Page 139 of Inked in Bloom
Strolling back to The Nest, the girls run ahead, skipping the front door and heading to the backyard instead.
Millie’s bright face pops out as we turn the corner. “Come on!”
I look to Briar, who merely shrugs.
Millie holds out her hand, dragging me toward the shed the moment I take it. There’s no sign of the other girls, but rummaging sounds come from within, stopping the moment Millie brings me into the entryway.
I freeze in place.
Dropping my hand, Millie rushes to join the other girls. Briar’s strong hands squeeze my shoulders, guiding me inside the shed. Our daughters watch me expectantly, beaming with pride.
“You always brushed this place off as full of junk and told me not to come in here,” I say, nudging my mate in the ribs with my elbow. The girls giggle wildly as a smile spreads across my face.
Easels and canvases rest against one wall, with shelves and shelves of brushes and palettes and other art supplies. Paints are in neat rows, organized by color. “Taylor, did you do that?”
“Of course,” she replies, lifting her chin with pride.
Lilliana spins the narrow bookshelf, filled with all my favorites from home and a handful of new ones. Beside it is a lush high-back chair covered in a foxglove pattern.
I drink in every detail, and when my attention lands on the last wall where three paintings hang, tears prick thebacks of my eyes. One is Charlotte’s from my apartment’s entryway. It’s next to a piece I did for my first lesson at Painting Hope, and the final canvas is a beautiful bouquet of bunny prints.
“Our very first piece.” I gesture at the painting their father helped me with back when I was alive and he was just a sweet bunny in my care. My voice is barely above a whisper.
“What do you think?” Briar asks, hugging his arms around my waist from behind me. The girls take that as their cue to join, flanking me from all angles for a family hug.
“It’s perfect.” My throat’s thick with emotion as I scan over the space. There’s so much to take in, so much tending to admire. “So much love in one small space.”
Millie gives me an extra squeeze, her cheek smooshed against my side. “We wanted you to have a special place to rejuvenate, and to show you how much we missed you.”
“Even though we know you could feel our tugs,” Juniper says.
“From the invisible ivy,” Taylor clarifies. “We all felt yours.”
“Of course you did. You have no idea how much I missed you all.” I bend, giving each of them a hug and kiss on the temple. “Thank you for doing this. I love it, and I love you all.”
Standing up, I wrap my arms around Briar’s neck and kiss him, the bond buzzing contentedly between us.
“Now can we show her everything else?” Juni asks her dad, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Of course.” He chuckles. “I’ll get started ondinner.”
We have grilledcheese and tomato soup while the girls show me the various projects they’ve been working on before Claire and Davis arrive. They’re taking their granddaughters and giving us privacy as solstice begins.
“Congrats on the new gig,” Davis says, pulling me in for a hug.
“Thank you.” The words come out raspy, my throat dry along with my skin from the months of work in the mortal world.
“Art therapy will be such a beneficial addition to our curriculum,” Claire chimes in with a smile I can’t help but return.
In my off seasons, I’ll be doing art therapy sessions at the Conservatory and Sprouts School. While they’ll focus on the students, they’ll also be open to the rest of the Blooms. And I’ll be able to see Briar and the girls each day when I’m not away delivering spring once a year. I’m in no rush to gain more flourish marks.
“I’m looking forward to having her there,” Briar says, the corner of his mouth curving upward. He puts his arm around me and hands me a glass of water. I begin chugging it immediately. “You should see the meticulous lesson plans Professor Monroe has been working on.”
I splutter out some water, and the air sweetens as I zip my thighs together, recalling the last time he used the title—knelt beneath my desk, my skirt hiked up, meticulously distracting me from those very same lesson plans.
Briar’s parents give me a knowing smile, and I drain the glass and excuse myself to help the girls finish packing.
I take my time giving each of my daughters hugs and kisses goodbye while Briar runs me a bath. I don’t bother holding back my tears in front of him when they leave. In grief, rage, sorrow, and joy—he loves me through every season.
