I want a space to call my own, where I can surround myself with flowers and be a small part of the big moments in people’s lives. The colorful bouquets for first dates and anniversaries and spontaneous just-becauses. The centerpieces at holiday dinners, and celebrations of a new life or another trip around the sun. The white lilies to lend a bit of comfort to those in mourning. I want to give back to the community that has given me nothing but love and kindness since the day we moved here thirteen years ago, in the only way I know how.
“Let’s get together over a cup of coffee and hash out the details,” Mr. Davis suggests. We discuss availability and plan to meet Sunday afternoon when he and his wife are done with church and the brunch that always follows.
The moment I say goodbye and set my phone down on the table, my friends pounce.
“What did he say?” Olivia asks at the same time Grace demands, “Is it yours?”
Gail smiles, still fuzzy on the details but encouraging just the same.
“Mr. Davis is willing to lease instead of sell, and he said we can split the space since it’s bigger than I need,” I explain, hand shaking slightly as I reach for my glass of water. “We’re going to meet for coffee to work out the details.”
Before I can bring my glass to my lips, a set of arms are thrown around me across the table. I quickly set my glass down to avoid spilling it. “I’m so fucking happy for you,” Grace shouts, never one to care about things like inside voices or the many eyes looking on curiously around us.
Olivia piles on and some of the breath squeezes from my lungs as my best friends in the world hold on tight, keeping the fragile bits of my heart together like always, my hopes and dreams tucked in safely along with it. Calming my shores, even when they don’t know it, didn’t realize I needed it in the first place.
I’m the sweet one, the kind one. The one everybody in town gets along with. The one every woman over the age of fifty with a single, young relative – be it son, or nephew, or even neighbor – wants to set said relative or neighbor up with. The one who never argues, never toes the line she’s expected not to cross. I don’t begrudge the people in this town for viewing me a certain way when I’m the one that laid the foundation for their expectations, but it doesn’t meanmy knees never wobble and my back doesn’t bow from the weight of it all.
I might not be the meticulous planner and go-getter Olivia is, or have the unwavering confidence Grace does, but I’ve learned that people gravitate toward kindness. I have no shortage of people in this town who care for me, but these two are the ones holding me together, the anchor keeping my ship steady when the waves threaten to pull me out to sea.
Some days I feel tired to my bones with the weight of it all: my parents’ expectations, the fear of taking a risk and letting people down, the role at my dad’s business and in this town that I’ve been playing for so long.
I don’t know if it’s even possible to shed the weight of their expectations and my fear of letting people down, but I’m finally ready to try.
“I love you guys,” I whisper. Barely loud enough to be heard over the noise of laughter and silverware clanging and meals being enjoyed, but they hear me. They always do.
“Love you back,” they whisper in unison, squeezing just a little bit tighter.
“Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?” Gail chimes in.
We break apart, laughing, and settle back in our seats just in time to see her snag a fry off Grace’s plate.
“You’re lucky I love you,” she warns. “That’s a punishable offense.”
Before Grace can start waxing poetic about her love for the fries and all the unholy things she’d like to do with the aioli, I tell Gail the story of the big, old, redbrick building on Main that might find new life, one full of flowers and color and, if I’m successful, many happy customers.
It’s too early for my hopes to be as high as they are, yet I can’t help the feeling starting to expand in my chest. The dreams I’ve kept tucked tightly in there are gaining new life and starting to grow. My ideas for the shop are like ivy, spreading through all the cracks and crevices in my heart and expanding outward, covering everything in its wake.
I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with a life half-lived. I want a life full of color, of beautiful blooms and bouquets crafted with my own two hands. There are bound to be some thorns along the way, but I’ll take those, too, if it means I get to bring these dreams of mine to life.
I don’t know yet where those dreams might take me, but finally,finally, I’m ready to find out.
CHAPTER 5
Declan
If you’d asked me a year ago where I would be right now, sitting in a dark, dusty old bar in a tiny little town on the coast of Maine wouldn’t even be in my top hundred guesses.
“We really gonna do this, man?” Sean asks, idly spinning a beer bottle between his hands on the bartop.
“Guess so.”
I can feel his eyes on me but I don’t look up. After a few moments of silence, he asks, “You’re sure about this? Settling down in a small town and all?”
I stare down at my glass of Coke, watching the condensation drip down the sides. The thought of settling down – anywhere, really, but especially in a town like this – makes me want to start sweating, too.
“I’m sure.” It doesn’t quite feel like a lie, but it’s not exactly the whole truth, either.
It’s nothing Sean hasn’t asked me already. As much as he’s always dreamed of opening his own shop in his hometown, and as many times as he’s told me I need to come work for him when the timecomes, I don’t think he ever really expected me to say yes. He can’t wrap his head around thewhyof it all. I know it’s eating at him, wondering why I agreed to coming here in the first place and waiting for the other shoe to drop.
