Always.
The door swings open, and I catch Holden shoving something in his pocket. I plaster on a smile, just as he says, “Let’s go. We’re going to miss the light.”
Eyes wide, I ask, “We’re going on the date now?” I look down at my clothes: paisley-patterned blouse tucked into denim shorts. It’s far from date-worthy.
Holden sighs, stepping closer. “You’re perfect the way you are, Jamie.” And then he takes my hand, linking our fingers, as he leads me toward the four-wheeler. It’s been so long since we’ve held hands like this, I’d forgotten how small mine felt encased in his. How protected. It’s a gentle, innocent touch, so when the wave of affection floods my chest, I don’t expect it.
It feels like a first.
A first date.
A first touch.
A first flutter of butterflies.
Holden
We ride on the four-wheeler toward our destination. Had Jamie come an hour earlier, we could’ve walked, but I want her to see everything in all its glory.
It doesn’t take long to get there, and when she realizes where we are, she squeals, “The secret garden!”
“Yep.” I hop off and help her down.
Hands clasped to her chest, she tips her chin upward and says, “You’re going to show me the secret garden?” Her smile is wide, blindingly bright. And the best part? That smile is all for me.
“I am,” I say, nodding as I take the key from my pocket. Relief swarms in my chest as she skips along beside me, her joy filling my heart with pride. I unlock the door and turn to her before pushing it open. “Close your eyes.”
She presses her eyes shut, her nose scrunching, shifting the few freckles there. Then, bouncing on her toes, she says, “I’m so giddy right now!”
I want to kiss her. So bad. For so long. But I know it would be selfish because I’d be taking it just for myself, and with Jamie, I’ve already taken enough. So, instead, I reach up, cover her eyes, and push back against the door, letting it creak open behind me. I guide her with a hand on her hip and take a few steps back before moving behind her, my hand still blocking her vision.
I’d picked her flight specifically so she would get here right at this time, just before the sun sets, giving the garden the perfect lighting and golden backdrop.
“Holden?” Jamie whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
Not really. This is my all-or-nothing moment. My make it or break it. If this doesn’t win her over completely, I have nothing else to show. “I’m fine. Why?”
“Your hand’s shaking.” She reaches up, covers my hand with both of hers. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m just nervous, is all,” I admit, my mouth right to her ear.
“Why?”
Because I love you, Jamie, and I want this to mean as much to you as it does to me. I could say all those words out loud, but they wouldn’t come close to how I felt. So, instead, I stand beside her, slowly lower my hand, and I watch with bated breath as her eyes flutter open, then widen, then take in everything all at once.
Jamie
When I was a kid, I’d draw the things I wish I could see while imagining a life I wish I could live. I never went too extreme in my fantasies because I had already come to fear disappointment, even at that age.
In all the pictures I’d drawn, all the whispered wishes I’d share only to myself, and all the endless dreams I prayed for, I could never have come up with this.
It’s the daisies I notice first—hundreds, if not thousands, of them. They cover every inch of the ground and somehow climb the hedged walls—white petals with yellow centers—each one acting like little pops of sunshine. There are dozens of flower boxes in a row on either side of me, stretching from the garden entrance and flanking a path over fifty yards long, leading directly to a water fountain. Each flower bed contains dark leaves and high stems and flowers. So many of them. All different sizes and colors—pink, purple, yellow, red—but the flowers are all the same, and even through my blurred vision, I know what the flowers are because Holden was the one to plant them. He knew what they meant to me, and so he made them mean something to him, here, in his home.
Dahlias.
Goosebumps prick along my flesh, sending a shiver up my spine.
I can feel her here... my mother, Dahlia, watching me, and just like the thousands of daisies surrounding me, she coats me in her warmth.
It doesn’t take long for the tears to build, and I can’t for the life of me move, not even enough to wipe them away so I can see it all again.
I can’t speak.
I can barely breathe.
All I can do is stand still, blinking, blinking, letting tear after tear flow down my cheeks.
Next to me, Holden makes a sound, and I can hardly hear him over the pulse pounding in my ears. “I planted the seeds the summer after you left,” he says, and I choke on a gasp, my mind spinning, my heart beating against my ribcage. “I figured one day, you’d be back, and I wanted to have it ready for you when you did. That day when I took you out to the daisy field, I could see in your face how much you loved it, and I remember thinking that I could give you an entire field full of daisies. It’s not a field, but I thought…” he trails off, and I finally face him, my breaths loud, harsh against the stillness around us.
I wish I could say something, do something. But I can’t.
Looking toward the fountain, he adds, “I made sure my dad took care of it while I was gone.” His gaze trails to mine before he reaches up, wiping the endless tears away. “We used to host weddings here. My parents got married here.” His voice cracks with his own emotion, and then he takes my hand, unfurling my fingers from around the pendant. He slips the key beside it, saying, “I made it for you, Jamie. It’s yours.”
I shudder an inhale—the first sound I’ve made since opening my eyes—eyes that are now right on his.
He steps toward me, his hands still shaking as he slips them around my waist, holding me to him. “I guess it’s my way of saying that I never gave up on us either.”
I don’t even know what to say, how to act. “I…”
“You what?” he asks.
“I need to sit down.”
He doesn’t let go of me as he guides me to the flower boxes and sits on the edge. He pulls me down until I’m sitting sideways on his lap, my arm going around his neck to keep me steady. Brushing the loose hair from my eyes, Holden asks, almost begging, “Please say something… I’m kind of freaking out here.”
My exhale is long, drawn-out, and audible, and when my tear-filled eyes finally meet his again, the only thing I can think to say is, “Consider me wooed.”
He kisses me. Soft and gentle. And it’s not like our first kiss—when he’d swooped me in his arms after I’d just gotten out of the shower. That kiss was driven by nothing more than intrigue and desire.
This kiss…
This kiss feels like the fulfillment of hopeless wishes whispered into the darkness.
This kiss feels like a first…
A first that could last forever.
35