Chapter Thirty-Two
Sara
My mother’s garden was a beautiful mess, a testament to a person finally making a home for herself instead of just finding a place to land.
She was on her knees, her hands deep in the soil, tending to a row of fragrant basil and heirloom tomatoes.
It was a tangible, living space. My mother had always been about the illusion, the charm, and the subtle lie.
But this garden was honest. It was beautiful in a way that couldn’t be faked.
She looked up and smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that had always unnerved me. It was the smile of a woman who saw straight through you. “I just finished planting the last of the tomatoes,” she said, gesturing to a row of bushy green plants. “They’ll be delicious next month.”
“Mom,” I began, suddenly feeling like a child again. “This is Ashen. Ashen, my mom.”
My mother rose, wiping her hands on her jeans, her smile never faltering.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you.” She took his hand in a firm shake, and I watched, fascinated, as her demeanor shifted.
The warmth in her eyes hardened slightly, becoming a professional glint.
She was sizing him up, working him over with the subtle, disarming skills of a con artist.
She took his hand again, then gave his knuckles a playful pat. “Sara tells me you believe everyone has a story. I do too. My entire life I’ve been a student of people’s stories. I always find the most interesting ones are the ones a person tries to keep buried.”
She wasn’t asking a question; she was making a statement. A bold, unsettling invitation to confess. A classic tactic. My gut twisted.
Ashen, though, didn’t flinch. He just smiled, a soft, genuine smile that was a world away from the wary man I’d first met.
“I find that to be true as well,” he said, his gaze calm.
“But I’m beginning to believe the past doesn’t have to define a person.
My hope is that Sara and I write a story together, about a heroine with a big heart who loves a man with a murky past and a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. ”
My mother let out a small sigh. “Sara, dear, get him some iced tea.”
When I returned with the glasses, they were talking.
My mother’s voice was low and melodic, luring him in.
“Sara tells me you’re living in the home of a friend.
” It wasn’t a compliment. It was a demand for him to have a plan.
“Stability is important for a relationship. Have you thought about what’s next? ”
Ashen’s jaw tightened, just for a second. He knew exactly what she was doing, and he didn’t try to sidestep it. “I have. I’ve been given an opportunity to do R&D for a new food source. The project already has investors which will bring us that stability.”
My mother’s eyes flickered to mine, a silent signal that he had passed a key test. “Sara told me about how you met,” she said in an even tone. “I need to know you’re not going to get her killed. Because the last man who promised to keep her safe chose an investigation over us.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I set my glass down on the stone bench with a sharp clink. “Mom,” I said, my voice tight. “He’s not Max and I wouldn’t have brought him here if I didn’t believe he was a good man. Please, please . . . just don’t.”
Her face softened instantly, the cold, professional glint melting away.
She looked at me for a long moment, then at Ashen, and finally back at me.
“Okay, sweetie. I hear you.” She stood, dusted off her knees, and gave Ashen a warm, genuine smile.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, and I knew she meant it. “Now don’t screw it up.”
With that, my mother walked into the house and I sank onto the stone bench, exhausted. “I can’t believe she did that,” I said, burying my face in my hands. “I’m so sorry. I told you—she’s a lot.”
Ashen sat beside me, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. “Don’t apologize,” he said softly. “I like her.”
I raised my head, confused. “You do?”
He nodded. “Yes. Because she didn’t hide how she felt.
She loves you, enough to risk pissing you off.
Loving someone isn’t always about making them happy.
Sometimes it’s about making the hard choices that keep them safe.
As someone who didn’t have a single person in my corner, I appreciate that you do.
I feel like she would kill me and bury me in that garden if she thought I might hurt you. ”
My breath hitched and I sniffed. “She would.”
We shared a smile.
I had spent my whole life seeing my mother’s actions as a reflection of her own brokenness. But Ashen, in his quiet wisdom, had given me a new lens. My mother’s charm, her subtle manipulations, her constant need to read a room—it wasn’t armor she wore for herself. It was armor she wore for me.
Had she chosen Max because she hoped he would keep me safe, or had she really loved him? I might never know because I wasn’t certain she knew.
Ashen pulled me closer, and I let myself fall into him, finally, completely.
The pieces of my past—my mother’s con artist life, my grief for Max, my fear for my own safety—they all came together, not as a broken puzzle, but as a complex and beautiful tapestry.
Suddenly it was okay that things weren’t perfect.
There’s no beauty in perfection.
No growth.
No strength.
I understood my mother in a way I never had before. And I understood Ashen too. He was my safe harbor, the one who saw my imperfections and loved me anyway.
“I love you,” I whispered against his neck.
“I know and I love you too. Enough that I’m considering calling us Team Linde-Ryse.”
I chuckled at that. “It sounds better the other way, but I will thank you later for that thought.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him.
The kiss he gave me was full of laughter, love, and ended with him grinning. “I do like how you thank me.”