Falling for the Goddess

Do You Want to Take a Look?

The next morning, when Sara Hart sat down for breakfast, she noticed a small note under a cup on the table. It was from Adrian Blake:

There's oatmeal in the bowl.

His handwriting was strong and sharp, each stroke deliberate and powerful. As with everything else about him, the note was concise and emotionless - just stating the facts, with not a single extra word. Yet, to Sara Hart, it meant something different.

The fact that he'd taken the initiative to leave her a note and make oatmeal was something she never would've imagined before.

Sara Hart stared at the note for a long time, her fingers brushing over the bold black ink. A renewed sense of hope and courage swelled in her chest.

People are like that - give them just a little sweetness, and they can overlook all the bitterness, finding a way to endure even the darkest times.

She carefully folded the note, treating it like a treasure.

The oatmeal Adrian Blake had made was a simple oatmeal with blueberry and almond butter, topped with a sprinkle of blueberry. It was smooth, thick, and fragrant. Sara Hart sat at the dining table, savoring each spoonful. Could this be a good sign?

As she ate, she looked around the house. It was clean and bright, mostly decorated in shades of white and natural wood. But it still felt cold and empty, devoid of any real warmth or life.

After finishing her oatmeal, she placed the bowl in the dishwasher and tidied up the kitchen.

Her back still needed a few more days to heal, so going to school wasn't practical. Instead, she decided to stay home.

With nothing else to do, Sara Hart remembered the flowers outside. She found a pair of pruning shears in the toolshed and made her way to the garden.

Outside, there was a large lawn bordered by a white fence, along which roses were planted. The rose bushes were lush and in full bloom. Sara Hart crouched down and began trimming them. The roses hadn't been planted long and hadn't yet grown into full clusters. Wearing gloves, she carefully removed the weeds and dead branches, then pruned away the excess leaves and overgrown stems.

The weather in September was starting to cool down, and the sun wasn't as harsh as it had been during the summer. Sara Hart focused on trimming the bushes, feeling a sense of calm wash over her. For a moment, she felt as though she were back in South City, tending to the flowers in her grandmother's garden.

Everything felt peaceful.

Adrian Blake had come home to retrieve some documents. As he stepped out of the car and approached the front door, he spotted Sara Hart crouched beside the rose bushes.

She was wearing a pale beige dress, and because of the way she was kneeling, the hem of her skirt trailed along the grass, catching a few blades and morning dew. She wore white gloves and was meticulously trimming the branches. Her long black hair was tied back with a simple ribbon, though a few loose strands framed her face. In the sunlight, her figure seemed to glow faintly, as if the light itself had softened just for her.

Adrian Blake paused, his gaze lingering on the scene before him. For a fleeting moment, he felt an unfamiliar sense of tranquility, a kind of quiet peace he rarely experienced.

As she tugged on one of the branches, a rose petal fell and landed on her shoulder. Sara Hart reached up to brush it off, and just as she did, her eyes met Adrian Blake's.

"Oh, you're back..." Sara Hart was surprised. Why was he home at this hour?

"I came back to grab some documents," Adrian Blake replied coolly, averting his gaze. With a nod, he turned and walked into the house.