Violet
“But first, coffee.”
The air smells like wet earth and sun-warmed petals as we pull up to Wildflower Grove.
Even after all these years, the flower farm still has the same pull, the same quiet hum of life.
The gravel crunches beneath the tires of my little car, and I can see the rows of tulips, daffodils, and wildflowers stretching across the gentle hills behind the old farmhouse.
The light is perfect, just early enough for the sun to be soft on the blooms.
I step out of my car, breathing in deeply, letting the scent of soil and flowers fill my lungs.
“Gosh, I love this place,” I say, pulling my jacket tighter.
“Of course you do, who wouldn’t?” asks Lily, hopping out from the passenger side.
Her hair is in a messy braid falling over her shoulder, and she has that kind of smile that makes you forget how early it is, her smile is soft but still beaming with joy.
“I mean, look at it; you could write a whole romance novel just standing here.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Or design a whole café around it,” I say, looking around. The thought making me smile. The Flower Pot Café had been a dream, but moments like this remind me where it all started, here, among the hands covered in soil and endless rows of flowers.
Rose and Daphne were already deep into picking.
Rose even had her little notebook open, looking at her notes of all the blooms she wanted for her home arrangements.
Daphne, on the other hand, had already tied together a loose bundle of tulips and daffodils, twirling it like a wand and looking happy with her impromptu artistry.
“Some of us like things to look elegant and intentional. Not like a three-year-old has picked them from the patch,” Rose says, teasing Daphne.
Daphne smirks. “Yeah, well, some of us like flowers to look like they actually lived instead of posed for Instagram.”
I laugh, brushing soil off my hands as I bend down to pick a bunch of lavender. The stalks are still slightly damp from the morning dew, and the fragrance immediately fills my senses. Lavender has always been my favorite; its smell can calm anyone’s nerves, I’m convinced.
“Violet, you’re hogging all the good lavender,” Lily calls from across the row.
“I need the good lavender for the café,” I reply. “I need people to smell something heavenly when they walk in.”
“Your obsession with your café is like a religion,” Rose says as she’s selecting bright yellow tulips.
“It is a religion,” I say, laughing, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You should see me on a Monday morning, pouring coffee, staring at the menu board.”
There’s a rhythm to these mornings that I love, the way we all work together, bickering just enough to keep things lively, teasing each other without ever crossing the line.
We move through the rows of flowers, floral shears snipping stalks and hands brushing petals. Each of us has a different approach: Rose with her precision, Lily with her calm, thoughtful selections, Daphne with her playful chaos, and me trying to balance everything for the café and my own home.
“So,” Lily says, breaking the comfortable silence as we walk to the next row of flowers, the peonies. “Any plans for the weekend?”
“Other than reorganizing the café’s storage area and doing some inventory?” I ask, smirking.
“Yeah, other than that,” she says, chuckling.
I giggle. “Not really. Honestly, I’m still figuring out café stuff. I might swing by Everett’s theater to go over some fundraiser plans.”
There, I said it. The name felt easy rolling off my tongue, like I’ve said it for years.
“That’s cute,” says Daphne. “How is it going hanging out with him?”
“It's good, we have fun, always something to talk about. He’s confident, but not loud. Funny but not obnoxious. And somehow, he makes it feel like I can just be myself without thinking about it too much.”
“You’re gushing,” Daphne says, smirking.
“I am not!” I defend myself.
Rose smirks. “You’re not, you’re just thoughtfully noting his admirable traits.”
We all snicker, moving to the next section where the daisies grow wild. I let myself get lost in the work for a while, tying together bouquets, smelling the flowers, watching the sunlight slant across the fields.
“So, Violet,” Lily says suddenly. “How’s the café doing these days? Is it still as busy as ever?”
“Yeah, it is,” I say, standing and wiping my hands on my pants. “Brie has been amazing, she keeps up with the pastries, and Maddie has been great with customers, always talking to them, remembering their orders. It’s everything I hoped it would be.”
“You’ve built something really special. You should be proud,” Lily says.
I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. “I am, and honestly, mornings like this make it even better. Having fresh flowers from home, making the café smell amazing, knowing people are going to love it.”
Daphne twirls a daisy between her fingers. “And do you ever get tired of us noticing how wonderful you are?”
“Never,” I say, laughing. “You three are my cheerleaders, whether you know it or not.”
Rose glances at me, playful. “And how is your little crush? Don’t think we don’t notice how quickly your eyes light up when you talk about Everett.”
“Rose! We’re not talking about him!” I say, smiling.
“You don’t have to hide it from us, Vi. We’ll tease you, yes, but we also know you have your heart guarded. Just remember, you’re allowed to enjoy it too.”
I nod, letting the words sink in as I bend down to tie another bundle for the café.
There is a thrill in being with my sisters, surrounded by the flowers I love, laughing, teasing, and sharing life.
It feels safe. And even with the thought of Everett lingering at the edge of my mind, I let myself enjoy it.
The afternoon wears on, the sun climbing higher in the sky.
We make bouquet after bouquet, selecting blooms and arranging them in vases I’d brought along.
Some went to our homes, carefully packed to avoid squishing petals, while others went to the café to brighten corners and greet customers with the scent of spring.
By the time we finish, our hands are streaked with soil.
Our fingers are dotted with cuts and scratches from stems, and our noses are tingling with the perfume of a hundred flowers.
We carry the last bundle back to the farmhouse, setting it on the kitchen table where my parents have left out iced water and lemonade for us.
Sitting around the kitchen table, we talk about everything.
Rose’s last marketing campaign, Daphene’s plans to start tutoring English to local students.
Lily’s kindergarten class antics, and of course, the never-ending list of café improvements I have in mind.
The conversation flows, the way it always does, the easy rhythm of sisters who know each other’s thoughts before they are spoken.
As the afternoon sunlight comes through the kitchen windows, I look at my sisters and feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. This farm, these flowers, these women, they are the heart of my life, grounding me when I need it most. And maybe, just maybe, there was room in my heart for a little more.