Chapter 155

Chapter 155
Derek POV


I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of my Frontier Capital office, watching Boston's early summer unfold below. The mid-June sun bathed the city in a warm glow that wasn't yet oppressive, lending the urban landscape a vibrant energy that matched my own mood. Three months ago, I couldn't have imagined standing here unaided, let alone planning what I was about to do.

My recovery had progressed faster than the doctors predicted—from wheelchair to crutches to walking unassisted. The physical therapy had been grueling, but Eleanor's unwavering support made even the most challenging days bearable. I flexed my hand, still marveling at the complete return of muscle control. The human body's resilience never ceased to amaze me.

When I first returned to the office two weeks ago, my colleagues had stared as if seeing a ghost. My staff had lined the hallway, applauding as I walked—yes, walked—to my office. It was theatrical and unnecessary, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't move me.

My father had visited the day after, ostensibly to discuss business but really to observe my recovery firsthand. I caught the momentary flash of relief in his eyes before his usual stoic expression returned. "You've exceeded expectations," he'd said.

My mother had been less restrained when she visited our home the previous weekend, actually embracing me with genuine warmth—something I couldn't remember her doing since I was a child. She'd even complimented Eleanor's taste in home decor, a small miracle that hadn't gone unnoticed.

Alexander had perhaps been the most surprising. My brother, usually so composed, had shown up at physical therapy sessions unannounced, silently watching me struggle through exercises before offering measured encouragement. "You're stronger than I thought," he'd admitted last week over drinks.

Coming from him, it was high praise indeed. More telling was how his eyes followed Eleanor whenever she entered a room, a mixture of respect and something deeper I couldn't quite define. He'd never admitted his feelings for her, but I wasn't blind to them. Yet rather than resent me, he'd become my strongest ally in my recovery.

My fingers unconsciously found their way to the small velvet box in my jacket pocket. I'd spent weeks selecting the perfect engagement ring—a platinum band with a single, flawless diamond that captured Eleanor's understated elegance. Alexander had accompanied me to the jeweler's, offering surprisingly thoughtful insights about Eleanor's taste. "She notices details others miss," he'd said quietly. "Choose something with character, not just value." This time, I wouldn't be asking her to marry me out of family obligation or convenience. This time, I was choosing her, fully and completely.

A knock interrupted my thoughts. "Come in," I called, reluctantly turning from the view.

Alan entered with a stack of folders. "Mr. Wells, I have the quarterly projections you requested, plus the Harrington proposal needs your signature before close of business tomorrow."

"Just leave them on the desk," I said, glancing at my watch. I had promised to pick Eleanor up from the bookstore in less than an hour.

"Also, Thomas called about the Meridian deal. He thinks we should reconsider their counteroffer." Alan continued efficiently, seemingly unaware of my distraction.

"Tell him I'll call Monday. Anything else that can't wait until next week?" I asked, my thoughts already drifting to the weekend ahead. I'd planned everything meticulously—a private camping trip to Blue Mountain Preserve, just Eleanor and me under the stars.

"That covers the urgent matters, sir." Alan hesitated. "Will you be unavailable this weekend?"

I smiled. "Completely unavailable. Family matters."

After Alan left, I sent Eleanor a quick text: [Want to take you camping at Blue Mountain. Just us. Saturday? Need to see the stars.]

Her response came moments later: [Sounds perfect. Should I be suspicious of this sudden outdoor enthusiasm?]

I grinned at my phone. [Just celebrating full recovery. No ulterior motives whatsoever.]

Thirty minutes later, I pulled up outside Cornerstone Books, the charming independent bookstore where Eleanor had found work after selling Four Seasons Florals. Through the window, I watched her arrange books on a display table, her movements graceful and focused. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, with a few wayward strands framing her face like a renaissance painting.

The afternoon light caught in those loose tendrils, turning them to spun gold against her porcelain skin. The elegant curve of her neck, exposed by the simple updo, made my breath catch—a reaction that hadn't diminished since the first time I truly allowed myself to see her.

There was something mesmerizing about Eleanor when she was absorbed in a task. The slight furrow between her brows, the way she bit her lower lip in concentration, the delicate precision of her fingers as they arranged and straightened—all of it revealed a woman who cared deeply about the smallest details. Who put her heart into everything she touched. Who had, against all reason, put that same heart into loving me.

These past months had transformed our relationship in ways I never expected. Our mornings now had a comfortable rhythm—Eleanor rising first to make coffee, the scent drawing me to the kitchen where she'd stand in one of my old t-shirts, hair tousled from sleep, more beautiful than any woman had a right to be at 6 AM. We'd discuss the day ahead while she absently traced patterns on my hand with her thumb, a habit she seemed unaware of but that I'd come to treasure.

Evenings were spent cooking together or curled on the couch watching classic films I pretended to have seen before. I loved watching her reactions more than the movies themselves—the way her eyes widened during suspenseful moments, how she mouthed favorite lines she knew by heart, the warm weight of her head on my shoulder when she grew tired but refused to admit it.

The intimacy of shared domestic life—her toothbrush beside mine, our clothes mingling in the laundry basket, the small bottle of lavender oil she dabbed on her wrists before bed that now scented our sheets—had become precious to me in ways I couldn't articulate. Each night I fell asleep to the gentle rhythm of her breathing, her body curled trustingly against mine, and each morning I woke amazed that she was real, that she was mine.

I entered the bookstore quietly, nodding to Mrs. Bennett, the elderly owner who had taken an immediate liking to Eleanor.

"Derek!" Mrs. Bennett greeted me warmly. "Come to steal our best employee away?"

"Guilty as charged," I admitted, moving toward Eleanor, who turned at the sound of my voice, her face lighting up with a smile that reached her eyes, transforming her features with a joy I still couldn't believe was meant for me. That smile—unguarded and genuine—was a gift I'd once been too blind to appreciate.

"You're early," she said, slipping her hand into mine. Her fingers were cool and slender, fitting perfectly between my own as if designed specifically for that purpose.

"Couldn't wait to see you," I replied simply, lifting our joined hands to brush a kiss across her knuckles. The faint blush that rose to her cheeks was reward enough.

Walking home hand in hand, I listened as Eleanor described her day—a particularly enthusiastic young reader, a rare first edition they'd acquired, the poetry reading scheduled for next week. Her voice had a musical quality when she was excited, rising and falling with her emotions, punctuated by small gestures of her free hand. I loved how she'd found her place in this new chapter of her life, though sometimes I felt guilty about the flower shop she'd sacrificed for me.

"Are you sure you're up for camping?" she asked suddenly, her eyes searching my face with that gentle concern that had become so familiar during my recovery. "It's only been three months since..."

"I'm sure," I squeezed her hand. "The doctors cleared me for all normal activities weeks ago. Besides, I want to show you I'm fully recovered." I didn't add that I needed to prove it to myself as well—that I could take care of her now, rather than the other way around.

"And this sudden desire to see the stars?" she pressed, a hint of suspicion in her tone, her lips curving into that half-smile that always made me want to kiss her.

I kept my expression neutral. "Can't a man want to appreciate the cosmos with the woman he loves?"

Her laughter filled the early evening air, light and melodic. "Now I'm definitely suspicious."