“It is.” She offers me a weak smile. “But we manage.”
“So, where are you going all dressed up?”
“Dorian is taking me out,” she says, and despite the discomfort, her eyes light up. “A real date. He won’t tell me where, just said to wear something warm and comfortable.”
“He’s good at that,” I note, stripping a particularly stubborn leaf from a stem. “Taking care of you.”
“He is.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “He should be here any minute. He’s picking me up from here so we can go straight to… wherever we’re going.”
As if on cue, the front door chimes. Dorian walks in, looking rugged and handsome in a heavy coat and jeans.
His eyes scan the room, landing instantly on Norah. The adoration on his face is so palpable it makes the air in the shop feel thick.
“Hey,” he says, crossing the room to her. He reaches out, resting a hand on her lower back, and leans in to kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful, Norah.”
“Thanks, babe,” she says, leaning into his touch. “Ready?”
“Whenever you are.”
They say their goodbyes, waving at me as they head out into the late afternoon gloom. The door closes behind them, and the shop falls back into silence.
I stand there for a moment, listening to the quiet. I’m happy for her, truly. They deserve every bit of joy they’ve found. Butseeing them together, so solid and sure, stirs up that familiar ache in my chest.
The contrast between their relationship and the mess I left behind in Maple Glen is jarring.
Shaking it off, I turn my attention back to the eucalyptus. I have a large order for a wedding tomorrow—centerpieces heavy on the silver dollar and white roses.
It’s tedious work, stripping the leaves, cutting the stems at an angle.
The snow has finally stopped falling, melting into slush in the gutters. With the roads clear, the wedding inquiries have flooded in. It’s a deluge of lace, satin, and ribbons.
I’m grateful, though. The work keeps my hands busy and my mind occupied.
When I’m elbow-deep in hydrangeas and trying to source the perfect shade of ivory ribbon, I don’t have time to think about Luke’s voice on the phone. I don’t have time to wonder if his new girlfriend is happily rubbing her belly.
I work for an hour, the sun beginning to dip lower in the sky. My back aches, and my eyes are gritty from fatigue.
It’s Friday evening. All I want to do is finish this arrangement, lock up, pick up Maisie, and go home. Maybe we can order a pizza and watch a movie. Just a quiet night.
I’m in the backroom, checking the stock of floral foam, when I hear the bell above the front door jingle.
“Coming!” I shout, stripping off my gardening gloves and tossing them onto the table.
I wipe my hands on my apron, trying to smooth down my hair. I probably look a wreck—dustings of potting soil on my jeans, my hair escaping its bun, my face flushed from the exertion.
I walk down the short hallway, a prepared customer service smile fixed on my face. “Hi, welcome to Knightly Blooms, how can I?—”
I stop dead.
The smile freezes, then falters, then melts away into something completely different.
Eli is standing just inside the door.
He looks incredible. He’s wearing a dark green cable-knit sweater that brings out the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, paired with dark jeans and a heavy wool coat draped over his shoulders. His glasses are perched on his nose, and his hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it.
And in his hands, he’s holding a white cardboard box tied up with twine.
“Elijah,” I breathe. My heart does a complicated flip in my chest, part excitement, part anxiety.
