“Look, that business grant I’m in the running for is a big deal,” she says. “Not to everyone, but to me it is. It’s financial assistance that I desperately need. Apparently, now that I’ve been through all of the interviews, there’s one more step. A mystery shopper. All we have to do is pass that, then everything could change. For the store, and for me.”
The way she says it makes me stand up a little taller, like I’ve got skin in the game, too…which I’d like to think I do. I am a team player after all.
“It took me a minute to sign on, but I get it,” she goes on. “I love what this arrangement is doing for business, but you’re only here for a few weeks. And when you’re gone, I still have to survive. I need that grant. I need my reputation clean so I can get that grant. I can’t have people coming in here looking for scandal instead of snake plants.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Yeah. I get it.” And I do. She’s right. If there’s one thing the media loves to do, it’s get clicks. And that story she just pitched would get plenty.
Relief flickers across her face. “Thank you. Charlie knows. He’ll make sure everything’s handled. Go inside and have fun.”
She turns to leave and something in me panics.
“Hey—” I blurt.
She looks back just as I step forward and wrap my arms around her. It’s instinctive and probably stupid and definitely not what either of us planned.
She’s stiff at first. Then—slowly—she melts. Only a little, but enough so that I can feel the tension easing out of her body.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur into her hair. “About all of it.”
She pulls back; it’s not hurried, but not slow either. Her eyes are soft, and something warm lies within them. “I know you are. That’s why I’m stepping out so you can do what you need to do.”
She squeezes my arm, a small grounding touch. Then she walks away. I stand there for a second before forcing myself to turn and go inside, letting the door close behind me.
Charlie is already walking toward me with something folded over his arm.
“Here,” he says, holding it out.
I take it, confused, and then laugh when I see what it is.
An apron. But not just any apron—dark green, heavy canvas, withSAWYERstitched neatly across the front.
I look up. Charlie is wearing one, too.CHARLIEin the same careful embroidery.
“This is really cool,” I say.
“I made them this weekend,” he tells me. “For all of us.”
I run my thumb over the stitching. “Because we’re a team?”
Charlie smiles. “I’d like to think that. At least for the time we’ve got you.”
Something warm settles in my chest as I raise a fist to his and we bump. A moment later, the bell over the door rings and a woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun walks in with a photographer trailing behind her. I can tell it’s the reporter by the way her eyes are already scanning the shop like she’s hunting for a story.
Charlie leans in just slightly. “I’m here if you need me.”
I straighten my shoulders, slip the apron over my head.
“Let’s do this,” I say.
It’s showtime.
The interview wraps without a hitch,clean and easy. We even manage to sneak Charlie into a photo with me standing behind the counter, his smile proud and slightly bewildered, like he’s not entirely sure how he ended up there but is pleased all the same.
By the time I step back outside, the day feels settled.Accomplished. I’m halfway down the block when the faint scent of magnolias reaches me again, soft but unmistakable. Juliette.
The memory follows immediately. The way she smelled when I hugged her. Clean and warm, magnolias in bloom, light and steady rather than overpowering.
I shouldn’t have done it. The hug. It was instinctive and unplanned. Stupid, impulsive, and probably inappropriate by any reasonable standard. But, I tell myself it was nothing. A reflex. A normal human moment that does not need to mean more than it should. Except my jacket still carriesher.The magnolia scent lingers in the fabric, faint but persistent, as if it has no intention of leaving anytime soon. I adjust the collar, unsettled by how much I do not want it to fade.
