Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
E lla noticed the package on her porch as she climbed the steps, arms full of student artwork waiting to be graded. It sat innocently by her door—a simple box wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, looking both rustic and elegant.
Her heart did a funny little skip when she recognized Tom’s handwriting on the card. Setting down her school supplies, she settled on the porch swing to open it, savoring the moment.
The note was brief but made her breath catch: “For your dreams—because they’re worth growing.”
Inside the box, nestled in tissue paper, she found a collection of perennial flower bulbs and a well-worn book about garden design. She ran her fingers over the book’s cover, remembering how she’d mentioned wanting a garden during their walk through the general store. He’d been listening. Really listening.
The bulbs were carefully labeled in his precise handwriting: Black-eyed Susans, Coneflowers, Day Lilies. All hearty perennials that would come back year after year, growing stronger with each season.
The symbolism wasn’t lost on her.
She found herself reading the note again, tracing his words with her finger. The paper was thick, quality cardstock—he’d put thought into this, planned it. The realization made her chest tight in a way that should have been scary but somehow wasn’t.
“So?” A familiar voice made her look up. Tom leaned against her fence, trying and failing to look casual. “Do you like them?”
“How long have you been waiting there?”
“Not long.” His ears reddened slightly. “Maybe a while.”
She held up the garden book. “These notes in the margins—they’re yours?”
“My mother’s, actually.” He shifted, looking almost shy. “She was good with plants. Taught me a few things.”
The fact that he’d given her something so personal made her heart do that skippy thing again.
“You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” she said, aiming for lightness despite the emotion thick in her throat.
“Just wait.” He pushed off the fence, coming closer. “Ella...”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to go to dinner with me? On a date,” he added deliberately. “An actual date, not a maybe-friendly-maybe-more meal where we both pretend we’re not sure what it is.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “You’ve been thinking about this.”
“About a week, if we’re being honest.” His eyes met hers, serious now. “I’m done pretending I don’t want more than friendship with you.”
A warm flutter started in her stomach and spread through her whole body. “That’s... quite a gift strategy you’ve got there. Flowers, family heirlooms, heartfelt declarations...”
“Is it working?”
She stood, bringing them to eye level as he climbed the porch steps. “You didn’t have to try so hard, you know. You had me at the garden book.”
“Really?” His smile was soft, hopeful.
“Really.” She held up the book. “Though I do have one question.”
“What’s that?”
“Your mother’s note here says ‘never plant daylilies near roses.’ Is that because of root systems, or is there a dramatic backstory involving feuding flowers?”
His laugh was everything she’d hoped it would be—warm and real and just for her. “Have dinner with me tomorrow, and I’ll tell you all about the Great Garden War of 1992.”
“Well, now I have to know.” She met his eyes, letting him see her own hope. “Yes, Tom. I’d love to go on an actual date with you.”
The smile that spread across his face made her want to capture this moment forever—the late afternoon sun, the scent of autumn in the air, the way he looked at her like she was something precious and rare.
“Seven o’clock?” he asked.
“Seven’s perfect.”
He backed down the steps, still smiling. “Don’t forget to read the chapter on winter bulbs. There might be a pop quiz.”
“Careful,” she called after him. “I’m a teacher. I give the pop quizzes around here.”
His laughter carried back to her as he walked away. Ella sank back onto the porch swing, hugging the book to her chest. She knew she probably looked ridiculous, grinning at nothing, but she couldn’t help it.
Sometimes dreams grew slowly, taking root when you least expected them. Sometimes they came in boxes tied with twine, handed to you by a man who noticed the little things and cared enough to remember them.
She opened the book again, breathing in its well-loved scent, and began to plan her garden.
Tom adjusted his blue button-down shirt one last time before knocking on Ella’s door. He’d changed shirts three times—a fact the MacGregors would never let him live down if they knew. But something about tonight felt different. Important. Like a turning point he didn’t want to mess up.
He’d actually caught himself whistling while getting ready, earning strange looks from his neighbors. Tom Dalton didn’t whistle. Except, apparently, he did now.
When Ella opened the door, his carefully prepared greeting disappeared. She wore a simple green dress that made her eyes seem to glow in the porch light, and her smile did something complicated to his heart rate. She’d left her hair down, soft waves framing her face in a way that made his fingers itch to touch them.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Hi.” He cleared his throat. “You look beautiful.”
A blush colored her cheeks. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He’d chosen Alessandro’s for dinner, a family-owned Italian place twenty minutes outside town. Far enough to avoid the well-meaning but constant attention of Harmony Falls’ residents, close enough to feel comfortable. The restaurant occupied an old converted mill, its stone walls telling stories of centuries past. Water still flowed through the restored millrace below, powering a small generator that provided some of the building’s electricity.
Their hostess, Maria, led them to a corner table lit by wrought iron sconces. Tom had called ahead to request it—best sightlines, easy access to exits, and a view of both the falls and the sunset. Old habits died hard, but tonight they served a different purpose: making sure nothing distracted him from Ella.
“This is lovely,” she said, taking in the candlelit ambiance and the sound of water rushing past. “How did you find it?”
“The MacGregors mentioned it.” At her raised eyebrow, he added, “After thoroughly vetting it, I’m sure. Probably ran a full background check on the marinara sauce.”
“Of course.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Can’t have their favorite security expert dining just anywhere.”
“Their what now?”
“Oh please. They’re completely invested in your happiness. It’s sweet, really. Though I’m pretty sure Liam has a betting pool going about tonight.”
“Sweet isn’t the word I’d use.” But he was smiling, watching how the candlelight caught the gold flecks in her eyes. “Though they did help with the garden book idea.”
“I knew it! Gareth’s handwriting was on the plant labels.”
“Only some of them. I do know a few things about gardens. My mother...” he paused, then continued softly, “She taught me about perennials. Said anything worth growing takes time and patience.”
Something warm flickered in Ella’s expression. “She sounds wise.”
Their conversation flowed easily through appetizers and wine, touching on everything from childhood memories to favorite books. Tom found himself sharing stories he rarely told anyone—about his first security job, about the stray dog he’d adopted in Afghanistan, about why he preferred manual transmission cars.
“So why Harmony Falls?” she asked as their entrees arrived. “Really?”
Tom studied his pasta, gathering thoughts he rarely shared. “After my last tour... I needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could rebuild without pressure.” He met her eyes. “Somewhere that might feel like home again.”
“And does it? Feel like home?”
“Getting there.” He reached across the table, taking her hand. Her fingers intertwined with his naturally, like they belonged there. Like they’d been doing this for years instead of minutes. “More every day.”
She squeezed his hand gently, understanding in her eyes. “I know what you mean. About rebuilding. After Jacob...” she paused, then continued softly, “Sometimes you have to leave everything behind to find your way forward.”
“Is that what you’re doing here? Finding your way forward?”
“I thought I was just running away at first.” She smiled, and it held none of the sadness he usually saw when she mentioned her past. “But maybe I was running toward something instead.”
The candlelight caught her pendant, making it gleam. Tom noticed she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring on its chain tonight. The observation settled warm in his chest alongside the tiramisu they shared for dessert, their feet touching under the table.
Everything felt both new and familiar—the way she laughed at his dry observations, how she already knew he took his coffee black, the natural rhythm they’d found together. He caught himself memorizing small details: the way she gestured when excited, how her nose crinkled when she smiled, the soft sound she made when tasting something delicious.
Walking back to his truck, Tom took her hand again. This time she moved closer, fitting against his side like she belonged there. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of autumn and possibility.
At her door later, they lingered, neither wanting the evening to end. The porch light cast them in a warm glow, and Tom found himself counting her freckles, wondering how he’d never noticed them before.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For tonight. For the flowers. For... everything.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail along her jaw. “Thank you for letting me try.”
When he kissed her, it felt like coming home. Like finding something he hadn’t known he was missing until it was right there in front of him. Her hands curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he smiled against her lips.
Like a beginning.
Later, driving home, he caught himself whistling again. The MacGregors would be insufferable tomorrow, but for once, he didn’t mind.
Some things were worth the teasing.