CHAPTER 25
I watch Sophie bounce on her toes as we walk up Ms. Lucy’s porch steps. The screen door squeaks open before we reach it, and Tommy bursts out with a flash of brown curls.
“Sophie!”
“Tommy!” She releases my hand and runs to meet him.
The kids collide in a hug that nearly knocks them both over, giggling. My heart swells seeing her so carefree, so different from the quiet, withdrawn child she was just weeks ago.
Molly appears in the doorway, her copper hair catching the morning sun. She opens her arms and steps toward me. There’s that split-second, that tiny hesitation where my body tenses, but I push through it, letting myself be enveloped in her warm embrace. The scent of coffee and vanilla wraps around me.
“Good morning Bailey!” She squeezes me tight before pulling back. “You look great today.”
I smooth down my sundress, still not quite used to wearing something so feminine after months of living in leggings and oversized hoodies. “Thank you. So do you.”
Ms. Lucy appears behind her, already herding the kids inside. “Now y’all come on in here. I’ve got fresh lemonade cooling, and these little ones are gonna help me make a special pie for later.”
“Pie?” Sophie questions, tugging on Tommy’s hand.
Ms. Lucy smiles warmly. “Well sugar, we’re making a special peach cobbler for the bingo night prize. The seniors at the community center just love my secret recipe, and I could use some little helpers to make it extra special.” She winks at both of them. “Now don’t you two worry about a thing.” She turns to me and Molly. “These two are gonna be just fine.”
I kneel down to Sophie’s level, straightening her little butterfly clip. “You be good for Ms. Lucy, okay? I’ll be back in a little bit”
She throws her arms around my neck. “Love you, Mama.”
“Love you too, baby.” I hold her tight for a moment, breathing her in.
“Come on, Sophie!” Tommy calls from inside. “Ms. Lucy says we can feed the chickens!”
Sophie plants a kiss on my cheek before turning towards Tommy.
“They’re gonna wear me out today.” Ms. Lucy shakes her head, but her smile is fond. “Y’all go on now. Get your work done.”
We tell Ms. Lucy thank you and then Molly links her arm through mine as we walk back to our cars. “Want to hear about the spring menu we’re rolling out at the shop?”
“Please. Distract me from worrying about leaving her.”
She laughs. “She’s with Ms. Lucy. That woman raised half this town, I swear.” She pulls out her phone, scrolling through photos. “Look at these cinnamon rolls we’re testing. And we’re making this amazing iced tea with fresh mint and peach.”
“Those look incredibly perfect.” My mouth waters.
Molly’s whole face lights up. “Oh! Speaking of perfect…” She leans in her car and pulls out a paper cup. “I brought you something.”
The familiar logo of her coffee shop is stamped on the side. I take a sip and close my eyes in bliss. “You remembered my order?”
“Vanilla oat milk latte with an extra shot and a tiny splash of lavender syrup.” She looks pleased with herself. “Friends remember these things.”
Friends. The word settles on my tongue. It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve had a real friend without Matt interfering.
“Thank you,” I say, hoping she understands I mean for more than just the coffee.
“Always.” She checks her watch. “I should head to the shop. Will’s probably wondering where I am.”
“And I promised Mary Beth I’d help her with the new shipment of roses.” I take another sip of my latte.”
We wave goodbye to each other and get into our cars. It feels good having someone in my corner again, someone who remembers how I like my coffee and doesn’t judge my choices. As I make my way to Mary Beth’s, I find myself smiling, energized and looking forward to today’s tasks.
I pull into the small parking lot behind Mary Beth’s shop and walk around to the building to the front door. The bell above chimes as I enter, and the familiar scent of fresh flowers wraps around me.
“There you are, Bailey!” Mary Beth emerges from behind a display of potted orchids. “I was just about to call you.”
“Morning, Mary Beth.” I hang my purse on the coat rack behind the counter. “What’s first on the agenda today?”
She pulls out her scheduling book, flipping through the pages with practiced efficiency. “The Bexley Country Club called first thing this morning. They need those centerpieces delivered and set up before eleven for an event tonight.” She glances at the clock. “We’ve got about two hours to get everything loaded and delivered.”
“I’m on it.” I say and head to the back workroom where the centerpieces are already arranged in their crystal vases—cascading white hydrangeas mixed with pale pink roses and delicate sprays of baby’s breath. “These are gorgeous.”
“Aren’t they? I finished the last ones this morning.” She starts gathering the protective wrapping. “The van’s already backed up to the door.”
We work in comfortable silence, carefully wrapping each arrangement and loading them into the specialized holders in the delivery van. Mary Beth has this down to a science, everything secured just so to prevent any shifting during transport.
“Now remember,” she says as I climb into the driver’s seat, “Mrs. Harrison is the event coordinator. She’ll be waiting for you in the main ballroom.”
“Got it.” I double-check the delivery slip. “Main ballroom, Mrs. Harrison, twenty centerpieces.”
The drive to the Country Club takes about fifteen minutes outside of town, winding through the historic district before heading up into the hills where massive houses peek through carefully manicured landscaping. The guard at the gate waves me through after checking my delivery credentials.
Mrs. Harrison turns out to be an efficient woman in her fifties who knows exactly where she wants each centerpiece placed. We work quickly, and before I know it, all twenty arrangements are perfectly positioned on the round tables that fill the ballroom.
“These are exactly what we wanted.” Mrs. Harrison signs off on the delivery slip. “Mary Beth never disappoints.”
The delivery went smoother than I expected, and I’m feeling pretty good as I pull the van back into town. But as I turn onto Main Street, heading back to the shop, something shifts. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and my hands tighten on the steering wheel.
That feeling. The one I know too well. Like eyes boring into me.
My heart rate kicks up a notch as I check the rearview mirror. Nothing unusual, just normal morning traffic. A red pickup, a blue sedan, an SUV with a mom and kids.
But the feeling persists.
The thought of Matt crashes into my mind like an unwanted intruder. Has he figured out where we are? Is he still looking? The questions I try so hard to keep locked away during the day start spilling out. Dale. I need to call Dale about the paperwork.
I park the van behind the shop in its designated spot and start walking around to the front door. A new wave of the sensation hits me, so I slow my pace, glancing down the main street. The usual morning crowd is out and about—Mrs. Patterson walking her poodle, Mr. Henry sweeping the sidewalk in front of his hardware store across the street, a few people I don’t recognize window shopping.
Nothing seems out of place. Nothing to explain this crawling sensation between my shoulder blades.
I grab my phone, pulling up Dale’s number. My finger hovers over the call button, but I stop myself. Not here. Not now. I need to be somewhere private when I make this call.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to push the front doors open. Fighting the urge to run.
The bell’s cheerful jingle makes me jump as I step inside.
“Everything go okay at Bexley?” Mary Beth calls from somewhere near the back.
“Yeah, perfect.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Mrs. Harrison was very happy.”
I move to the workroom, needing a moment to collect myself. The familiar space helps—the long steel tables, the neat rows of tools, the peaceful hum of the cool room. But that watched feeling doesn’t fade.
Stop it, I tell myself firmly. You’re being paranoid. He doesn’t know where you are.
But another voice, smaller but persistent, whispers: Are you sure?
I busy myself with cleaning up the workroom, trying to focus on the physical tasks. Sweep the fallen leaves and stems. Wipe down the tables. Check the water levels in the buckets of fresh stock.
“Bailey?” Mary Beth appears in the doorway. “You okay, honey? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine.” I manage a smile. “Just a little tired maybe.”
She gives me that look—the one that says she doesn’t quite believe me but won’t push. “Well, when you’re done in here, I could use your help with the wedding consultation that’s coming in at one. The bride wants to discuss flower crowns for her flower girls.”
“Of course.” Grateful for the distraction, I follow her out to the front of the shop.
But even as I immerse myself in the day’s tasks, that unsettling feeling lingers. Every time the bell above the door chimes, my head snaps up. Every shadow that passes the window makes my heart skip.
I need to call Dale. Need to know where things stand with the paperwork. Need to know if Matt’s made any moves, filed any counter-claims.
But first, I have to get through work. Have to keep up the appearance of normalcy. Have to keep moving forward.
Because that’s what we do now, Sophie and I. We keep moving forward, even when fear tries to drag us back.
I pick up a bundle of roses that needs to be processed, letting their sweet scent ground me in the present moment. The thorns prick my fingers through the garden gloves, and I welcome the sensation. It reminds me that I’m here, now, in this peaceful shop with its floral scents and morning light.
Not back there. Not with him.
But still, I can’t shake the feeling.