Lorraine's chest warmed. The thought that he had been thinking of her, planning something just to share it, made her pulse quicken. She had assumed he'd forgotten about ruining her precious hydrangeas, yet here he was, tending flowers for her.
So that was why his hands had been covered in dirt when she found him the other day.
"They're… beautiful," she murmured softly, brushing a finger over the top of a blossom. The petals were delicate, golden-orange, catching the last rays of the setting sun.
He reached out, his hand brushing hers as he guided it toward a fuller bloom. "Just like you," he murmured, and Lorraine's cheeks tingled. His touch was careful, measured, yet electric. She could feel the heat of his hand through hers, the quiet strength beneath the gentleness.
A faint laugh escaped her lips. "You're ridiculous," she said, but there was no scorn in her tone, only amusement and something warmer, something unspoken.
