He returned to the main one, stared at the bed as if she might have reappeared during his search, and called her name. A soft, cool breeze scented with earth and sun touched his face.
One of the doors to the balcony stood slightly ajar. He walked outside. The sky was pink and blue, meeting the mountains at a misty line along their ridges. Eternity clung to moments like this, a brief halt in time, offering no answers.
He went to the balustrade and strained his eyes toward the forest and lake, wondering if she were gone on some mission she might never share with him.
“Good morning.” Her voice was a sweet and compelling bell. He glanced down quickly, to the wintry garden beneath the balcony, where she’d cleared a space and planted flowers last fall, in secret. She was kneeling there, barefoot and wrapped in a blanket.
In the middle of the garden she had added a blue willow. A strong little tree, and delicately beautiful.
Artemas caught his breath. She called, “Spring’ll be here soon. I’m going to plant the most incredible gardens around this house.”
Leaning against the balustrade’s sun-warmed stone, he smiled at her. “You picked the perfect place to begin, my love.”
“It’ll be happy here,” she answered, nodding toward the willow. “This is going to be the prettiest willow you’ve ever seen. We’ll enjoy watching this tree grow.”
“I’ll enjoy every day of it. Every year. Every decade. This is exactly where it belongs.”
She lifted her head and studied him solemnly. Then she got to her feet and ran up the balcony steps, and he held out his arms—graceful, gallant, causing her eyes to fill with devotion. “You’re not just talking about some little old tree,” she drawled, before she kissed him.
The promise of a blue willow was theirs.
About the Author
A former newspaper editor and multiple award-winner for her novels and contemporary romances, DEBORAH SMITH lives in the mountains of Georgia, where she is working on her next novel.
Deborah Smith, Blue Willow
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