Midsummer wrapped the valley in long, golden evenings and the rich, sweet scent of clover and cut grass. The peonies in their garden had done exactly what they promised — tall, sturdy stems holding lush green leaves, and at the top of each one, a bud so full and heavy it bowed gently in the breeze, waiting for its moment.Evelyn arrived at Blackwood Manor that Saturday carrying her sketchbook and a small, framed print of her gallery painting — the one that now hung in the community center. She set it on the mantelpiece, stepping back to admire how the golden light caught the frame. Adrian watched from the doorway, not rushing forward to inspect or critique it. He simply smiled, warm and unreserved.“It looks as though it belonged there all along,” he said softly. “Like it was always meant to be part of this home. Just like you.”They spent the afternoon side by side but doing their own work — Evelyn painting at the kitchen table, Adrian sorting through old boxes in the study. Every so
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