It’s a little sliver of proof that I can do this. I can make something from nothing.

Bridge and Blooms can be just like this garden, only on a larger scale.

I gulp down the now-cold dregs of my latte, gather up the weeds, and toss them in the trash. Back in the house, I plant a kiss on Jack’s cheek before bounding up the stairs to BaBs to get back to work.

Jack carefully unloads his paintings from one of my delivery wagons bright and early Saturday morning, one week before the launch party for Bridge and Blooms, and two days before I officially begin to operate the business from the shop. Each canvas is bubble-wrapped within an inch of its life, which I thought was a little excessive given the whole five-minute walk, but he insisted. He’s generously handing over the three paintings he’s completed of my arrangements to go along with my Christmas painting, which will hang centered behind the cash register.

“I really wish you’d let me pay you for these.” I take each one as he unwraps it, setting them carefully on the long wooden counter where I’ll be doing most of my arranging.

He gives me an eye-roll/push-the-glasses-up-his-nose combo. “Where else would these hang? They were made to go in this space.”

“Yeah, but this is like hours and hours of your work, and I’m just taking it.” I examine the first one he completed, still marveling at the detail he captured.

“You’re not taking it, I’m giving it to you.” He unwraps my Christmas gift, now officially titled Bridge and Blooms, as if he were handling the Titanic Heart of the Ocean diamond. “And I wouldn’t even be painting if it weren’t for you. So a couple small canvases is the least I could do.”

I let him lay the canvas on the front counter before wrapping my arms around him. “I still can’t quite believe this is all happening.”

“It’s not simply happening, sweet pea. You made it happen.” He kisses my forehead.

I tilt my head up for a deeper kiss. Between my regular orders, trying to get the store ready, and squeezing in one bar shift a week, there hasn’t been a lot of time for the two of us over the past few weeks. And, Jack being Jack, he never complains, never makes me feel guilty. He’s waiting for me every night when I get home, on the rare nights he doesn’t come to the store with me to walk me back to the brownstone. It’s like I dreamed up this super-perfect boyfriend and he just popped into existence.

“Oh my god, I did not sign up for this.” Gemma’s voice breaks apart our kiss.

I grin at Jack, planting one more kiss on him before stepping out of his embrace. “Yeah yeah.”