Chapter 7 - THE FIRST TIME FRANKLIN COURTED ME, HE HAD BEEN TWELVE
Their first date as adults was awkward.
Not disastrously.
Worse.
Carefully.
Franklin arrived five minutes early.
Belle made him wait outside for three.
Balance.
The restaurant was small.
Local.
Not owned by Caldwell.
Belle verified.
They sat near a window.
For the first ten minutes, they discussed the weather.
On purpose.
Then both laughed.
“This is terrible.”
Belle said.
Franklin nodded.
“I warned you I’m bad at normal.”
“You’re a billionaire.”
“You say that like a diagnosis.”
“Sometimes.”
They moved to safer subjects.
Lorraine.
The orchard.
Franklin’s new CEO structure.
He had stepped away from several executive responsibilities during Richard’s investigation and never fully resumed them.
Instead, Caldwell Agricultural Holdings appointed an independent president and strengthened its board.
Franklin remained chief executive.
But less absolute.
“Do you miss controlling everything?”
Belle asked.
“Yes.”
Honest.
“And?”
“I sleep more.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“I hate it.”
She smiled.
Then Bridget came up.
Belle had not planned to ask.
She did anyway.
“Did you love her?”
Franklin did not dodge.
“Yes.”
The answer hurt.
Still.
“How?”
He thought.
“She was brilliant.”
“Ambitious.”
“Funny when she forgot people were watching.”
“She understood what it felt like to inherit a family structure that pretended obligation was affection.”
Belle listened.
“Then why didn’t it work?”
“Because I entered the marriage with unfinished grief I refused to name.”
He looked directly at Belle.
“And because Bridget entered it believing effort could turn compatibility into certainty.”
“She eventually realized she deserved someone who looked at the altar and saw only her.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
“That must have hurt.”
“Yes.”
“I apologized.”
“Did she forgive you?”
“No.”
A pause.
“She said forgiveness was not necessary for divorce to remain civil.”
Belle liked Bridget more every time Franklin spoke about her.
Inconvenient.
Then Franklin asked:
“Did you date?”
“Some.”
He tried to keep his face neutral.
Failed.
Belle smiled.
“Jealous?”
“No.”
“Bad liar.”
“Yes.”
One man named Andrew had lasted almost a year.
A teacher.
Kind.
Stable.
Then Belle ended it because every conversation about a future made her feel trapped.
Not because of Franklin exactly.
Because her entire idea of promises had broken too young.
Therapy helped her see that.
Franklin listened without making himself the center.
Growth.
After dinner, he drove her home.
No kiss.
At the cottage gate, he asked:
“Can I see you again?”
“Yes.”
Second date.
Third.
Then six months.
They went slowly.
Painfully slowly according to Lorraine.
“People used to cross oceans faster.”
she complained.
Belle ignored her.
Franklin never pushed.
Sometimes old habits appeared.
He sent a contractor to fix Belle’s porch without asking.
She fired the contractor.
Franklin apologized.
He sent no replacement.
Another time, he discovered the cooperative needed a refrigerated van and offered one of Caldwell’s fleet vehicles at no cost.
Belle said no.
He asked why.
“Because free from you is never just free in my nervous system.”
Franklin nodded.
Then helped her find a commercial leasing company instead.
No subsidy.
No secret discount.
Belle hated how attractive accountability became.
Franklin also had to learn that Belle’s dignity did not require refusing all help.
One summer storm damaged the cooperative barn roof.
Belle tried handling everything alone.
Three sleepless nights.
Franklin arrived.
“Want help?”
“No.”
He nodded.
Then sat on the porch.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For?”
“For you to stop lying.”
She glared.
Two hours later:
“I need help.”
“With?”
“Finding a contractor who won’t charge emergency extortion rates.”
Franklin smiled.
“May I recommend three?”
“Yes.”
No money.
Information.
Useful.
They learned.
One year after their first date, Belle gave Franklin a bottle of Martha’s Lavender No. 1.
He stared.
“I own one.”
“This is different.”
The label was handwritten.
Batch 001 — private reserve.
“You made this from the first restored plants.”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“Why give it to me?”
“Because you remembered the smell.”
He swallowed.
“I remember everything.”
“Not everything.”
“No.”
She smiled.
“But enough.”
He did not kiss her then.
He asked.
“Can I?”
Belle’s heart pounded.
“Yes.”
The kiss happened beside the same creek where they kissed for the first time at seventeen and thirteen? Wait ages source only children, no kiss stated. Better not invent underage romantic kiss. Let's instead say "where they had spent childhood summers." Keep safe and source-aligned.
The kiss happened beside the creek where they had spent childhood summers.
No orchestra.
No wedding guests.
No vows interrupted.
Just two adults finally doing something without anyone else’s permission.
Later, Franklin told Belle he wanted to build a house.
Her entire body stiffened.
He noticed.
“Not for you.”
“What?”
“For me.”
He laughed.
“That sounded worse.”
“Yes.”
Franklin explained he wanted to leave the main Ravenwood residence.
Too much history.
Too many rooms designed for hierarchy.
He had donated part of the estate’s unused staff housing to a regional agricultural apprenticeship program and planned to convert sections of Ravenwood into offices and archival space.
He wanted a smaller home.
“How small?”
Belle asked suspiciously.
“Five bedrooms.”
She stared.
“That is not small.”
“For my family?”
“You have no children.”
“Potentially.”
He stopped.
Too far.
Belle’s face changed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Good.”
No assumptions.
He corrected:
“For guests.”
“Four.”
“Five.”
“Four.”
“This is hypothetical.”
“You’re already losing.”
He laughed.
Then:
“I want a big kitchen.”
Belle stopped.
The mud drawing.
Tiny kitchen.
Franklin remembered.
“I can hire someone to design it.”
he said.
Belle smiled.
“You’re terrible at drawing houses.”
“I was twelve.”
“No excuse.”
Two months later, Franklin asked the more important question.
They were in the lavender rows at sunset.
No ring.
“Do you ever want marriage?”
Belle stared at him.
Not:
Will you marry me?
Do you want marriage?
She thought for a long time.
“Yes.”
His breath changed.
“Again.”
she added.
“What?”
“Ask me again someday.”
Franklin smiled.
“I can do that.”
“Not next week.”
“Define someday.”
“Franklin.”
“Fine.”
A year passed.
Belle expanded the cooperative.
Franklin restructured Caldwell Holdings’ worker-land program, creating independent legal review for employee housing, leases, and property transfers.
Not a PR campaign.
No giant portrait of Belle.
He did not use Joseph’s story without permission.
Good.
Richard wrote letters from custody.
Franklin read some.
Belle read none.
Eventually Richard was released under supervision due age and health.
He moved to a smaller property.
Franklin saw him twice.
Belle never did.
No forced reconciliation.
Blood does not create entitlement to forgiveness.
Then, almost exactly three years after the wedding where everything shattered, Franklin returned to the creek carrying a folded piece of paper.
Belle laughed.
“If that’s a deed, I’m leaving.”
“It’s worse.”
He unfolded it.
A child’s drawing.
A house.
Crooked.
Porch.
Flower boxes.
Huge kitchen.
Belle covered her mouth.
“You kept it?”
“No.”
“I recreated it from memory.”
She burst out laughing.
“It’s terrible.”
“I know.”
Then Franklin knelt.
This time, he had asked whether she wanted marriage long before the ring appeared.
Good.
“Belle Carter.”
Her eyes filled.
“I loved you when I was too young to understand what promises cost.”
“I lost you because I let other people decide what mattered.”
“I hurt Bridget because I entered a marriage before facing what was unfinished in me.”
“I hurt you because I came back too late and kept accepting convenient stories.”
He swallowed.
“I cannot fix fifteen years.”
“I don’t want to build our future by pretending I can.”
Then:
“But if you still want the porch, the lavender, and the larger kitchen…”
Belle laughed through tears.
“Will you build it with me?”
Not for me.
With me.
“Yes.”
Franklin’s face broke.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
Not his grandmother’s.
Not a Caldwell heirloom.
New.
Chosen together weeks earlier because Belle had caught him looking at jewelry and refused surprise ownership.
May you like
Lorraine later called the proposal “adequate.”
That was practically a blessing.
