Myra looked at Gareth, her expression soft but resolute. “Gareth,” she said gently, choosing her words carefully, “I… I appreciate your honesty, and I truly value your kindness. But I can’t accept your confession. My feelings… they aren’t the same.”

  A wave of disappointment washed over Gareth’s face, his shoulders slumping slightly. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I… I see,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment. Then, he looked up again, a hopeful, almost pleading note in his voice. “But… your grandmother seems to like me. And my mother, Isa, she’s grown quite fond of you too. They would be so happy if… if we were together.”

  Myra’s heart softened at his earnestness, but her resolve remained firm. “Gareth,” she said, her voice gentle but unwavering, “their happiness is important to me, of course. I care deeply for my grandmother, and I cherish Isa’s kindness. But… this is about us. About how we feel. And my feelings… they simply aren’t leading me in that direction.”

  A deeper shade of disappointment clouded Gareth’s features, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. He took a step closer to Myra, his gaze pleading. “But Myra,” he insisted, “I would be a good husband to you. I would work hard, provide for you. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I can give you a comfortable life, a secure future. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what any woman would want?” He seemed to believe that his practical assurances, his promise of stability and financial security, would sway her decision.

  Myra’s brow furrowed slightly as she listened to Gareth’s earnest but somewhat transactional view of their potential union. While she appreciated his sincerity and his desire to offer her a good life, his words felt disconnected from the deeper, more intangible feelings that truly mattered to her. The idea of choosing a partner based solely on practicality and provision felt hollow, especially after the profound emotional awakening she had experienced with Freya.

  “Gareth,” Myra began, her voice gentle but firm, “while I appreciate your kind offer and your assurances of providing for me, that isn’t what I’m looking for in a retionship. A comfortable life and financial security are important, of course, but they aren’t the foundation upon which I want to build my happiness.”

  She looked at him with a genuine sincerity. “I need more than just a provider, Gareth. I need a connection, a true understanding, a meeting of minds and hearts. I need to feel seen and understood for who I truly am, not just for what someone thinks I should want. And right now, I don’t feel that with you.” Her words were honest and direct, a clear and gentle rejection rooted in her growing understanding of her own heart’s desires.

  A fsh of frustration crossed Gareth’s face, his earlier disappointment now tinged with annoyance. “Why are you being so difficult, Myra?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “I’m a good man, I have prospects, everyone in the vilge thinks we’d be a good match. What more could you possibly want? I’m the best candidate you’re likely to find around here.” His words revealed a certain arrogance, a belief that his practical qualities and the vilge’s approval should be enough to secure her affection.

  He stepped closer, his gaze becoming more intense, a hint of suspicion entering his eyes. “Is there… is there someone else, Myra?” he asked, his voice ced with a mixture of hurt and accusation. “Is that why you’re turning me down? Have you set your sights on someone else in the vilge? Who could it possibly be? Everyone knows I’ve been interested in you for some time.”

  Myra hesitated for a moment, her thoughts fshing to the enigmatic figure of Freya. The truth was far more complicated and unbelievable than Gareth could possibly imagine. How could she expin the connection she felt with someone so different, someone who existed outside the realm of their familiar vilge life? The words felt impossible to utter, likely to be met with disbelief or even ridicule.

  She took a deep breath, deciding to sidestep the specifics while still being truthful to her own feelings. “Gareth,” she said softly, her voice calm and steady, “this isn’t about anyone else in the vilge. It’s about my own heart, my own feelings. And right now, my heart isn’t leading me in the direction you’re hoping for.”

  Her gaze held his, firm but not unkind. “Please believe me when I say that this has nothing to do with you being a good man or a good candidate. You are those things, Gareth. But love isn’t a transaction, and it can’t be forced or decided based on practicality alone. My heart simply belongs elsewhere.” The st part was a carefully chosen phrasing, a truth veiled in a way that Gareth might not fully comprehend, but a truth nonetheless.

  “We should probably head back inside, Gareth,” Myra said gently, breaking the increasingly tense silence that had settled between them in the herb garden. The evening air was growing cooler, and she could sense that their conversation had reached an impasse.

  They walked back to the cottage in a heavy quiet, the lively chatter from inside noticeably absent as they entered. Myra’s grandmother and Isa looked up, their expressions holding a hint of unspoken curiosity. A brief, awkward silence hung in the air before Isa, ever gracious, steered the conversation back to more general topics, her warm demeanor helping to ease the underlying tension.

  The remainder of the evening passed in a more subdued manner. Polite conversation flowed, but the earlier lightheartedness had diminished. Gareth seemed quieter, his gaze occasionally flicking towards Myra with a mixture of disappointment and lingering hope. Myra focused on being a gracious hostess, engaging in the conversation and ensuring everyone felt comfortable, all the while her mind couldn't help but drift back to the quiet intensity of her encounters with Freya.

  Finally, as the night deepened, Isa and Gareth bid their farewells. Myra stood on the porch, waving goodbye as they walked down the path, a sense of relief washing over her mixed with a lingering feeling of unease about the unsaid words and the gentle hurt she had undoubtedly caused.