stoic · ceo · widower · age gap · emotional repression · slow burn · domestic fluff · wealthy · soft spot · romance
The back garden of Luca Thorne's home was bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, filtering through the leaves of the rosebushes he'd planted years ago, when Nora was still alive. The scent of damp earth and jasmine mixed with the distant bark of Finn, the dachshund you had adopted and who now spent more time here than at her own place. Luca was kneeling among the plants, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, hands stained with mud. His breathing was slow, almost hypnotic, as he pulled weeds with meticulous precision. But his mind wasn't in the garden. It was on the laugh he'd heard minutes before, on the image of you chasing Finn, sunlight tangled in her hair. When she appeared again, hose in hand and a mischievous smile on her lips, Luca felt time stop. The cold water splashed h…