Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
By the time the detective left, Scarlett was as wrung out as a dirty dishrag.
“At least he believed us about the guy on the bike,” Archer said, staring down the hallway where Rick had left. “Maybe he can cross us off as suspects now.”
“He only believed us because Eddie was able to confirm it,” Scarlett responded, sounding bitter even to her own ears. She took a deep breath and toyed with the keys in her hand. “I want to go check out the shop.” Feeling a little silly, she lifted her gaze to Archer’s. “Will you come with me? You don’t have to if you’re busy. I know you probably have a bunch of work to do?—”
“I’ll come,” he said. “Let’s grab breakfast on the way.”
They stopped at Camilla’s bakery to get ham and cheese croissants that were way too indulgent for a weekday breakfast, not that Scarlett was complaining, then headed in the direction of Pushing Daisies. When the shop came into view, Scarlett’s breath caught.
Archer must have sensed her tension, because he put a hand on her lower back. “You okay?”
“Yeah. A little nervous about what we’ll find.”
“I’ll be right beside you.”
She glanced at him, at the stubble that had darkened on his jaw to the solemn light in his eyes, and a part of her opened to him. It was like a door in an old house that had been bolted shut and painted over, one that hadn’t been unsealed in a century. Archer only had to look at her and promise to be at her side, and that door creaked on its rusty hinges to let him in.
It was completely terrifying to become so exposed to him, like her heart was right there in the open.
But he slipped his hand in hers, and the warmth of it got her moving again. They approached the flower shop door, which had a piece of cardboard duct taped where the glass used to be, and Scarlett managed to slide the key in the lock with minimal trembling.
“You opening up again?” a woman called out from the next street corner.
Scarlett glanced over to see Martha from the grocery store wearing her green apron, her hands on her hips. She waved at the other woman. “Not yet. I only just got the keys.”
“Well, you let us know. We’ll stock some flowers this week if you’ve got any extras.”
Warmth unfurled in Scarlett’s chest. It would be so easy for Martha and Gavin and Lucy and Amelia and Camilla and everyone else in town to turn their backs on Scarlett. It would be easy for the rumor mill to chew Scarlett up and spit her out, proclaiming her a murderer. But the town was rallying around her. Even if she couldn’t open her store, she could sell Martha enough discounted flowers to make ends meet for this week, at least.
With Archer standing at her back, and the rest of her friends in town standing beside her, Scarlett realized that she’d succeeded in making a home here. Maybe finding Ethel Brown right there in her shop wouldn’t be the death of her businesses and her reputation. Maybe she’d be able to stay in Stirling and keep her head held high.
Her throat was tight when she thanked the other woman, then she opened the door to Pushing Daisies and stepped inside.
The blinds were drawn, so the only light inside were the few slivers of sunlight coming in through the slats. Archer found the switch a moment later and flicked it, and Scarlett sucked in a breath.
The police hadn’t cleaned up. There was potting soil all over the ground, swept up haphazardly. Crusty stains streaked over the tile floor, but the blood seemed to have been mostly cleaned up. She stared at the remaining rust-colored stains and wondered if it would come out of the grout, then tore her gaze away and checked on her plants.
The fridge holding most of her roses was intact. That was a boon. Almost all the orchids were a loss. Her succulents were in desperate need of some sun, so she pulled the blinds for them. Inhaling deeply, Scarlett turned and faced the carnage once more.
Archer stood in the middle of the room, staring down at the bloodstain. Then he blew out a long breath and met her gaze. “You have cleaning supplies? If not, I’ll run and grab some.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to, Scarlett. Let me help you with this.”
A gigantic lump blocked her throat. She nodded and croaked, “Thank you,” before dashing her fingers under her eyes to catch the tears that appeared there.
Then Archer’s arms were around her, and she was safe. He held her as she pulled herself together, pressing kisses to her temple every few moments. His sweater smelled like her detergent. She pulled away and gave him a tremulous smile. “Thanks. I’m okay.”
His hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking across it. “Say the word, and I’ll take care of all of this, Scarlett. You don’t have to be here.”
Her heart melted. How could he be so kind? So caring?
How could she have thought of him as a charismatic player who would use her body and toss her aside? Every hour they spent together showed her just how wrong she’d been about him, how harshly she’d judged him.
It was hard to trust her own instincts when she’d been burned so badly before—and when the man who’d burned her had made her promise to meet him for lunch today. Jackson’s presence in town was a flashing neon sign telling Scarlett to be careful, to not make the same mistakes all over again.
Which reminded her—“So, um, my ex is in town.”
Archer froze. He cleared his throat. “The one who ghosted you?” She nodded, and Archer dropped his hand from her cheek. “Oh,” he said, then frowned. “Why?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. He wanted to take me out to lunch?—”
Archer stiffened.
“—and it sounded like he knew something about the murder.”
At that, Archer’s brows drew low over his eyes. “What? How could he know anything about it?”
“I’m not sure,” Scarlett replied. “He said he’d tell me when I met up with him today.”
“Today.” The word was bitten off.
Scarlett blinked up at him. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”
Archer took a step back and shook his head. “No. You’re free to have lunch with whoever you want to. I’m just…surprised, is all.”
“That makes two of us,” Scarlett answered, snorting. She hesitated. After what she and Archer had done last night, their relationship was shifting rapidly. But she wasn’t one to shy away from hard conversations, and she wasn’t going to go down the path of casual sex anymore. So she squared her shoulders and said, “I’m not interested in rekindling anything with my ex, Archer. I hope you understand that.” She reached for him, straightening the lapel of his quilted workman’s jacket. “I’ve met someone else recently. A local contractor who’s handsome and successful and charming, and who makes me feel kind of giddy when he kisses me.”
He met her eyes when she lifted her gaze, his expression softening. “Giddy?”
“I get butterflies every time.”
His answering smile sent a lightning bolt through Scarlett’s chest. Getting up on her tiptoes, she pressed a soft kiss to Archer’s lips, her stomach fluttering with soft wingbeats.
They pulled away and turned to look at the mess at her feet. Archer squeezed her hand. “I’ve got a bunch of cleaning supplies I use for work. I’ll go grab them and we can get started.”
“Thank you.”
She watched him leave, then rolled up her sleeves and grabbed a broom.
An hour later, they were both suited up with gloves and glasses, surrounded by industrial-strength cleaning products. Scarlett had succeeded in sweeping up most of the potting soil, and she was attacking the final bit of dried-out dirt that had gathered beneath the table of succulents. She’d let Archer deal with the biohazard areas.
The door burst open, and Camilla strode through bearing a box of pastries. “We’re here!” she announced.
“How can I help?” Lucy asked, crossing the room to wrap an arm around Scarlett.
Amelia was last through the door, inspecting the shop with a sharp gaze. She nodded once. “We can do this.”
Scarlett frowned. “Uh—do what?”
“Your grand re-opening!” Camilla beamed, setting the box of treats down on the counter and opening it with a flourish.
“We think you should have a party,” Lucy explained. “I made an invitation you can post online.” She swiped her phone open and showed Scarlett the pretty, floral invitation on the screen, complete with Scarlett’s logo. “We just need to decide the date.”
“Tomorrow, maybe?” Amelia said, grabbing the broom from Scarlett’s hands to get to work.
“Tomorrow!” Scarlett exclaimed. “Well—I don’t know. I need to go to the wholesalers and see what kind of flowers I can get this week. And there’s a daylily farm that still has some stock. And then there’s the rest of the cleanup, and if we’re doing an event, we’ll need food?—”
“We planned my wedding in less than a week,” Lucy said with a wave of her hand. “A grand re-opening is a piece of cake.”
“How about Friday?” Amelia asked. “That gives us two days. We could do an afternoon party.”
“That would work,” Camilla agreed.
Scarlett met Archer’s gaze across the room. He grinned. “Sounds good to me,” he said.
Warmth flooded Scarlett’s chest as her eyes began to prickle. How could she have doubted that she belonged here, with these people? Her friends wouldn’t desert her simply because someone had died in her shop. They’d probably use their considerable skills in graphic design, catering, and analytics to spin the murder into some kind of successful marketing campaign.
Archer’s gaze softened as he watched her. His lips curled, and Scarlett felt a dart of…something…in her heart. Maybe she could have it all? What if she and Archer explored what was between them, and neither of them had to lose their friend group?
What if everything worked out just perfectly?
An alarm went off on Scarlett’s watch, interrupting her dreams of bliss. She groaned. “I have to go meet this guy.”
Archer’s jaw tightened while Lucy tilted her head and said, “Which guy?”
“My ex-boyfriend showed up in town this week.”
Everyone stilled. It was Camilla who spoke first. “The one who ghosted you?”
Amelia’s blond brows were drawn low over her eyes. “The one whose mommy broke up with you on his behalf?”
Scarlett grimaced. “Yeah. He said he wanted to talk about the murder.”
“The murder?” Amelia repeated.
“What does he know about the murder?” Lucy asked.
Scarlett shrugged. “I have no idea. That’s why I’m meeting him.”
“I think you should tell him to kick rocks,” Camilla said. “Chase him out of town and tell him to go terrorize someone else.”
“I’ll do it for you if you like,” Archer volunteered.
“Har-har,” Scarlett answered, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“We’ll have this place spick and span by the time you come back,” Camilla promised.
“You don’t have to do that.” Scarlett went to the sink behind the register to wash her hands and glanced at her friends over her shoulder. “It’s not your responsibility to clean this place up for me.”
Lucy clicked her tongue. “Stop it, Scarlett. We’re your friends.”
That warm glow in Scarlett’s chest returned as she dried her hands and gathered her purse. Archer approached, speaking quietly so the three other ladies couldn’t hear. “You want me to come with you? If he’s going to tell you about the murder…”
Scarlett shook her head. “I think I have to do this on my own.”
His face was blank as he nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you later?”
She smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Definitely.”
She bid her friends goodbye and stepped out into the chilly autumn air, then turned in the direction of the restaurant where her past awaited her. She’d put it to bed today, once and for all.
Archer watched Scarlett disappear through the door, rattled. He hated the thought of her going to see another man. But more than that, he hated how powerless he felt. How small.
“So, you and Scarlett, huh?” Lucy popped into existence in front of him, her dark hair gathered in a high ponytail. Her eyes were narrowed as she watched him. “When did that happen?”
“I… We aren’t…” Archer cleared his throat. How could he explain the changes that had happened over the past week?
The three women in the shop had stopped cleaning to stare at him.
Pressure ground into him. What if he told them how he felt, and they made him feel like he didn’t deserve Scarlett? What if this was just the first conversation of many where he had to be made to feel small and stupid and unworthy?
He hadn’t spoken to his parents since his mother’s birthday. But this, right here, could be the start of that same dynamic all over again, except it would be worse, because the derision would come from people he truly cared about.
Fear choked him, and Archer couldn’t do it. He couldn’t open up to these women. Not right now.
Instead, he gave them his best lady-killer smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It became clear that that had been the wrong tack when Camilla set her mop aside and marched up to him. She stuck her index finger in his face and said, “If you hurt her, I’ll strangle you with your own entrails, pretty boy.”
He blinked.
Camilla held his gaze for a long moment, then grabbed the box of pastries resting on the counter behind him. She smiled beatifically and presented the box to him. “Chocolate croissant?”