I smile because things sound so true when Javier tells them. The problem is Javier doesn’t know about PTSD and self-loathing men who will destroy themselves before allowing love in their lives.

“All right, stop reciting the periodic table or whatever you’re doing. We’ll figure it out. You’re still babysitting tonight?”

“Of course,” I say, even though it will mean a night away from Aiden.

“Thanks, sweetheart! I gotta go. This new villa won’t paint itself. Maria will wait for you with the girls. Now, you want someone who loves Hale, talk to her.”

I laugh, picturing him rolling his eyes. “See you later, Javier. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up, not wanting to delay him anymore than I already did. But as I start dialing Reagan, a text blitzes on the screen, followed almost instantly by three more.

Jazzman: Hale Storm, WTF? You’re coming if I have to drag you here dick first.

Callahan: Storm, Jazz is jizzing his pants. Told him about your woman. Fuck. Me.

Hendrix: Does she have three tits?

Callahan: Duh!

I don’t realize how hard I’m laughing until the bluebirds startle in the air out of a huckleberry bush. Hale Storm? It suits him. There’s no way I’m letting him miss this. Not even for my green card.

* * * * *

Three hours later, after scones with Cornish clotted cream and three more orgasms, Benson is whisking us away down the hill. Aiden throws his arm around my shoulders and tucks me to his side.

“So now that we’re in the car, will you tell me where we’re going?” I ask, relieved that I didn’t need to pack a suitcase.

“You’ll see.” He smiles, drawing circles on my knee.

“How long is your vacation?”

His arm tightens around me. “At least until June thirteenth.”

A shiver runs through me, having nothing to do with his touch. He kisses my temple but doesn’t say his usual “it’ll be okay”, “don’t worry”, “we’ll fix it”. He knows he can’t make that promise.

“Thank you for doing this for me,” I say, kissing his neck.

“It’s for me too…for us.”

I almost catapult out of the sunroof at the pronoun. I love you, I think at him and snap a picture. His phone buzzes in his jeans pocket for the nth time. I lost count after buzz number fifty-eight. He looks at it, smiles and thumbs a text. That reminds me.

“Aiden, I have a dark confession to make.”

“Oh? Did you say ‘fuck’ around some weeds?”

“No. I read your texts with the Marines.” I blush cadmium red.

He raises an eyebrow. No words.

“Umm, they popped up when I used your phone to call Javier. I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry,” I mumble, looking down at the camera on my lap and wiping the spotless lens with my thumb.

He tips my chin up. I expected a clenched jaw or a deep V but instead, I see the dimple.

“Look,” he says, showing me the bright iPhone screen. There’s a text there. “Read it.” He nods in encouragement.

I skim the last bubble underneath the texts I saw this morning:

Aiden Hale: She’s perfect. Now fuck off.

“Apparently, I find your incorrigible urge to snoop endearing, Elisa. Believe me, no one is more shocked by that than I. But I guess it means you like me.”

I love you. “I do.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Roots

The sight outside the Rover’s window is so familiar that it should not shock me. But it does.

We’re in front of the enormous trellis of the Rose Garden.

In broad daylight.

With people strolling the paths.

A chill seeps through my pores. I tear my eyes from a giggling little girl and look at Aiden. His shoulders are petrified, eyes cobalt blue.

“I told you I’d try,” he whispers. His fingers are digging into my waist.

“Aiden, baby, you don’t have to do this for me. We can just—”

He puts his finger on my lips. “Yes, I do. I have something planned for you. Besides, it’s Monday. It won’t be crowded.” He looks down as though he’s embarrassed. “I have to start somewhere, Elisa. I’d like it to be here.”

Tears spring in my eyes without warning. I kiss every part of him I can reach, even though Benson is right outside our door. Aiden chuckles with a shaky sound and restrains my hips.

“Tonight,” he promises. Then he takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “Stay close to me,” he whispers.

“Always.”

The instant we are out of the Rover, I snake my arm around Aiden’s waist. How different his muscles feel from the last time we were here! They are pulled taut, twitching every few seconds. I almost decide we should go back home but something in his eyes stops me. They’re consuming the garden with a mix of hunger and challenge. The way we look at the water before we jump from a cliff. At that moment, I know he has to try this. Not for me, but for himself.

Something passes between him and Benson, and Benson takes his spot to Aiden’s right, but this time precisely three steps back. Good. His massive frame alone should ward off any passersby.

“Let’s go,” Aiden says, throwing his arm around my shoulders. His voice is determined, eager even. He doesn’t take the trellis stairs but leads us to the domed garden shop with its etched glass windows. We duck inside while Benson plants himself at the door.

Behind the birchwood counter is a plump woman with snow-white hair and a T-shirt printed with roses. She introduces herself as Patty.

“Hello, Patty. I’m Aiden Hale. I called earlier—”

“Ah, Mr. Hale!” she exclaims, clapping her hands. “One moment, sir, one moment.” She shuffles as fast as she can to the back.

I look at Aiden but he shrugs with a smile. Patty returns, carrying a full-grown English rose in a plastic green bucket. My hand flies to my mouth as I realize what we’re doing.

“Here she is, Mr. Hale. Pale pink English garden rose. The most beautiful one I could find.”

The rose is identical to the ones my mum spent endless hours loving. I feel Aiden’s gaze on me but I can’t look away.

“Thank you, Patty,” he says. “Will you give us a few moments, please?”

“Of course, sir,” I hear her say as I stare fixedly at the petals that look just like Clare’s skin. Aiden brushes my jawline with the backs of his fingers.

“I thought it was time your mother’s rose was here too,” he says.

I nod as the tears that started in the car spill over. He tilts my head up.

“Hey! Too much?”

“No. She’s perfect,” I whisper with the only volume I can manage, unsurprised that I cannot call the rose “it”. I’m no longer seeing a flower. I’m seeing my mother’s beauty, alive.

Aiden wraps his arm around my waist and I kiss him, not caring that we may be making poor Benson nauseous.

“Thank you. It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

He looks like he wants to do more than kiss but at that moment, a small boy about seven years old peeks out from the back door.

“Jack!” Patty admonishes from the inside and he scurries back.

“It’s all right, Jack, we’re ready,” Aiden says but he takes a few steps back, closer to the wall.

Patty waddles out, dragging a big sack of dirt, Jack behind her with a shovel.

“What will you name it, dear?” Patty asks.

“I get to name it?” I squeal in astonishment.

“Oh yes, we have a rose registry. You better pick a good one. It’ll be here a long time.”

There is only one name beautiful enough for this.

“Lady Clare.”

Aiden pulls me against him and kisses my hair. He knows I just gave my mother the title she could not have had in life. Patty scribbles it on a register while Jack looks at Aiden and squares his shoulders in imitation.

“Do you need help planting, Mr. Hale?” says Patty.

“No, thank you. We know the spot.”

He picks up the sack of dirt and hoists it over his shoulder. Jack hands him the shovel, standing straight like Aiden. Patty gives us some thick, green gloves, reeling off instructions on how to turn on the sprinklers.