Page 32 of Hers By Summer’s End

The possibility was nauseating.

She pressed her hand to her stomach. No. That wasn’t Drew. She wouldn’t reduce him to that. She couldn’t. And yet…he wasn’t there. She ignored Rosie’s fluttering hands and Theo’s grim mouth, and searched the reception hall again.

Long tables lined the walls, each crowned with crystal-cut vases overflowing with starburst-shaped cactus dahlias and flanked by their proud owners. Most fussed over their arrangements, eager for the judging. A few watched the entrance, waiting, just like she was.

Waiting, not for him, but for the spectacle if he didn’t come.

A woman at the neighboring display caught her eye, then leaned over and said with sympathy, “I heard Mr. Sutton has been arm wrestling children on the Pay Streak for most of the morning. Perhaps he simply lost track of time.”

Cecelia managed a tight nod.

“Go find your friend,” Rosie urged Theo, all but spitting the final two words, loyal creature that she was. Theo disappeared into the crowd, and Cecelia’s gaze dropped to her arrangements on the table. Seven vases for seven classes, filled with the best dahlias she’d ever produced.

At that moment, the young women’s voices rose in song. The exposition’s anthem washed over the hall, each cheerful note scraping across Cecelia’s nerves like a file against bone. Once they finished, the judging would begin.

There was no more time.

“We were supposed to do this together,” she whispered, her shoulders threatening to droop. The public bickering, the newspapers writing about them for sport, the public frothing at the mouth every time they were spotted together—it had all been absurd. But they'd been absurd together. “That’s what made the whole thing bearable.”

Rosie took her hand. “I know.”

“I don’t care what anyone in this room thinks about me.”

“Except him?’

“Yes.” Her breath hissed through her front teeth. “Now I know, and it isn’t a good feeling.”

“We could leave,” Rosie offered.

Cecelia squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, the lights sparkling from the action and certainly not from tears. “I will uphold my end of our bargain because that’s who I am. Seattle can write whatever nonsense it wants later, but it will know I kept my word. I was no coward.”

“Good.” Rosie nodded once. “Now let me straighten your sash before you go make everyone jealous of your prowess.”

Cecelia allowed her best friend to make her presentable, as she’d done throughout their entire friendship. Ever since they’d become study partners freshman year, both seeking more practice on the challenging Minot microtome. She was lucky to have Rosie. At least she would always have Rosie.

“Why does this hurt so much?” she wondered aloud.

Rosie’s hands stilled. “I think you know.”

“All I know is that this whole day is tainted. I should be happy, thrilled to be here, and instead I’m weak⁠—

Rosie tugged sharply at the sash, her brows narrowing into a fierce glare that was so uncharacteristic of her normal sweetness. “Cecelia Townsend, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You can do that later if you need to. But right now, you will stand tall. Proud. You are one of the top botanists in this state, and now the world will know. It is the only thing that matters right now, do you hear me?”

She drew in a tight breath, then released it. “I do. I—thank you. Right now, flowers. Later, stab, maim, destroy.”

Rosie’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Exactly.”

Cecelia straightened her shoulders and went to stand by her dahlias.

~

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Drew muttered the words as he jogged through the fairgrounds, brushing rudely past families, vendors, and anyone else unfortunate enough to stand between him and the Washington State Building.

He was too late—the dahlias he’d spent all summer cultivating sat forlorn in his greenhouse. Wasted months of painstaking work, wasted hours spent worrying over every damn leaf. It was a veritable loss, yet it paled in comparison to the damage he may have caused to his new bond with Cecelia.

He took the staircase in two leaps and rushed to the entrance, the marble tiles ringing beneath his shoes. Please let her still be inside, please let her be willing to hear him out⁠—