Chapter 21
Twenty-One
On the morning of the farm’s grand opening, I awoke with the first light, my mind tingling with anticipation.
I settled onto the porch of the cabin, away from Jackson, who remained asleep in bed, and took in the way the morning woke up—the sun inching above the horizon, its golden beams prying away the last remnants of night.
It was almost surreal to finally be at this moment after months of preparation.
I swept my eyes over the farm, a landscape that had undergone a remarkable transformation.
It can be hard to see progress when you’re in the middle of making it.
The farm was almost double its original size.
The two new greenhouses stood proud in the distance, and a newly erected building awaited its purpose for the seed business.
After a long winter, the farm had finally awakened to an explosion of life and color.
One thought relieved the tightness in my chest, easing the ache in my heart.
This was where I would leave Lila. I had never thought of leaving her anywhere but here; the hum of the earth beneath my feet, the scent of flowers in the breeze—the place felt like hers.
I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of that before.
It was because of her I was here in the first place.
I would have never noticed or cared about the flowers in Jackson’s truck, but Lila made me see them, made me care.
She wanted me to be here; she led me here to this place to heal.
What better place to let her go, allow her memory to roam free?
I had never meditated anywhere other than where Tibb and I met; I wasn’t afraid to do it anymore, wasn’t afraid of what I’d find there.
The usual faces drifted into my mind. There would be no peace for Deacon Ridley, but I had made peace with myself.
The guilt, the blame—none of it was mine.
It wasn’t my fault. Those words came now, like a steady pulse, my new mantra when their deaths haunted me.
It wasn’t my fault. I could say them now without the sting.
Because I knew deep down that it was the truth.
And I could now allow the full vision to play out.
I sank into the chair and closed my eyes again.
In the quiet, Lila was there. Sounds around me faded, replaced by the echoes of a memory, of her laughter.
Lila, running through the field, the wind pulling her hair back; Lila floating on her back, eyes to the sky; Lila smiling, always smiling.
Tears streamed down my face. Lila reached toward me, and I reached back, our fingers aching to touch, but the space between us remained.
Then she turned, a flower swirling in her hand, and walked away, fading a little with each step. She would be safe here.
I came to the Flower Farm searching for a place to hide, but I found something more than I could have ever imagined: connection, peace, and purpose.
And now, it was time for me to leave.
That thought filled me with so much sadness. I had not been that sad in a long time, but now, as the time to leave approached, the old grief began to resurface, pushing against the strength I had erected to keep it away.
Tibb’s words echoed in my mind: I needed a plan, a new one.
But in the weeks since Tibb had learned the truth about me, I avoided coming up with one.
The idea of plotting an end while still immersed in the middle felt premature.
I also avoided Tibb. At first, we maintained a cordial facade, keeping things as normal as possible, careful not to raise any suspicions with Jackson or Luke.
But an obvious strain pulled between us.
Our yoga sessions continued, but we rarely spoke through them.
Until one morning, unprompted, I told him everything, the truth I’d shared with Jackson and everything I hadn’t: why I had been in prison.
It was enough to erase the tension, enough to spark a shift, enough for Tibb to start helping me strategize my escape.
But as the days slipped by, I refused to allow fear and uncertainty to take root.
I didn’t want to focus on dread and despair while surrounded by beauty and grace.
I had done that before, and I was different now, and my mind had adapted.
When I did allow myself to think about a possible plan, the thoughts lifted whenever Jackson’s presence or a tender kiss would sweep through, dispersing the dark clouds with his affection.
I found myself caught in a quiet tug-of-war, holding both joy and grief simultaneously.
Jackson had said himself, his wisdom ringing true, that a person could hold both at the same time. And somehow I did.
The cabin door creaked opened, revealing Jackson’s broad body, shirtless, as he stepped out into the morning air. Each time I saw him, even after all of these months, my heart betrayed me with a skip. His presence never ceased to captivate me. But these lazy mornings were ending.
“Hey,” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep.
“Hey,” I said, rising from my spot on the porch and walking toward him. The cool early-spring air brushed against my skin, but the warmth of his embrace melted me as he pulled me close.
“Why are you up so early?” he asked, resting his chin on my shoulder.
I inhaled. Of all the things I had come to love about Jackson, this, I realized—his smell—would be one I would miss the most. I pressed my face against his chest. “I was just thinking.”
He pulled back slightly to look at me, tilting my chin up with his fingers. “About what?”
I swept my eyes across the farm again. “Today,” I said. “The farm. I just want everything to go well.”
“It will,” he said, his arms tightening around me.
For a few minutes, we stood together, taking in the landscape before us.
“I can’t believe we actually pulled it off,” he said finally.
I drew back, meeting his gaze with a smile. “You pulled it off. It was your vision, and you did it.”
Jackson shook his head slowly, his gaze locking on to mine. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Leigh. I mean that.”
“I didn’t do anything beyond what the whole team did.”
“You were what I needed,” he said. “Your presence, your support—it made all the difference.”
In that moment, I realized that the end of this chapter, however bittersweet, was just another part of my journey. And as Jackson held me close, the future seemed to soften into a more forgiving light.
Later that morning, we dressed in silence, the anticipation of the day hanging over us.
The kitchen was quiet, not the usual hub of noise.
Luke was the only one who ate with any real appetite.
All of us were lost in our thoughts until we heard the blare of a car horn outside.
We exchanged puzzled glances and looked at the clock—too early for customers.
Tibb sprang to his feet and looked through the window.
A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face.
“You should come see this,” Tibb said, beckoning to Jackson, who had already risen to investigate.
Jackson joined Tibb at the window, and Tibb wrapped an arm around Jackson’s shoulders. Jackson’s head fell forward in a mixture of disbelief and awe.
“What the hell is it?” Luke asked, joining them. As he caught sight of the scene outside, his laughter burst forth, unrestrained. “Well, I’ll be damned. Come look, Leigh.”
I rose from my seat and made my way to the window.
The sight that greeted me was beyond anything I had anticipated: a line of cars and trucks stretching from the Flower Farm’s entrance down the road and merging with the main highway.
People were gathered, eager and expectant, waiting to see the farm, experience it for themselves.
We stood there together, the four of us, taking in the sight before Luke pulled us all into a heartfelt hug, a wordless celebration that felt as if he was trying to hold the moment itself.
And we stayed there, basking in it. No one quick to let go.
No one quick to speak. There was something sacred in the shared recognition of what we had accomplished.
We knew we had a long way to go before deeming the expansion a success.
But this was a good start. We had come so far.
The late nights, the endless planning, the constant hustle.
Every bead of sweat, every speck of dirt under our fingernails, every drop of blood in the trenches of this dream, Jackson’s dream, had led us here. To this moment. And now it was done.
Jackson opened the farm a few hours earlier than planned to satisfy the crowd swelling faster than we anticipated.
We expected a modest turnout—people had been here before, after all—and we prepared for one.
A simple banner strung above the entrance, welcoming customers to the new Flower Farm.
A few planned tours of the grounds. A couple of floral-arranging demonstrations.
Nothing extravagant, just a modest day to mark the farm’s grand opening.
Word had spread faster than we realized.
The day matched the enthusiasm of the people—bright and warm and buzzing with life.
Hundreds of people walked the grounds, their chatter and laughter carrying over the fields.
Baskets swung from their arms as they wandered, admiring the flowers, pointing, cutting, and reveling in the colors surrounding them.
I know what they saw. The sun showed up for us, releasing a blue color across the sky unlike any I’d ever seen.
Fields of flowers stretching as far as the eye could see.
A rainbow of colors dancing under the sun.
I watched as people stood in awe, just as I had the first time I saw it.
Places like this weren’t supposed to exist outside of imaginations. A heaven on Earth in rural Alabama.