From thereafter, Clara turned a corner and began to regain her strength. She always believed it was the flowers, infused with the true love of Elias, that had healed her. They named them the Moonlight Kiss.
They married in spring, and blue petals from Moonlight Kisses filled the air as confetti. Their delicate blooms scattered over the happy couple and onto the ground around them. And from that day forward, Moonlight Kiss began to grow wild around their settlement, the first to bloom every spring.
Some say that if a bride carries a bloom of the Moonlight Kiss on her wedding day, her marriage will be blessed with luck, and love that lasts a lifetime.
When Zoe finished, she let the silence settle, the book resting open in her lap. The story hung between them, soft as the afternoon light.
Jackson shifted in the saddle, his voice breaking through the hush. “So let me get this straight,” he said, his mouth quirking into a grin. “These flowers cure colds and guarantee happy ever afters? Should I be worried you’re planning to market our Moonlight Kisses as miracle workers?”
Zoe laughed, the sound light and musical. “Don’t tempt me. Maple Falls would line up for that.”
He smiled, but the story stuck with him. The image of a man fighting through winter storms for someone he loved wasn’t lost on him. He understood that kind of desperation, that need to fix what you couldn’t bear to lose.
Jackson had loved spending time with Zoe, hiking through the woods, searching for the long-lost blooms, but that story stirred something deeper.
For the first time, he started to believe there might really be a kind of magic in the flowers after all. And if they found them, he had a feeling nothing in his life, or Zoe’s, would ever be the same again.
THIRTY-FIVE
ZOE
Sunday, March 23rd
The forest pressed close around them, sunlight filtering through the canopy in patches of gold. The air smelled of rain and green things, rich with earth and the faint sweetness of early blossoms. Branches brushed her shoulders as they wound along the narrow path. Somewhere above, a bird called.
Jackson slowed Xavier near a bend where the trees grew denser. “We’re close,” he murmured. “See that break in the ridge ahead? That’s where I turned back yesterday.”
The trail narrowed, weaving through pines and birch before sloping down toward the river. Across the water, the land opened into the same clearing they’d spotted weeks ago.
Jackson slowed Xavier to a walk. “That’s it,” he said quietly. “The spot from the map. The old resting place.”
Zoe followed his gaze, her pulse quickening as she recognized the rise of land, the faint outline of stone through the grass. They’d come so close before. Now, with the sound of the river beside them and the forest holding its breath, it felt like they were on the edge of something extraordinary—like the meadow itself had been waiting for them to find a way across.
“That’s it?”
“I think so.”
The trail began to level, and with it came a sudden scatter of color. Wildflowers sprang up along the edges—pink morning glories curling open toward the light, delicate bluebells nodding in the breeze, even a patch of black-eyed Susans glowing gold against the green. Flowers that shouldn’t be here yet, not this early.
“This is bizarre,” she murmured, shaking her head. “No way these should be blooming yet.”
Jackson guided Xavier forward, ducking low beneath an arch of branches. The horse’s ears flicked, nostrils flaring as they stepped into air that felt different, warmer.
Zoe felt the change too. “What is that?” she whispered.
Jackson didn’t answer. He just urged Xavier another few paces forward, and the forest suddenly fell away around them.
“Oh,” Zoe breathed, unable to say any other words.
Below them lay a wide, hidden hollow, sheltered on all sides by trees. Wisps of steam drifted up from a shallow pool of bubbling water.
“It’s a hot spring,” Zoe marveled.
The warmth spilling from it seemed to breathe life into everything it touched. Around the pool, cherry trees arched in soft blush and ivory, their blossoms drifting down like snow onto the grass below.
Sunlight poured into the clearing, gilding swaths of wildflowers that swayed as though the earth itself was breathing. Butterflies floated lazily above the blooms. The smell of clover filled the air. The whole place shimmered, untouched and protected, like the world had been saving it just for them.
Zoe’s hand lifted to her mouth. “No way,” she whispered. “Jackson…these can’t be…”
