Juliette rolls her eyes and then looks at me, holding up a flyer she’d been clutching in her hand. “Bake sale. We’ll be spending our evening in the kitchen making cookies.”
“At least it’s not cupcakes. I feel like that’s harder.”
She laughs. “You’re not wrong.”
“Mom.” Theo is at the end of the aisle, tapping his foot playfully.
“I’m coming.” I watch her walk off, but she glances back at me once. Only once. And for a split second, I could swear there’s something in the way she’s looking at me that wasn’t there before.
I watch them disappear between the shelves, my basket suddenly too light. For the first time since my dad died, the ache in my chest doesn’t feel empty.
It feels something more, something bigger. Connected.
Which might be worse.
Or might be everything.
CHAPTER 6
JULIETTE
“Juliette. I’m having a hard time seeing the issue here.” My mother’s voice is supposed to be soothing. It usually is. She’s been my voice of reason for as long as I can remember. However, today, it feels like betrayal.
“You don’t have a budget for marketing. You hate social media. Why is it that when the city of Alexandria shows up and hands you a solution to your problems, you decide what—that you should second-guess it?”
I wince, pacing my living room with the phone tucked between my ear and shoulder. The quiet is unfamiliar—no Theo narrating his Lego construction, no background noise of cartoons or questions shouted from the hallway.
“I’m not second-guessing,” I say quickly. “I’m being cautious. And inquisitive.”
“And you’re punching the gift horse in the mouth.”
“Pretty sure the saying islookinga gift horse?—”
“Juliette Marie,” she warns. “Do not argue with your mother.”
I sigh, dropping onto the couch. I already know she’s right, which somehow makes this worse.
“Mom, you know I don’t want to sit down and do a full interview,”I say. “I don’t want cameras in my face. I don’t want all of the bells and whistles that come with this gig.”
“I know,” she says gently. “And I understand why. After everything that happened, of course you’re camera-shy. That didn’t feel good. Anyone would be nervous.”
I close my eyes, grateful for the way she says it without making me explain.
“But,” she continues, shifting into problem-solving mode, “a little plant tutorial video? That’s not an interview. That’s you doing what you already do.”
“That’s still…out there,” I say. “Online. Forever. It actually worries me that we could become even more popular than we already are.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line.
“Are you kidding me,” my mother says flatly.
“Mom.”
“Juliette. You are running a business, not a speakeasy. You want people to come into your store.”
“I wantmanageablepeople,” I mutter.
She ignores that. “And didn’t you tell me that a PR team suggested this idea?”
