Page 52 of The Bear's Blooming Mate

Elsbeth blinked up at him, her heart pounding. “You have?”

“Oh yes,” he nodded, his voice rough with raw emotion. “Most definitely yes.”

“Me, too,” she admitted.

Philip’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Really?”

“Yes.” She smiled shyly. “I just...wasn’t ready to admit it until now.”

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek. “And now?” he asked, his gaze intense.

The cool water from the newly connected pipes trickled over her boots, soaking into the soil beneath her feet. She glanced down, watching as the life-giving moisture spread across the thirsty earth.

“Now I’d like to celebrate by planting some flowers,” she said softly.

Philip tilted his head, looking a little bemused. “Okay.”

“I want to mark this moment,” she explained, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “Make a permanent reminder.”

“You do?” His voice was tender, understanding dawning in his eyes.

“I do,” she whispered, rising on her tiptoes to press another kiss to his lips, this one gentle and sweet with promise.

When they separated, Philip’s smile was so bright it rivaled the sun overhead. “What kind of flowers did you have in mind?”

Elsbeth took his hand, leading him toward the small greenhouse where she’d been nurturing seedlings. “Roses, of course. For my mother.” Her voice caught slightly.

“Perfect,” he said.

“This way.” She took hold of his hand and pulled him toward the greenhouse. “I brought some with me. They were my mom’s favorite.”

They went hand in hand to the greenhouse, and as she opened the door, she tilted her face to his. “Kiss me again,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the gentle patter of water dripping from their clothes.

He arched an eyebrow at her and said, “With pleasure.” He pulled her close, his lips on hers, as he slid his tongue along her lower lip, leaving her trembling with need.

It would be so easy to give in to temptation. And what a temptation he was—strong arms, gentle hands, and a mouth that made her forget everything except the feeling of him against her.

“The roses,” he whispered in her ear, and inched away from her, his eyes dark with desire.

“The roses,” she repeated, her voice unsteady. Her body protested the loss of contact as he let her go, but she understood. This moment was about honoring her mother, about putting down roots—both literally and figuratively.

She went to the roses and picked one up, passing it to Philip before selecting another—her mom’s favorite, a deep crimson bloom with a heady fragrance that transported her instantly back in time. She smiled down at the rose as she remembered her mom cutting them and placing them in a vase in the kitchen where the scent would fill the room.

They went together to a spot near the newly installed irrigation line, the perfect place where the roses would thrive. Philip dug a hole while Elsbeth mixed in rich compost, their movements synchronized as if they’d been gardening together for years.

“Your mother would be proud,” Philip said softly as they lowered the first rose into the ground.

Elsbeth’s throat tightened with emotion. “I think she would,” she agreed, gently patting soil around the base of the plant. “She always said roses need love to truly flourish.”

“Like people,” Philip murmured, his eyes meeting hers over the freshly planted rose.

They stood back, arm in arm, and admired their work. The two roses looked perfect against the backdrop of the mountains, sentinels marking the beginning of Rose Farm’s transformation.

Then Philip said, “I have something I need to tell you.”

“I know,” she said, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice.

And whatever it was, she was ready to hear.

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