapy, because it is. Every few minutes, he steals glances at me, like he still can’t quite believe I’m here.
“What?” I finally ask, not looking up.
“Just thinking,” he says.
“Dangerous.”
He chuckles. “About how this—” he gestures between us, to the garden, to the house “—feels like the start of something good.”
“It does,” I admit softly.
He wipes his hands on his jeans, and sits beside me in the dirt. The breeze ruffles his hair, and he looks at me with that same quiet steadiness he’s had since Coconut Beach.
“You know,” I say, pretending to sound casual, “I could help you redo the yard. Add some plants in the front, maybe some color.”
He smirks. “You offering your services, Rowan?”
“Maybe. My rates are high, though.”
He leans closer. “What’s the price?”
“Coffee. Kisses. You know what I like.”
He grins. “That’s steep.”
“Worth it.”
“Yeah,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “It is. And you can do anything you want to this yard, Row. Anything.”
We finish up as the sun dips lower, the air turning golden and lazy. The garden looks good with the fresh soil, tidy rows, and little markers I made with my handwriting.
Finn comes up behind me, arms sliding around my waist. His chin rests on my shoulder.
“Looks good,” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back into him. “Feels good, too.”
He presses a kiss to my neck. “Ready to go?"
I turn my head, brushing my lips against his. “Yeah, let's head out."
He smiles, that slow, crooked one that melts me every time. “Guess we finally figured out how to do life together.”
“Guess so,” I say, grinning.
The breeze stirs, carrying the scent of basil and rain and the faint hum of the ocean in the distance. I close my eyes, sinking into the quiet, the warmth, the certainty of him.
Home isn’t just a place. It’s his hands, this garden, this laughter that keeps finding me even when I’m not looking for it.
And damn, it feels like the beginning of forever.