Chapter One #3
I stared at the keys.
House keys. Car keys. Shop keys. An entire life, jangling in a neat little circle on the coffee table when I didn’t reach for them.
“I’ll leave them here,” he said when I still didn’t move. He set them down gently and snapped his briefcase closed. “Do you have any questions?”
“Not right now,” I managed. My head felt stuffed with cotton.
He nodded, reached into his breast pocket, and handed me a business card. “If you think of any, call me.”
I took it automatically. Black ink on white stock.
Roger Schneider, Attorney at Law.
Then he was gone, the front door closing behind him with a soft click.
That left me alone with my father.
George Wakefield still looked like the quiet, bookish man who’d taught me the difference between a nebula and a galaxy using a National Geographic spread at the kitchen table.
Brown cardigan. White dress shirt. Black polyester slacks.
Horn-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose. Pipe clenched between his teeth.
For a second, I braced myself for some profound fatherly wisdom. Something like, We’ll figure this out together, kiddo.
“Well,” he said, removing the pipe from his mouth. “I think I’ll make some coffee.”
And… nope.
He shuffled toward the kitchen, as if his entire world hadn’t tilted thirty degrees to the left.
I stared after him, then snatched the keys off the coffee table and followed, my heels clicking on the tile like punctuation.
I caught him as he reached for the coffee canister in the cabinet.
“Dad,” I blurted. “Why would Aunt Alice do this?”
“Don’t know, Piper.” He filled the pot at the sink. “But clearly, she loved you. Or she wouldn’t have willed you everything.”
“But it doesn’t make sense.” I leaned against the island, the keys biting into my palm. “Mom is her only sister. Iris lives here. They’ve been in each other’s pockets for years. Iris is right—I haven’t set foot in Hickory Hollow for ten years and suddenly I’m… what? An heiress?”
He set the empty coffee pot on the counter, then circled the island and placed his hands gently on my shoulders. His eyes were kind behind the smudged lenses.
“I wouldn’t worry so much about them. They’re mad and hurt right now. They’ll get over it. In time, they’ll accept it.”
“Dad—”
“Alice must’ve seen something special in you,” he went on. “To give you her home. Her shop. All that money. She believed in you, Piper.”
“But what did she see?” I asked, voice cracking. “What did she think I could do that no one else could?”
“Only Alice knows that, I suppose.” He moved back to the counter, rinsed out the pot, and started filling it with water. “You spent a lot of time with her when you were a girl.”
“Yes, but that was because I wanted to.” I sank onto one of the barstools, elbows on the island.
“The greenhouse, the garden…” I smiled faintly at the memory.
“There was something magical about it. I used to pretend I was a fairy princess with iridescent wings, remember? I’d run between the tables and ‘fly’ between the flowers. ”
He glanced over his shoulder at me, eyes soft. “You were always my fairy princess,” he said. “Still are.”
The sting behind my eyes returned full force. “Thanks, Dad.”
He smiled and flipped the coffee maker on. “For what it’s worth,” he added, “I’m glad you’re back. And I’m glad you’ll be staying. It was too hard to keep up with you on that MyFace thing.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Facebook, Dad.”
He waved a hand. “Whatever you call it.”
Silence settled between us, thick but not entirely uncomfortable. The coffee maker burbled to life.
I twirled the keys around one finger. I wanted out. Desperately. A way to honor Alice without chaining myself to a small-town life I’d never wanted. Maybe Clay could take the shop. Maybe there was a legal loophole. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Something about the word ever gnawed at me. Something about Enchanted Blossoms as more than a quaint small-town florist. About the way Alice used to talk about flowers like they remembered things, like they were listening.
“I guess I’ll be here for a while, at least,” I said finally. “Until I figure everything out.”
“Alice wanted you to have her business and her home because she believed in you,” my father said again, turning to look at me fully. “She loved you like you were her own. She worried about you in ways that were different from the others.”
I thought about that. Thought about the rows of pictures she kept on the mantel. Thought about how she always let me stay with her whenever I wanted. Until my mother shut that down when I was a teenager.
“And I loved her, too,” I said. Because we’d had a special bond.
“Don’t ever feel guilty for accepting what she chose to give you,” he said. “No matter what anyone else thinks.”
I exhaled slowly. The keys were warm in my hand now.
“You’re right,” I said. “In the morning, I’ll go to her house and check it out.”
And maybe I’d figure out what on earth Alice had expected of me… and why the word enchanted suddenly didn’t feel like clever branding anymore.