Rafe, determined to take care of the grounds of Bellamy House despite Eleanor’s objections, was on the riding mower, moving back and forth over the lawn. A truck with Hayden Development Company emblazoned on the side pulled into the driveway. Hayden Development? The man who was trying to strong-arm her into selling?

Shutting off the mower before jumping down, he stalked toward the house in time to catch a short, stocky man standing at the front door. Before he could get closer, the front door opened and Eleanor smiled her welcome as she invited the man into her home. “Mr. Hayden. Thank you for coming. Please, let’s go into the study.” She eyed Rafe as he walked closer, but simply smiled just before closing the door in his face.

For thirty minutes he paced outside, fuming at the thought of Eleanor inside with the slick-talking developer. Fighting the urge to knock the door down and force his way inside, he continued pacing.

Suddenly, the front door opened again and Mr. Hayden walked out, turning back to shake Eleanor’s hand. “Nice to do business with you, Ms. Bellamy.” He smiled at Rafe as he walked back to his truck.

Eleanor nodded toward Rafe as she turned and started to close the front door, finding it blocked with his large boot.

“What the hell are you doing, Eleanor? Hayden Development? Are you crazy?”

Looking up into his irate face, she felt the heat of anger rising. “Excuse me? It is not your place to question what I do as the owner of Bellamy House.”

“You’re going to sell your family home? Why would you do that? What are you running from?”

She reared back, his words a slap in the face. “Running from? I’m not running from anything.”

“Then why are you selling?”

Poking her finger at her chest, she said, “I’m doing what I need to do to survive. You have no say in what I do.”

“Even after all we became to each other?”

“What did we become, Rafe? As I remember it, I bared my soul to you and you never even told me what you did for a living.” Before he had a chance to retort, she slammed the door in his face, throwing the lock.

On quivering legs, she walked into the formal living room, slumping down onto the sofa. Her gaze wandered to the family portrait over the mantle, the vision of her parents and brother. Captured in time, they peered down at her and her chest squeezed as it always did when she took the time to think of what she had lost. A tear slid down her cheek as she sucked in a shuddering breath. Thinking of Rafe, she angrily wiped it away, determined to chart her own course.

After a simple dinner alone, she walked out onto the terrace, hoping the sight of the sunset would bring her peace. Stepping onto the stone patio, she viewed the ever-changing sky as the sun fell behind the trees. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and let the cares of the day drift away. Sighing, she dropped her chin and moved toward the chaise lounge to watch the fireflies dancing across the lawn.

As she approached the chair, she noticed a single, peach rose on the seat, with another piece of folded paper. The stem was neatly trimmed and the blossom perfect in every way. Bending, she picked it up and allowing the fragrance to waft by, she opened the paper, reading,

 “Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed like a flower and the incarnation was complete.” The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Unable to keep the smile off her face, she settled into the chair, the note on her lap and the rose resting over her heart.

* * *

For the next week, Rafe appeared every day in Eleanor’s gardens. One day, mowing the expansive lawn. Another day, planting flowers in the many flower beds. Another day, continuing his work on the terrace trellis, now weaving jasmine plants amongst the wooden support pillars.

And at the end of each day, after he left, Eleanor stepped out onto the terrace to find another rose, neatly trimmed, lying there waiting for her. Red. Yellow. White.

Each day, she gathered the bloom close to her heart, the delicate scent so familiar. At the end of the week, she peered out of the family room door to see Rafe on a ladder, tying vines to the trellis. He was creating a beautiful haven for her, even better than it had been before the storm.

She headed to the kitchen to fix a sandwich, hesitating for only a moment before fixing a second, much larger, one. Plating it first, she carried it and a bottle of water to the family room, wavering in her decision before taking the plunge and opening the door. Avoiding his gaze, she moved to a small table and set the plate down.

Turning to head back inside, his voice halted her feet.

“Eleanor.”

The one word caused an ache in her chest. Casting a glance at him over her shoulder, she forced out a thin-lipped smile. “Thought you might like lunch.”

“Thank you,” Rafe said, hurrying down from the ladder, his heart pounding at the sight of her. His hands clenched at his side, the desire to reach to her overwhelming. “Uh…will you join me? Sit with me?”

He watched her eyes dart from him to the table and back to him again, uncertainty moving through them.

Finally, she shook her head slowly, her gaze moving to his. “No…I don’t think…no.” With that, she hurried back inside, shutting the patio doors with a soft click.

Disappointed, he looked at the plate and water bottle, a smile beginning to curve his lips. It’s a start.

Much to his delight, a new habit formed. She brought him lunch each day and he continued to leave a rose for her. Each day when she walked out with a plate, he asked her the same question. “Will you sit with me?”

After a week of turning him down, Eleanor stood in the kitchen, his sandwich ready. She stared at the plate and thought of her conversation with Sally that morning.

Sally had watched Rafe working in the yard and turned to Eleanor saying, “Are you ever going to give him another chance?” At her silence, Sally continued. “That man out there? You judged him guilty—and I did too, I know, but Eleanor, I realized my mistake and I apologized. But you never gave him a chance to explain. Or apologize. Or even tell you what was going on in his life.”

Planting her hand on her hip, she had countered, “I was hurt…duped into thinking he was something he wasn’t—”

“And what would you have done if he told you the first day, ‘Hey, I’m a famous model who’s trying to get back to my roots this summer’? What would you have done?”

“I…I would have stayed away.”

“Why?”

“Because…because…I don’t know. Because someone like him would have never wanted to be around someone with my scars.”

“And you would have judged him without getting to know him. Just what you hate people doing to you.”

She had opened and closed her mouth several times, thoughts swirling through her mind. “You’re right,” she breathed out. “He gave me time to tell my story, but I never gave him the same chance.”

Now, alone in her kitchen, she thought of what she should do to make this right. Miss Ethel had said something so similar to Sally. “You’re not taking into account who he is, instead of pressing a societal idea of who you think he should be.” If he had told her right away, she would have judged him and made assumptions without giving him a chance. Something he said others did to him all the time. Something I did too after seeing that article.

Steeling her resolve, she placed her sandwich, along with his, on a tray with two bottles of water and moved to the terrace. Stepping out, she was disappointed not to see him. With slumped shoulders, she set the tray down.

“Hey!” he called from above.

Jumping back, she jerked her head up, eyes wide as she peered at him in the trellis above her head.

“Sorry, I saw you had lunch and didn’t want to scare you until you had a chance to set it down.” Rafe deftly jumped down and wiped his hands on a rag from his pocket, his eyes alive at the sight of two plates on the tray. “Will you join me?” he asked, his heart in his throat.

Nodding, Eleanor offered a slight smile. “Yes…I will.” His wide smile hit her in the chest, and she sucked in a quick breath at the response. Moving to one of the chairs, she sat hastily, taking the plate with the smaller sandwich in her hands.

He moved to the chair closest to her and did the same. After several minutes of eating in silence, she ventured, “The terrace looks lovely. You know you don’t have—”

“Thank you,” he interrupted. “I want it to be a haven for you.” Rafe hoped she would decide not to sell her home if he could convince her it was still a safe place, inwardly cursing at the hidden photographer once more.

Nodding, not knowing what to say, she kept chewing.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I…I need to let you know how sorry I am…about everything.”

Silence.

Continuing, he said, “I never meant to deceive you.”

“I know that now,” she said, her voice belying her nerves.

Scrubbing his hand over his face, Rafe set his empty plate on the table and leaned forward. Placing his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly, he studied his muddy boots for a moment. With a heavy sigh, he looked up, saying, “I never meant to hurt you. This summer…was supposed to be about me getting away from a life that I was no longer happy with. A chance to do something purposeful. Maybe a chance to walk in my father’s shoes.” He held her gaze as he added, “But falling for you was never part of the plan.”

Swallowing deeply, she remained motionless, her face giving away nothing.

“For weeks, we had no contact. I thought I was working for an elderly, shut-in friend of Miss Ethel’s. But that night…when I heard you sing, it drew me out. It made me feel…feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time. The work had already given me a purpose but when I met you, you gave me freedom.”

Her brow lowered. “Freedom?”

“The freedom to just be me. Not Rafe, the model. Rafe, the body. Rafe, the face. You gave me the freedom to just be Rafe, the friend, the groundskeeper.”

“And lover?” she asked.

“Yes,” he enthused, reaching out and taking her hands in his, elated when she did not pull them away. “You were falling for the real me. The man, not the reputation.”

“The article—”

“Baby, if I could get my hands on the person who took that picture, they’d never take another picture the rest of their lives!”

She jerked at his vehemence, but felt his righteous anger. Finally, giving a slight shrug, she sighed. “I’m sorry for losing sight of who you are after reading the article. For not giving you time and understanding, like you gave me. For taking one look at that article and believing the worst.” Sighing, she added, “Rafe, I’m also sorry that I can’t stop seeing that picture and reading those words. As much as they hurt, they’re true. You are beautiful. The world looks at that picture and sees me as a pity fu—”

“Don’t you say it,” he growled. “Don’t you dare sully what we had.”

“It’s not me, Rafe. Don’t you get it? I’ve been the subject of stares and whispers since I got back.”

“The only thing that matters, Eleanor, is how you feel about yourself. You’re standing in your own way by not seeing how beautiful you are. The beauty, inside and out, that I see. Everyone else can be damned.”

“I hear you, but my ego took a beating,” she admitted. “Actually, it’s been pummeled for a while. I suppose it will take a while for that to heal.”

“I’ll do anything to help you see yourself as I see you, as you really are,” he vowed, his hand sliding down her arm to grasp her fingers, remaining quietly watchful. “And to build your trust in me, too.”

She thought for a moment and then said, “Can you tell me about your life, the one in California? If we’re going to build something new, then I need to know all about Rafe Walker, not just the bits you choose to share.”