Blossoms & New Beginnings (The Alphabet Sweethearts #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Lila

I squint at the delivery schedule I've drafted for the Spring Blossom Festival, trying to figure out what's not quite right with the timing. If the hydrangeas arrive too early, they'll wilt before the opening ceremony, but if they come too late?—

The bell above the shop door chimes. "Did you hear?" Sarah Peterson bustles in, still wearing her apron from the diner. "Graham Hart is back in town."

My pen slips, drawing a thick blue line across my carefully organized schedule. For a moment, I can't move, can't breathe. Then muscle memory kicks in, and I reach for a fresh sheet of paper, keeping my voice steady. "Is he?"

"Moved back yesterday. His father's not doing well, poor Joe." Sarah leans against the counter, the way she always does when settling in for a good gossip. "Though if you ask me, it's about time that boy came home to help."

That boy. My fingers tighten around my pen. Graham hasn't been a boy for a very long time. "I'm sure he had his reasons for staying away."

"Hmph." Sarah's skeptical grunt says more than words could. "Well, he's set up shop again. Mountain Green Landscaping, if you can believe it. After all these years of running around the country, he thinks he can just waltz back in and?—"

The bell chimes again.

I look up, and my carefully constructed world tilts on its axis. Graham Hart stands in my doorway, broader than I remember, his dark hair touched with silver at the temples. He wears work boots and a faded denim jacket, looking so familiar it makes my chest ache.

"Hello, Lila." His voice is exactly the same, that gentle rumble that used to make my seventeen-year-old heart skip beats. "Sarah." He nods to the older woman, who suddenly finds somewhere else to be, slipping past him with a meaningful look at me.

I smooth my floral-print dress, acutely aware of the streak of soil on my forearm and the way my hair is escaping its messy bun. "Welcome back to Juniper Falls."

"Thanks." He steps further into the shop, his gaze taking in the fresh bouquets and potted plants that fill every surface. "Place looks good. Your grandmother would've been proud."

The mention of Gran makes my throat tight. "What can I help you with?"

Graham reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small notebook. "Actually, I was hoping I might be able to help you. I heard about the old Carlton place next door, how you're turning it into a community center."

"Word travels fast," I murmur, though I shouldn't be surprised. In Juniper Falls, news moves at the speed of coffee brewing at Sarah's diner.

"I saw the garden when I drove by." He opens the notebook, revealing a detailed sketch. "It's got good bones under all that overgrowth. With the festival coming up, I thought maybe..."

He trails off, and I find myself moving closer, drawn by the precise lines on the page. The sketch captures exactly what I've imagined for the space: winding paths, carefully planned flower beds, and even a small seating area where visitors could rest during the festival.

"I could help," Graham says quietly. "If you wanted."

I look up, meeting his eyes for the first time. They're the same warm brown I remember, carrying the same quiet intensity that had once made me believe we could take on the world together. But that was before he left, before I learned that some dreams were better kept safely tucked away.

I glance out the shop window at the overgrown lot next door. The festival is six weeks away. I have supplier contracts to manage, volunteers to coordinate, and a thousand other details to handle. I can't afford to let old feelings—or old hurts—get in the way of making this festival a success.

"I'll need to see a proper proposal," I say finally. "With timeline and budget details."

Something flickers in Graham's eyes before he nods. "I can have that to you by tomorrow morning."

"Fine." I step back, needing the distance. "Was there anything else?"

He closes the notebook, tucking it away. "That's all for now. It's good to see you, Li."

The old nickname hits me like a physical blow. By the time I recover enough to respond, he's gone, the bell chiming in his wake. I press my palms flat against the counter, willing my hands to stop shaking.

Sarah appears in the doorway, concerned. "You okay, honey?"

"I'm fine." I reach for my schedule, the one without the blue line streaked across it. "Just fine."

The Copper Kettle is bustling when I push open the door at six-thirty the next morning. The familiar scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls wraps around me like a warm embrace, and I spot Graham at a corner booth, his notebook open in front of him.

"Your usual?" Sarah calls from behind the counter.

I nod, grateful that some things never change. Like the way Sarah Miller and her friends gather for their morning coffee, heads bent together in whispered conversation that stops abruptly as I walk past. Or how Joe Bennett still reads his newspaper at the counter, though now he has to hold it at arm's length to see the print.

Graham half-rises as I approach, an old habit that makes me pause awkwardly before sliding into the opposite bench. "Morning," he says, pushing a coffee cup toward me. "Black, two sugars. Unless that's changed?"

My heart does a strange little flip. "It hasn't." I wrap my hands around the warm mug, trying not to think about all the morning coffees we shared in this same booth during our senior year. Back then, we'd squeeze onto the same side, shoulders touching, planning out our future between bites of Sarah's famous apple pancakes.

"I have the proposal." Graham slides a folder across the table. His fingers are ink-stained, and I remember how he used to sketch in the margins of his notebooks during class. "But before you look at it, I want to be clear about something. I'm not charging for this project."

I look up sharply. "Graham?—"

"The supplies, the labor, all of it. Consider it my contribution to the community center fund."

"That's too much." The folder suddenly feels heavy in my hands. "The garden is a mess. It'll take weeks of work, and with the festival coming up?—"

"I've got time." He takes a sip of his coffee. Still black, I notice. "And a crew that knows what they're doing. Let me do this, Li."

Behind us, I hear a poorly disguised gasp from Sarah's table, followed by urgent whispering. Graham's use of my old nickname hasn't gone unnoticed.

Sarah appears with my breakfast, blueberry waffles and a side of bacon. "You two planning something special for the festival?" she asks, her innocent tone fooling exactly no one.

"Graham's offering to help with the Carlton garden," I say, keeping my voice professional.

Sarah beams. "Oh, isn't that wonderful? Just like old times, you two working together. Remember that garden project you did for the school? Must've been, what, thirty years ago now?"

"Twenty-nine," Graham and I say simultaneously, then look away from each other.

I focus on the proposal, flipping through pages of detailed plans and timeline estimates. The sketches are beautiful, showing how he'll transform the tangle of weeds and overgrown shrubs into an elegant garden space. It's exactly what the festival needs. What the town needs.

"Well?" Graham asks quietly. “You would help me out. Something like that is bound to drum up business for me.”

I close the folder, aware of the weight of expectant eyes all around us. Mrs. Henderson at the next table isn't even pretending to eat her eggs anymore, just watching us over the rim of her coffee cup. I can practically hear the gossip spreading through town already: Did you hear? Graham Hart and Lila Bloom, working together again. Just like before he broke her heart and left town...

But I'm not that starry-eyed teenager anymore. I'm a businesswoman who needs to make the best decision for the festival and the community center. And Graham's offer is too good to refuse, no matter what memories it stirs up.

"Okay," I say. "But I have conditions."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Let me guess. You want final approval on the plant selection?"

"And the layout." I lift my chin, ignoring the way my stomach flutters when his smile widens. "This is still my project."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." He pulls the notebook closer, flipping to a fresh page. "Should we go over the timeline?"

I check my watch, calculating how long I can delay opening the shop. Through the diner's front window, I can see the first rays of sunrise painting the mountains gold, the same way they did all those mornings we spent planning our future in this booth. But that was then. This is now.

"I have twenty minutes," I say, and reach for my coffee.