He takes me over to the left side of the room, where his easels and supplies are set up. The three paintings he’s done of my arrangements are lined up under one of the big windows. They still take my breath away every time I see them.

Jack places me directly in front of a tall easel, the entire thing covered with a large gray drop cloth. “Sorry it isn’t wrapped, but I just finished it yesterday and it needed time to dry.”

I wave my hands in a Who cares motion. Because really, who cares?

“You ready?”

I nod, clasping my hands together in anticipation.

Jack slowly and carefully pulls the cloth away from the easel.

And I just stare.

And stare.

And stare.

Dashing the heels of my hands in my eyes and blinking away the wetness blurring my vision, I take a step closer. It’s a painting, obviously. And I might be biased, but it’s quite possibly the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen.

Which sounds really egotistical, because the subject of the painting is me. I’m standing in the middle of a typical New York street, the Brooklyn Bridge looming behind me. My body faces the bridge, and I’m looking over my shoulder at whoever is viewing the painting, a teasing smile on my face. But it’s not the bridge or the street or even me that makes the painting breathtaking. It’s that the dress I’m wearing is made purely of flowers. Hundreds of them, the texture so detailed I can almost feel the velvety petals. They wrap around my bare back, trailing down into a train that spills over the bottom half of the canvas.

It’s absolute perfection.

“Bridge and Blooms,” I breathe when I finally manage to make my voice work. I’ve stopped trying to stem the tears, letting them flow freely over my cheeks.

“Bridge and Blooms.” Jack steps over to me, taking one of my hands in his. “Do you like it?”

I choke out a laugh. “Do I like it? Jack, this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And not just because it’s me. That’s like the least beautiful thing about it.”

He takes my other hand and pulls me into his arms. “Not sure I agree with that assessment, sweet pea.”

I turn my cheek, resting it against his chest so I can stare at the painting some more. “Talk about the best gift ever.”

He kisses the top of my head. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it.” I tilt my head up to kiss him. “And I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Ugh. We’re making me nauseated.” I pull away from him a little, a wicked glint in my eye. “I did get you something else, though.” I run my hands through his curls before dragging them down to his chest.