“That’s cute,” says Daphne. “How is it going hanging out with him?”
“It's good, we have fun, always something to talk about. He’s confident, but not loud. Funny but not obnoxious. And somehow, he makes it feel like I can just be myself without thinking about it too much.”
“You’re gushing,” Daphne says, smirking.
“I am not!” I defend myself.
Rose smirks. “You’re not, you’re just thoughtfully noting his admirable traits.”
We all snicker, moving to the next section where the daisies grow wild. I let myself get lost in the work for a while, tying together bouquets, smelling the flowers, watching the sunlight slant across the fields.
“So, Violet,” Lily says suddenly. “How’s the café doing these days? Is it still as busy as ever?”
“Yeah, it is,” I say, standing and wiping my hands on my pants. “Brie has been amazing, she keeps up with the pastries, and Maddie has been great with customers, always talking to them, remembering their orders. It’s everything I hoped it would be.”
“You’ve built something really special. You should be proud,” Lily says.
I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. “I am, and honestly, mornings like this make it even better. Having fresh flowers from home, making the café smell amazing, knowing people are going to love it.”
Daphne twirls a daisy between her fingers. “And do you ever get tired of us noticing how wonderful you are?”
“Never,” I say, laughing. “You three are my cheerleaders, whether you know it or not.”
Rose glances at me, playful. “And how is your little crush? Don’t think we don’t notice how quickly your eyes light up when you talk about Everett.”
“Rose! We’re not talking about him!” I say, smiling.
“You don’t have to hide it from us, Vi. We’ll tease you, yes, but we also know you have your heart guarded. Just remember, you’re allowed to enjoy it too.”
I nod, letting the words sink in as I bend down to tie another bundle for the café. There is a thrill in being with my sisters, surrounded by the flowers I love, laughing, teasing, and sharing life. It feels safe. And even with the thought of Everett lingering at the edge of my mind, I let myself enjoy it.
The afternoon wears on, the sun climbing higher in the sky. We make bouquet after bouquet, selecting blooms and arranging them in vases I’d brought along. Some went to our homes, carefully packed to avoid squishing petals, while others went to the café to brighten corners and greet customers with the scent of spring.
By the time we finish, our hands are streaked with soil. Our fingers are dotted with cuts and scratches from stems, and our noses are tingling with the perfume of a hundred flowers. We carry the last bundle back to the farmhouse, setting it on the kitchen table where my parents have left out iced water and lemonade for us.
Sitting around the kitchen table, we talk about everything. Rose’s last marketing campaign, Daphene’s plans to start tutoring English to local students. Lily’s kindergarten class antics, and of course, the never-ending list of café improvements I have in mind. The conversation flows, the way it always does, the easy rhythm of sisters who know each other’s thoughts before they are spoken.
As the afternoon sunlight comes through the kitchen windows, I look at my sisters and feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. This farm, these flowers, these women, they are the heart of my life, grounding me when I need it most. And maybe, just maybe, there was room in my heart for a little more.
13
Everett
Iam sitting at the small desk in my makeshift office in the theater, the late morning sun sliding across the dusty floorboards, highlighting the stacks of papers and renovation plans I left in a mess. I should be working, moving things forward, ticking off another item from the endless list of tasks the theater demands, but I can’t focus. My mind is full of things to do, planning the fundraiser, fixing things with my dad, and Violet. How can I think about anything else but her?
And then my phone rings.
The name on the screen makes my stomach knot, an old ache that has not surfaced in years.
Sydney.
I stare at the phone, I don’t move, I don’t answer. I can’t. My thumb hovers over the green button like it has a mind of its own, threatening to betray me.
I remember the first time we met. She had a warmth that was impossible to resist. And I fell, head over heels, fast and hard, with the kind of love that makes everything else blurry.
We had a life together, or at least what felt like one. Late-night walks, cooking for each other in the cramped kitchen, long talks in the dark about dreams, fears, the future. And I thought she felt the same way. Until she didn’t.
The memory hits me like a punch. She had told me she wasn’t ready. Not for marriage, not for commitment, not for the life I was ready to give her. She didn’t want to hold me back. She didn’t want to tie me down, and in her own way, she thought letting me go was the kindest thing she could do.
