Dandelion Dreams (The Alphabet Sweethearts #4)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Andrew

" Y ou're early," I say, finding Maggie already behind the counter, methodically wiping down the espresso machine. She's never early.

"Thought I'd get a head start." Her voice is too casual. She's trying very hard not to make eye contact.

I pause in the middle of my usual morning routine—checking the new release display, straightening the bookmark rack, adjusting the sign for today's coffee special. Something feels off, but I can't quite...

I stop short at my office door. A large canvas leans against my desk, wrapped in brown paper and tied with simple twine. Beside it, an envelope bears my name in Emma's distinctive artist's scrawl.

My hands shake slightly as I untie the twine. The paper falls away to reveal not one painting, but three, connected as a series. And there, blooming across the canvases in Emma's bold, beautiful style, are dandelions.

But these aren't simple flowers. The first panel shows a closed bud, surrounded by fragments of what I realize are old sketches—my hands holding a book, my profile as I read. The second captures a dandelion in full bloom, yellow petals seeming to burst from the canvas, interwoven with bits of text I recognize from notes we used to pass in college.

The third panel steals my breath. A dandelion gone to seed, its white puffs scattered across a deep blue background like stars. But looking closer, I see that each seed carries a tiny image: Charlie's smile, my glasses, Emma's paint-stained hands, Novel Sips' storefront, our first kiss, our last goodbye.

Our whole story, scattered but connected, breaking apart but somehow growing stronger.

The letter feels heavy in my hand as I carefully tear it open. As I read, Emma's words blur and sharpen, blur and sharpen. Home isn't a place you run from. It's the place you keep coming back to, again and again, until your roots grow so deep nothing can move them.

"Oh," I whisper to my empty office. "Oh, Emma."

I've been so focused on my fear of her leaving that I missed what was right in front of me. She's already chosen to stay. Has been choosing us, every day, in small ways I was too scared to see.

I grab my keys, nearly colliding with Maggie as I burst out of the office.

"I need to—" I gesture vaguely at the door.

"Go." She's already moving behind the counter, a knowing smile on her face. "I've got things here."

"The Thompson order?—"

"Will wait. Go find her."

I squeeze her shoulder as I pass, grateful not for the first time for my sister's unwavering support.

The drive to her rental house seems to take forever and no time at all. But when I knock, there's no answer. Through the windows, I can see boxes stacked in the living room, half-packed.

My heart stops. She's leaving? After everything?—

"She's not moving out, if that's what you're thinking."

I spin to find Hazel Elliott watching me from her garden next door, pruning shears in hand and knowing smile on her face.

"They're at the library," she says before I can ask. "Charlie wanted to show Emma his favorite reading spot."

Of course. Tuesday morning story time. I should know that—I helped set up the program.

"Those boxes," I gesture helplessly at the window, "I thought..."

"Are full of art supplies." Hazel sets down her shears and approaches the fence. "Emma's been quite busy lately. Something about dandelions?"

Heat creeps up my neck. "You knew about that?"

"I may have provided tea and encouragement." She studies me carefully. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

"I..." I push up my glasses, gathering my thoughts. "I've been an idiot, haven't I?"

"Not an idiot, dear. Just scared." Her eyes are kind but firm. "Fear's a funny thing. Makes us build walls to keep out hurt, never realizing we're walling ourselves away from joy too."

I think of Emma's letter, of her words about being scared together. About choosing each other anyway.

"The library's having story time in the children's section," Hazel calls as I turn to leave. "In case you were wondering."

"Thank you," I say, already backing toward my car.

"Andrew?" Her voice stops me. "Sometimes the best things in life require a leap of faith."

I nod, understanding finally what Emma meant in her letter about scattering before growing stronger. About coming home again and again until you know exactly where you belong.

"But why can't the dragon live in the library?" Charlie's voice carries through the stacks, guiding me to the children's section. "He'd be really careful with the books."

I pause in the doorway, taking in the scene. Emma sits cross-legged on a rainbow reading rug, surrounded by picture books and Charlie's drawings. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, and she's wearing one of her paint-splattered dresses—the green one that makes her eyes shine.

"Well," she's saying thoughtfully, "maybe he could be the library dragon. Help kids find their favorite stories."

"Like Dad does at Novel Sips?" Charlie adds another careful line to his drawing. "He always knows where all the books live."

The simple observation catches in my chest. I touch the small box in my pocket—the one that's moved with me from apartment to apartment, city to city, waiting for the right moment. Or maybe waiting for me to be right for the moment.

Emma looks up then, her eyes widening as she sees me. "Andrew?"

"I found your paintings this morning." My voice comes out rougher than intended.

Charlie bounces up, excitement radiating from every movement. "Dad! Look what I drew! It's a library dragon and he has glasses just like yours and?—"

"That's amazing, buddy." I ruffle his hair, my eyes never leaving Emma's face. "Hey, could you do me a huge favor? Could you ask Miss Grace at the front desk to show you where the dragon books are? I need to talk to your mom for a minute."

He looks between us, surprisingly perceptive for his age. "Why?"

I smile at him. "I just need to tell your mom something important."

After he scampers off, I sink down onto the reading rug beside Emma. "I also got your letter."

"Did you..." She hesitates. "Did you read it?"

"Every word." I take her hand, marveling at how perfectly it still fits in mine. "I've spent so much time being afraid of losing you again that I almost missed the miracle of having you back. Having both of you."

She squeezes my fingers. "The paintings..."

"Are beautiful. And true." I meet her eyes. "You've been choosing us every day, haven't you? Every morning at the shop, every story with Charlie, every small moment building this family I never dreamed I could have."

"Of course I have." Her voice wavers. "I love you, Andrew. I never stopped."

"I love you too." The words feel like coming home. "And I'm done being afraid." I pull the small box from my pocket, and her breath catches. "I bought this right before you left. Carried it with me everywhere, even after… Because some part of me knew we weren't finished."

"Andrew..." Tears shine in her eyes as I shift to one knee.

"Emma Hawthorne, I love the way you see magic in everyday things. I love how you've raised our son to see it too. I love that you came back to us, and that you've fought for us even when I was too scared to fight for myself." My hands shake slightly as I open the box. "Will you marry me? Let me spend the rest of our lives making up for the time we lost?"

"Yes." The word comes out as a laugh and a sob. "Yes, of course yes."

The ring slides onto her finger like it was always meant to be there. When I kiss her, she tastes like coffee and honey and possibilities.

"Can I come back now?" Charlie's voice breaks through our moment. He stands in the doorway, clutching a stack of dragon books, practically vibrating with contained energy.

Emma laughs against my mouth. "Come here, sweetheart."

He launches himself at us with the same fearless joy he brings to everything, and we catch him together. As I hold my family—my family —I think about Emma's paintings. About dandelion seeds scattering and coming home again, stronger for the journey.

"Does this mean we're gonna live together?" Charlie asks, settling between us. "All of us?"

"If that's okay with you," I say carefully.

He considers this with adorable seriousness. "Can I bring my dragons?"

Emma's laugh mingles with mine. "Of course you can, buddy."

"And can we still have story time at the store?"

"Every day," I promise. "Though we might need to add a special section just for dragon books. Would you like that?"

He beams, snuggling closer.

"Me too," Emma whispers, meeting my eyes over our son's head. Her new ring catches the library's soft light, and I remember something from her letter about being scared meaning you know how precious something is.

She's right. I am scared. Scared of how much I love them, how completely they've claimed my carefully ordered heart. But maybe that's exactly as it should be.

Because some things—like family, like second chances, like love—are worth being brave for.