Chapter 10
JULIETTE
Old Town at dusk feels like it’s in on a secret. Tonight’s the kind of evening where the light goes soft, the sidewalks slow down, and the cherry blossoms are showing off like they know exactly what they’re doing.
I pause outside Vivian’s jewelry store when I spot the sign taped to the door, written in neat, confident handwriting:
CLOSED EARLY FOR BOOK CLUB
I push inside anyway and point at it. “Book club? You have a book club now?”
The shop glows. Glass cases line the walls, catching the light and throwing it back in small, sharp flashes—diamonds, gold, silver, all of it arranged with deliberate care.
Every surface seems to shimmer just a little, like the place is permanently mid-twinkle.
It’s elegant without being intimidating, the kind of space that makes you straighten your shoulders without realizing you’ve done it.
Behind the counter, a woman I’ve never met laughs—easy and genuine.
“No,” she says. “Vivian just thinks it sounds more professional than closed because we felt like it.”
She has dark chestnut hair, warm brown eyes, and the relaxed confidence of someone who belongs exactly where she is. A Vivian-type, through and through. I see it instantly.
Vivian raises her wine glass. “It absolutely does.”
I snort and slide onto one of the stools. “So this is book club.”
“Yes,” Vivian says solemnly. “We’re reading a very important novel called Cabernet.”
Her partner in crime lifts her glass. “Excellent vintage.”
“Juliette, meet Lucy,” Vivian adds, pouring a glass of wine for me. “We’ve been friends since high school, which means she knows all of my crimes.”
Lucy smiles sweetly. “And I’ve kept receipts.”
Vivian grins at Lucy. “Wait for this,” she says before she turns my way. “Lucy’s twin brother plays for the Dominion.”
“No. No?” I groan and tip my head back. “I’m surrounded.”
Lucy laughs. “Why? It’s just hockey.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It may be ‘just’ hockey to you, but to me, it’s everywhere lately. At least in my universe, it is.”
“Well, I grew up with it,” Lucy says. “So I’ve been around it for as long as I can remember. My dad played. Uncles, too. Brothers played, of course, and I was a goalie on a junior league team for years.”
I stare at her. “You were?”
“Yeah,” she says, like this is a normal thing people casually drop into conversation. “If my brother was doing it, I figured I might as well. I loved it. I just stopped because I wanted other things.”
“That is extremely hot of you,” Vivian says, deeply impressed.
Lucy’s gaze shifts to me. “Wait. Is Sawyer Stockton doing community outreach at your shop?”
“Unfortunately,” I say, deadpan.
Lucy lights up. “Too funny.”
“Did you tell me you’re meeting up with him tonight?” Vivan asks.
“Yeah, we’re filming soon.” I glance at my watch. “In about ten minutes.”
“But it’s after hours,” Vivian says slowly.
Lucy squints. “You’re filming?”
“Or not.” Vivian snorts. “Maybe they’re going to dinner.”
“Can you imagine?” Lucy gasps. “Although, to be fair, Liam told me to stay away from Sawyer. Apparently, he dates like a guy in the throes of a midlife crisis."
“Well, rest assured we are not going out on a date tonight,” I say quickly. “We’re filming more content for the store. That’s it. I sold out of snake plants last weekend because Sawyer told people to go get one. Who sells out of snake plants? They’re not even cute.”
Vivian chokes on her wine.
“I mean,” I add, “no offense to snake plants. I’m sure if the Dominion PR team heard me say that, they’d make me apologize in a video while hugging one.”
Lucy is laughing. “So what kind of content are you filming?”
“We’re picking a new plant,” I say. “Sawyer’s going to do something with it, a plant care tip of some kind, and then we’ll post it. Apparently, that small act makes people buy things.”
“That’s amazing,” Vivian says.
“How is having extra homework for a few weeks amazing?”
“Because you’re making money, and that means we on the street reap those benefits, too.
” She lifts her glass. “The other day when you were slammed, we had a wave of people come in here, too. So honestly, keep sending them. If you want some of those gentle giants holding jewelry, I am thrilled to host them.”
Lucy tilts her head. “I don’t know many single women who would be able to handle Sawyer Stockton at such close quarters. A hockey heartthrob, in your shop. Constantly.”
“Right?” Vivian’s eyes light up. “Constantly.”
“It’s not like I begged for him to be,” I say immediately. “There’s nothing to see there.”
Lucy grins. “One thing I’ve learned is that people always say these exact words when there is, in fact, something to see.”
Vivian leans across the counter. “I think he’s sweet. He brought donuts and gave her shop assistant tickets to a game. And I’ve seen the videos. The man has main-character energy.”
“It’s like the perfect meet cute in a romance book, isn’t it?” Lucy says dreamily, batting her lashes dramatically. “Sawyer Stockton: Book Boyfriend. Man, to have a hot single guy dumped right in your lap…”
“I am standing right here,” I remind her.
“And you,” Vivian continues, unfazed, “have not dated in years.”
“That’s because I was busy being married, and since that ended, I’m now working on ‘emotionally stable and financially responsible,’” I say.
Lucy snorts. “Booooring.”
“I mean it,” I insist, doing my best to not laugh nor buckle under the humorous pressure of these two. “This is a business arrangement. I’ve got plants, he’s got a media presence and his own agenda to deal with. That’s it.”
Vivian hums. “Still.”
Lucy squints thoughtfully. “She’s right Viv. Again. He’s on track for his mid-life crisis Porsche, any day now.”
“Which is another reason this conversation is ridiculous,” I say, feeling slightly vindicated. I point at Lucy. “Mid-life crisis dater. Not my thing.”
“But he’s not dating anyone we know of now,” Vivian says, eyes dancing.
“I came here for wine and to relax before we film and now…” My voice trails off. I can tell with these two I won’t be getting anywhere.
Lucy points at Vivian and nods. “But, he is spending time, like nights off, at a very cute plant shop with a very cute single mom.”
“You two are ridiculous,” I say, picking up their bottle of wine. “What is in this?”
Vivian lifts her glass. “I’m just saying…sometimes life sends you things wrapped in extremely tall hockey players.”
“And sometimes,” I say dryly as I open the door to make a swift exit from these two, “it sends you emotional chaos disguised as a social-media campaign.”
Their laughter follows me onto the sidewalk, but somehow, I’m smiling when I walk back toward my shop.
“Take three,” I say, watching Sawyer angle the plant like it’s a newborn. “You’re about to drown it. Again.”
He squints at the pot. “I’m being gentle.”
“You’re being enthusiastic,” I say. “Those are not the same thing.”
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear, I can take a hit from a two-hundred-pound defenseman, but this plant is making me nervous.”
“Good,” I say. “It should.”
There’s music playing from my phone on the counter—his idea, because he showed up with that bone-deep tired look that says away games, practice, and being a functioning adult have all conspired against him.
He took my phone without asking and built a playlist like he belongs here, leaning over the counter, scrolling with easy confidence.
Somehow it feels less rude than it should. It’s familiar. Comfortable.
The shop settles into it. Leaves rustle when the heater kicks on. The lights glow warm against rows of green. It’s just us, the muted hush of a store that should be asleep, and music filling the space in between.
A new song starts and I watch as Sawyer freezes. Not in a big, obvious way, but enough that I notice.
“Can you skip this one?” he asks, too quick, like he’s already bracing.
“Let me guess.” I glance at the screen, then I look back at him. “One of your exes?”
His expression is wry. “Yeah.”
I laugh, because what else am I supposed to do? “It must be exhausting dating the women you’ve dated.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Why?”
“Well,” I say, tapping the screen as I skip the track, “I just bypassed a hit song for you. Can you even go into a grocery store without emotionally ambushing yourself? Or is that just the soundtrack of aisle seven?”
He laughs. “Do you think that’s all I’ve ever dated?”
“That’s what people keep telling me.”
He tilts his head, thoughtful. “I guess I did go through a phase.”
“A phase,” I repeat. “For me, a phase was dying my hair purple and wearing nothing but sixties dresses.”
He grins. “Oh, I had a phase.”
My eyebrow goes up. “Please tell me more.”
“People who looked incredible standing next to me,” he says. “Very impressive in photos.”
“And?”
“It was beyond exhausting in real life.”
“Funny how the photos and articles don’t show people that, isn’t it?” I watch him for a moment, before remembering something. “Forgot to tell you, I’ve scheduled another reporter to come on Friday. Your ‘people’ called and asked, so I was nice again. Hope that’s okay.”
“It’s okay with me,” he says softly. “As long as it doesn’t cause you any issues.”
Another song comes on. This one is bright and bouncy, all rhythm and optimism, like it was specifically designed to rescue awkward moments. The plants seem to perk up as the beat fills the shop.
Sawyer’s eyes light up instantly, like someone just flipped a switch. The wariness from a second ago vanishes, replaced by that easy warmth he carries when he’s not guarding himself.
“Oh. This one,” he says, already smiling. “Come on.”
“Come on what?”
“Dance. With me.”
I blink. “What?”
“Just dance,” he says, already moving. “We need energy for the next shot. We’ve got one more take. Dance with me.”
“Absolutely not.”
He keeps moving anyway, ridiculous and charming and impossible to ignore. “Come on. Relax. Move with me.”
“Stop it.”
“Juliette.”
I snort despite myself. “You are unhinged.”
“True. But also, I’m fun. Come on.”
He reaches for my hands without thinking, and I let him. There’s no choreography to it. No plan. Just him, swaying a little off-beat, laughing at himself, making space for me like he fully expects I’ll step into it. And somehow, I do.
The distance between us shrinks as the music wraps around us and the moment. He spins me once—clumsy, delighted—and the sound that escapes me is real laughter, the kind that catches you by surprise. His hands hover at my waist, careful, asking without words. When they settle, it feels right. Easy.
For a few seconds, it’s just movement and a measured realization that we’re smiling at each other like we’ve forgotten everything else exists. Like this moment we’ve encapsulated is enough.
We’re laughing, spinning a little, bumping into shelves like we’re twelve and at a school dance, all elbows and bad timing and zero self-consciousness. My chest feels light and warm. Too full, like something’s tipped over and I’m not sure how to put it back where it belongs.
The music cuts out and we stop.
The sudden quiet feels loud. Intimate. My pulse skids, and I become acutely aware of how close we are—how easily this could tip into something else if neither of us moves. How our hands are still intertwined.
Sawyer’s expression shifts. The playfulness fades, replaced by something softer. Something real settles behind his hazel eyes, like he’s seeing me instead of the moment.
It hits me like a punch to the stomach.
I pull back quickly, probably too quickly, breaking the connection before I can talk myself out of it. “So—right. Where were we?”
He blinks, like he’s just remembering there’s a world outside this space.
“The video,” I say, too fast, my hands flying to my hair, smoothing it. “We have to finish the video.”
The words land between us, practical and flimsy all at once. And somehow, it feels like the most dangerous lie I’ve told all day. Because the last thing I want to do right now is finish a video.
What I want is to stay right here in the quiet, in the almostness of what could be, in the place where neither of us has said anything yet.
Sawyer nods slowly, like he understands something he’s not ready to name either.
“Yeah,” he says. “The video.”
But the way he looks at me tells me we’re both pretending this is just about plants now.