Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Amber
The bell above the door jingles softly, a gentle chime that breaks the silence of the shop. We’ve been here for nearly two hours, tucked away in the warm, floral-scented haven of Knightly Blooms.
Outside, the world is still shaking off the remnants of the snow, the sky a pale, watery gray that promises more precipitation later. But in here, it smells like wet earth, cedar, and the sweet perfume of the eucalyptus stems I just finished trimming.
Norah is settled on the stool behind the counter, her hands wrapped around a ceramic mug. It’s her second cup of that special blend Miss Thea made for her—red raspberry leaf and moonflower essence.
The steam rises in lazy curls, framing her face. She looks better than she did earlier, a bit of the color returned to her cheeks, though she still moves with that careful, deliberate slowness of someone carrying precious cargo.
I lean against the workbench, cradling my own mug of hot cocoa. It’s rich and dark, dotted with tiny marshmallows that are slowly melting into the chocolate. The warmth seeps into my fingertips, fighting off the chill that seems to live in my bones these days.
“Miss Thea really knows what she’s doing,” Norah murmurs, taking a sip.
She sighs, closing her eyes for a moment.
“My stomach actually feels settled. It’s the first time in a week I haven’t felt like I’m going to be sick every time I stand up too fast. And my heats are definitely under control now. ”
“That’s good,” I reply, staring down at the swirl of whipped cream in my cup. “You need the calories. The baby needs the calories.”
“Speaking of calories,” Norah says, her tone turning wistful, “I would kill for one of those cinnamon sugar cookies from Lorelai’s Bakery. You know the ones? With the thick glaze that cracks when you bite into them?”
I groan in agreement. “Cora must have a new batch out by now. The smell usually drifts all the way down the street by noon.”
“That guy she hired for deliveries was supposed to bring some yesterday, but with the snow…” Norah trails off, looking out the window at the slushy street. “Everything is delayed. It’s like the whole town is moving in slow motion.”
“It’s cozy, though,” I say, trying to inject some brightness into my voice. “People are slowing down. Staying inside. It’s nice to see the town so quiet.”
“It is,” she agrees. “But I’m hungry. And these pick-ups have been trickling in so slowly. I thought we’d have the wedding consults back-to-back today.”
“They’re probably rescheduling. People don’t want to drive in this mess.
” I set my mug down and pick up a pair of shears, needing to keep my hands busy.
I start stripping the lower leaves from a bunch of rosemary.
“It gives us time to organize the back room. I found three more boxes of that vintage lace you like.”
Norah brightens. “Really? Oh, that’s perfect. I can use that for the spring arrangements. See? This is why I needed to come in. I’d go crazy sitting on that couch staring at Rufus all day.”
We fall into a comfortable rhythm, talking about the different locales in Fox Hollow. We joke about how Mabel at the general store is probably spying on everyone from her window, and how James Beck is likely standing stoically by the lighthouse, ignoring the cold. It’s a nice, normal morning.
Then, my phone buzzes on the counter.
The sound is jarring, a harsh vibration against the wood. I glance down, expecting a text from Jude or maybe a reminder about Maisie’s lunch money.
Instead, the screen lights up with an unknown number. No area code I recognize, just a long string of digits that doesn’t look local.
My heart skips a beat, a flutter of unease that I try to dismiss. Telemarketers happen, even here.
I reach out to silence it, but my hand hovers. Something instinctual tells me to answer. Maybe it’s the hospital. Maybe it’s about Maisie.
I swipe the screen, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
Silence on the other end. Just the faint static of a long-distance connection.
“Hello?” I repeat, my voice tightening.
Then, a sound. A low, familiar exhale. A breath that I used to hear right next to my ear, usually right before a hand raised in anger.
“Amber.” The name is a drawl, slow and smug.
My blood runs cold, freezing instantly in my veins. The room seems to tilt, the walls of the flower shop closing in.
Luke.
I block every number he gets. I change my social media. I move states. And yet here he is, a ghost from the worst part of my life, intruding on my life.
“What do you want?” I whisper, my grip on the phone tightening until my knuckles turn white. My stomach drops, a sickening lurch that sends bile rising in my throat.
“Just wanted to talk to you. You better not hang up,” he says, his voice smooth, like he hasn’t ruined lives. “Just wanted to see how my favorite girl is doing.”
I want to throw the phone against the brick wall. I want to scream. But a primal, icy fear seizes my throat, paralyzing me.
I turn to Norah. She’s looking at her phone, giggling softly at a TikTok video, completely unaware of the war happening in my head.
“I have to take this,” I manage to choke out, the words feeling like stones in my mouth. “It’s Stella.”
Norah nods distractedly, waving a hand without looking up. “Take your time.”
I stumble toward the back door, my movements jerky and unnatural. I push through the heavy steel door, stepping into the alleyway behind the shop.
It’s colder out here, damp and smelling of wet pavement and garbage bins. I lean against the rough brick, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“You are not allowed to call me,” I hiss into the phone, my voice trembling despite my effort to sound strong. “I have a restraining order against you, Luke. This is a violation.”
“Relax, Amber. I’m nowhere near you,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his tone. “I just wanted to let you know. I’m expecting a son.”
The words hit me like a physical blow to the chest. The air leaves my lungs, and my hands shake so violently I almost drop the phone.
“A son,” I repeat, the sound hollow.
“Yeah. Me and Jessica. She’s due in July. It’s a boy. Healthy. Strong.”
Less than a year. It’s been less than a year since I lost our baby. Since I was in that hospital bed, bleeding and alone, while he was out drinking.
And he’s already moved on. He’s already replacing what we lost.
“Congratulations,” I whisper, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he grunts. “I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t the one with the problem, Amber. You were the problem. You were the one who was too broken to handle a family. Look at me now. I’m happy. I’m going to be a father.”
“You broke my wrist,” I say, tears stinging my eyes, blurring my vision. “You broke me.”
“You were clumsy,” he snaps, the mask slipping. “You were always so dramatic. Don’t contact me again. I’ve moved on. You should try doing the same instead of playing victim in that hick town you’re hiding in.”
The line goes dead.
I stand there in the alley, the phone still pressed to my ear. I try to suck in a breath, but my chest feels like it’s caved in. He’s having a baby. He’s happy. He told me I was the problem.
I wipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand, furious at the wetness I find there. I will not cry. I will not give him the satisfaction. I am not that girl anymore. I have a phoenix on my wrist. I have a daughter who needs me.
I force my breathing to slow, counting the inhales and exhales. One, two, three. The rain scent fades slightly, replaced by the damp smell of the alley.
I straighten my spine, pushing off the wall. I can do this. I just have to get through the next five minutes.
I open the back door and step inside. The warmth of the shop envelops me, but it feels suffocating now.
Norah is still on the stool, but she has her phone to her ear, laughing. “No, Wren, you’re kidding! He did what with the spatula?”
She’s talking to Wren. Of course she is. They are best friends, bonded by pregnancies and new life and perfect, happy pack dynamics.
I stand there for a second, invisible, watching her. My chest aches, a throbbing pain that has nothing to do with the cold.
I could call Stella. She would answer. She would curse Luke’s name and threaten to fly back here to castrate him.
But what would I tell her? That my ex is having a baby with someone else? That hurts, yes, but isn’t this what I wanted?
I wanted him gone. I wanted him to leave me alone forever. I wanted him to move on to someone else so he would stop terrorizing me.
So why does it feel like he’s reaching through the phone and dragging me back underwater?
I clear my throat, loudly.
Norah looks up, covering the receiver on her phone. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. My voice sounds thin, brittle. “It’s just… slow. Really slow.”
I grab my keys from the counter, the metal jingling too loudly in the quiet shop.
“I think I’m going to run over to Lorelai’s. Grab some of those cookies we were talking about. Maybe see if they have any fresh bread or anything else stocked. Since the deliveries are delayed, we might as well stock up on carbs.”
Norah’s eyes narrow slightly, studying my face. She has that Omega intuition, that nose for distress. “You sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, forcing a smile that feels grotesque. “Just hungry. Cookie craving. You know how it is.”
“Okay…” She doesn’t look convinced, but she’s too polite to push, and Wren is still talking in her ear. “Get me two of the cinnamon ones?”
“You got it.”
I turn and flee out the front door this time, ignoring the bell. The cold air hits me, but I don’t feel it.
I walk quickly to my car, my boots crunching on the salted pavement. I fumble with the key, dropping it once before managing to shove it into the lock.
I dive into the driver’s seat and slam the door shut, sealing myself in the familiar, ugly beige interior.
And then I break.