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I’d kind of become obsessed with visiting the new flower shop nearby. Not only did they sell some amazing arrangements of roses, but I think the owner was also a wood-making craftsman or something to that extent. I wasn’t sure, but half the shop also had these amazing things like baskets and chairs and tables and bookcases for sale. I liked browsing, just to see what was new.
And if I could’ve afforded it, I would’ve bought a bouquet of flowers for my apartment every day just to brighten the place up. The owner of the shop knew it too. Sometimes when they had to throw an arrangement out because their flowers were starting to wilt, he’d give them to me instead of the dumpster. In return, I brought him baked goods, which he seemed to appreciate.
I wasn’t sure I could stomach eating the last of the chocolate chip cookies anyway. They’d only remind me of Ezra and depress me even more.
“I brought cookies,” I announced as soon as I stepped inside Rosewood. The bell overhead jangled in pleasant greeting.
Shaw, the owner, had been leaning his forearms on the checkout counter as he read something on an e-reader. But at my call, he looked up with a welcoming grin.
“Kaitlynn! Hey. Good to see you. Even better when you bring food.”
His smile was infectious and drew me toward the counter, already shedding bits and pieces of my depressed mood. There was just something sweet and friendly about Shaw that made me happier when I left his store than I did walking in.
“I used your mom’s recipe you gave me. And, wowza, you were right. They’re divine.”
“Did you?” He turned all grabby-hands and reached out. I laughed as I passed the cookies over, then held my breath as he fished one from the bag before bringing it to his mouth.
After the first taste, he closed his eyes and nodded. “Oh, yeah,” he said, “they taste just like hers.” Opening his lashes, he sent me a grateful glance.
He’d told me once his mom had died recently, and his father had passed away long before that. Our shared orphan status made him seem like a kindred spirit. But today, my mind only whirled back to Ezra, remembering how he’d talked in the dark of the garden about his own mother who’d died in a fire. I suddenly wanted to know if his mother had ever fixed any food that could fill him with happy nostalgia.
“You should’ve stopped by on Friday,” Shaw was saying, dragging me from my thoughts as he started on a second cookie. “Isobel had this beautiful arrangement of roses, carnations, and baby’s breath we had to throw out. You would’ve loved them.”
“Oh, man.” I snapped my fingers in disappointment. “I have no idea why I didn’t pop in.” Until I realized, oh yeah, I’d been moping in my apartment because Lana had fired me.
Wow, it didn’t seem as if that had only been last week.
So much had happened and changed since then.
“Oh my God, I love this purse!”
I jumped, not having realized another customer was in the store. When I glanced toward the woodworking half of the shop, I discovered a woman just standing up from where she’d been kneeling and studying a wicker-woven bag on a lower shelf. She held it up to show it off.
“Uh.” Shaw frowned, confused, and scratched his dark hair. “That’s actually supposed to be a basket.”
The woman merely shrugged. “Whatever. Purses are just glorified baskets anyway, right?” She carried it toward the front desk. “This one is so cute; I have to have it.”
“Um…” Shaw glanced at me as if unsure how to answer before he carefully said, “Okay. Sure.”
The woman plunked the basket purse on the counter next to the cash register and then opened the small beaded coin purse she had strapped over her shoulder before pulling out a wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
She was about my height and size, but where my hair was a pale, white blonde, hers was a wild carrot-top red. With her lips painted magenta and two small silver hoops piercing the septum of her nose, she had a brooding rebel sort of image to her, except something in me said she was actually a dreamer. As far as I could tell, a light coating of freckles kissed every inch of skin she had while her jaw and lips reminded me a lot of Neve Campbell.
I found myself staring because I’d always thought Neve was stunningly and uniquely beautiful. Plus, she looked familiar, but I couldn’t point my finger on where I’d seen her before. I swear, I knew that face, except I was positive we’d never actually met.
She glanced my way, catching me in the act.
Flushing hot, I motioned toward her purse, the one she already owned, not the one she was purchasing. “The one you have is cute too,” I said, in the hopes of distracting her from the fact I’d been staring.
She smiled, flashing teeth and a small dent in one cheek. “Thanks. I have a bit of a fetish.”
Nodding, I totally understood. “Mine’s shoes,” I admitted, causing her to skim her gaze down my knee-torn skinny jeans to the rolled-up hems where I wore a pair of platform black booties with little leather tassels hanging from the sides. “If I could have a closet solely dedicated to shoes, I’d need about three of them.”
The Neve lookalike laughed. “Yeah, I need a few of those for my purses.” She motioned to the one hanging off her shoulder. “My gran made me this one.”
“That’s it!” I cried, suddenly realizing how I knew her face. “Mabel Blanchette.”
She pulled back, startled, and I flushed, realizing I’d just randomly blurted a name. “I mean.” I cleared my throat and rushed out an explanation. “You looked so familiar, I was sure I’d seen you before, but I was equally sure we’d never met… Until you said Gran, and then it finally clicked. You’re Mabel’s granddaughter, right? Uh… Camille?”
