She took the finished work to the cooler, then came back to clean her station.

The knock stopped her. She knew before she walked out it would be Jack. No one was more efficient than Parker.

He held an armload of bold red dahlias—and her heart twisted.

“Hello, Jack.”

“Emma.” He let out a breath. “Emma,” he said again. “I realize it’s shallow. Bringing flowers to clear the way, but—”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you. Come on in.”

“There’s so much I want to say.”

“I need to put these in water.” She turned, went into the kitchen for a vase, a jug of the food she kept mixed, her snips. “I understand there are things you want to say, but there are things I need to say first.”

“All right.”

She began to clip the stems under water. “First, I want to apologize.”

“Don’t.” Temper licked around the edges of his tone. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m going to apologize for the way I acted, for what I said. First, because when I got over myself I realized you were exhausted, upset, not feeling well, and I had—very deliberately—crossed a line.”

“I don’t want a damn apology.”

“You’re getting one, so deal with it. I was angry because you didn’t give me what I wanted.” She arranged the flowers, stem by stem. “I should’ve respected your boundaries; I didn’t. You were unkind, so that’s on you, but I pushed. That’s on me. But the biggest issue here is we promised each other we’d stay friends, and I didn’t keep that promise. I broke my word, and I’m sorry.”

She looked at him now. “I’m so sorry for that, Jack.”

“Fine. Are you done?”

“Not quite. I’m still your friend. I just needed some time to get back to that. It’s important to me that we’re still friends.”

“Emma.” He started to lay his hand on hers on the counter, but she slid it away, fussed with the flowers.

“These really are beautiful. Where’d you get them?”

“Your wholesaler. I called and begged, and told them they were for you.”

She smiled, but kept her hand out of reach. “There. How can we not be friends when you’d think to do something like that? I don’t want any hard feelings between us. We still care about each other. We’ll just put the rest behind us.”

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes, it’s what I want.”

“Okay then. I guess we get to talk about what I want now. Let’s take a walk. I want some air to start with.”

“Sure.” Proud of herself, she put away her snips, her jug.

The minute they stepped outside, she put her hands in her pockets. She could do this, she thought. She was doing it, and doing it well. But she couldn’t if he touched her. She wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

“That night,” he began, “I was exhausted and pissed off, and all the rest. But you weren’t wrong in the things you said. I didn’t realize it, about myself. Not really. That I put those shields up or restrictions on. I’ve thought about that since, about why. The best I can figure is how when my parents split, and I’d stay with my father, there’d be stuff—from other women. In the bathroom, or around. It bothered me. They were split, but . . .”

“They were your parents. Of course it bothered you.”

“I never got over the divorce.”

“Oh, Jack.”

“Another clichй, but there it is. I was a kid, and oblivious, then suddenly . . . They loved each other once, were happy. Then they didn’t and they weren’t.”

“It’s never that easy, that cut and dried.”

“That’s logic and reason. It’s not what I felt. It’s come home to me recently that they were able to behave civilly, able to make good, happy lives separately without waging war or making me a casualty. And I took that and turned it on its head. Don’t make promises, don’t build a future because feelings can change and they can end.”

“They can. You’re not wrong, but—”

“But,” he interrupted. “Let me say it. Let me say it to you. But if you can’t trust yourself and your own feelings, and you can’t take a chance on that, what’s the damn point? It’s a leap, and I figure if you take that leap, if you say this is it, you have to mean it. You’d better be sure because it’s not just you. It’s not just for now. You have to believe to make the leap.”

“You’re right. I understand better now why things . . . Well, why.”

“Maybe we both do. I’m sorry I made you feel unwelcome. Sorry you now feel you crossed a line by trying to do something for me. Something I should’ve appreciated. Do appreciate,” he corrected. “I’ve been watering the planters.”

“That’s good.”

“You were . . . God, I’ve missed you so much. I can’t think of all the things I’ve worked out to say, practiced saying. I can’t think because I’m looking at you, Emma. You were right. I didn’t value you enough. Give me another chance. Please, give me another chance.”

“Jack, we can’t go back and—”

“Not back, forward.” He took her arm then, shifted so they were face-to-face. “Forward. Emma, have some pity. Give me another chance. I don’t want anyone but you. I need your . . . light,” he said remembering Carter’s word. “I need your heart and your laugh. Your body, your brain. Don’t shut me out, Emma.”

“Starting from here, when we both want—both need—different things . . . It wouldn’t be right for either of us. I can’t do it.”

When her eyes filled, he drew her in.

“Let me do it. Let me take the leap. Emma, because with you, I believe. With you, it’s not just now. It’s tomorrow and whatever comes with it. I love you. I love you.”

When the first tear spilled, he moved with her. “I love you. I’m so in love with you that I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see it because it’s everything. You’re everything. Stay with me, Emma, be with me.”

“I am with you. I want . . . What are you doing?”

“I’m dancing with you.” He brought the hand he held to his lips. “In the garden, in the moonlight.”

Her heart shuddered, swelled. And all the cracks filled. “Jack.”

“And I’m telling you I love you. I’m asking you to make a life with me.” He kissed her while they circled, swayed. “I’m asking you to give me what I need, what I want even though it took me too much time to figure it out. I’m asking you to marry me.”

“Marry you?”

“Marry me.” The leap was so easy, the landing smooth and right. “Live with me. Wake up with me, plant flowers for me that you’ll probably have to remind me to water. We’ll make plans, and change them as we go. We’ll make a future. I’ll give you everything I’ve got, and if you need more, I’ll find it and give it to you.”

She heard her own words come back to her in the perfumed air, under the moonlight while the man she loved turned her in a waltz.

“I think you just did. You just gave me a dream.”

“Say yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“How well do you know me?”

Smiling, she blinked away tears. “Pretty well.”

“Would I ask you to marry me if I wasn’t sure?”

“No. No, you wouldn’t. How well do you know me, Jack?”

“Pretty well.”

She brought her lips to his, lingered through the joy. “Then you know my answer.”


On the third floor terrace, the three women stood watching, their arms around each other’s waists. Behind them, Mrs. Grady sighed.

When Mac sniffled, Parker reached in her pocket for a pack of tissues. She handed one to Mac, to Laurel, to Mrs. Grady, then took one for herself.

“It’s beautiful,” Mac managed. “They’re beautiful. Look at the light, the silver cast to the light, and the shadows of the flowers, the gleam of them, and the silhouette Emma and Jack make.”

“You’re thinking in pictures.” Laurel wiped her eyes. “That’s serious romance there.”

“Not just pictures. Moments. That’s Emma’s moment. Her blue butterfly. We probably shouldn’t be watching. If they see us, it’ll spoil it.”

“They can’t see anything but each other.” Parker took Mac’s hand, then Laurel’s, and smiled when she felt Mrs. Grady’s rest on her shoulder.

The moment was just as it should be.

So they watched as Emma danced in the soft June night, in the moonlight, in the garden, with the man she loved.