Chapter 2
Harmony
Val-du-Lys woke slowly. The sky was gray at first and then turned pale gold as the day settled over Main Street.
I unlocked Petals & Pines, flipped on the lights, and opened the cooler.
The air inside was cold and clean. I set fresh buckets, filled them at the sink, and began hydrating eucalyptus and ranunculus.
Sandy came in behind me with a to-go cup balanced on a stack of order slips. “Eucalyptus first,” she said. “Then ranunculus. And try not to glare at them. They bruise when they feel judged.”
“I’ll be nice,” I assured, even though the stems had a way of tangling just to test me.
Across Main Street, Thorne’s Bakehouse was already moving.
The delivery van idled at the curb. An employee flipped the OPEN sign.
Through the front window, Eric moved between the ovens and the prep table.
He wore his cap backward like he had in high school, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
He set a tray, checked a timer, and corrected a teen’s grip on a sheet pan with a brief two-finger tap.
The kitchen adjusted around him like he was timing the whole room.
“Careful,” Sandy said with a smile as she wrote notes on her clipboard. “If you stare harder, you’ll steam our window.”
“I’m just looking.”
“Of course you are.” She flipped a page. “Heads up—Noah Tremblay texted. He’s with the Laurentian Community Trust, the group coordinating festival security and those ‘complimentary’ cameras for Main Street. He wants to stop by later to go over the map.”
“Oh, I remember him from high school.”
“Apparently, he left town for a while like you. He came back last year. He was hired by the Trust. Nice guy, helpful,” she said matter-of-factly.
I nodded.
We opened on time. A teacher came in with tired eyes and asked for three small jars that said I’m proud of you without making anyone cry.
A man in work boots wanted something simple for an apology.
A grandmother asked for “one of those airy bouquets, but not expensive.” I trimmed stems, tied ribbons, and kept the counter clear. The rhythm of it helped.
At nine thirty, the bakery called. A woman named Maya said, “Hi, florist across the street, the Monroes are celebrating forty-six years. I’ve got their pastry box ready. Do you have the flowers?”
“On my way,” I said, sliding their arrangement into a carry box.
Sandy pressed a small plant into my hand. “For Eric,” she said.
“Okay,” I said with confusion.
“It’s nice for him to add some flowers to his shop,” she explained.
I crossed the street. Inside Thorne’s, the air smelled like yeast and coffee. A mother argued with her toddler about the health benefits of having blueberries in a muffin. Maya waved me over.
“Set the flowers here by the register,” she directed.
Eric came out with a tray of cinnamon knots. He set them in the case and wiped his hands on a towel. I handed him the plant.
“It’s for you,” I said. “Sandy said it was for your shop.”
“Thanks,” he replied and placed it on the counter by the register. He didn’t soften, but he offered a slight smile.
“Do you have the Monroe order?” I asked.
“Packed and tied,” he said, nodding at a white box with twine.
I nodded, hating how awkward things felt between us. Not that I expected anything different. I left without goodbye. He had a right to be angry. Here I was, eight years later. I couldn’t act like we didn’t have a past. Not when I tried so hard to forget it and never could.
A bell over the door rang. I recognized Noah Tremblay the moment he entered the bakeshop, except he looked like an older more mature version of the guy I remembered.
“Harmony Bellerose, you’re back in town.” He smiled.
“I am.”
“Here to stay? Or short visit?” he asked.
“Here to stay,” I answered, giving Eric a side glance. Noah was a bit flirty and a part of me wanted Eric to react, even if I had no right.
“Welcome home.” He grinned. “I’m working with the Laurentian Community Trust. We’re coordinating festival security and Main Street’s camera coverage. I’m confirming placements and schedules this week.”
“Nice, Sandy mentioned you’d be stopping by Petals and Pines,” I replied.
“Yup, later this afternoon to review your door hours so we’re not blocking deliveries. Ten minutes, tops.”
“That’s fine,” I agreed. “We’re open nine to six.”
“Perfect,” he said, and left as quickly as he came.
The room felt calmer when the door shut.
“Thanks for the plant,” Eric said, almost as an afterthought.
“You’re welcome,” I replied awkwardly.
I reached for the Monroe bouquet. He reached for the handle at the same time. We both paused.
“I can carry it,” I offered.
“I know.” He slid the pastry box off the counter instead. “I’ll take the sweets.”
We walked out together. Halfway across Main Street his radio crackled, “All units, Carignan brush fire is contained. Volunteers stand by.”
He thumbed the transmit button. “Thorne, copy.”
“Copy that,” the dispatcher replied.
He clipped the radio back onto his belt. His posture shifted slightly, like something inside him had just checked a box and moved on.
“You still volunteer?” I asked.
“Yes. When I can.”
I wanted to ask if he wished he were there instead of here, but I already knew the answer. I also knew he had built a life around doing what needed to be done, not what he wanted. He had always been like that.
We delivered the sweets and flowers to the Monroes. They were so happy it made my throat tight for reasons that were not about flowers or sugar. On the way back, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It showed an unknown number. I let it go to missed call. It rang again immediately. I answered.
Static came first. Then Olivier’s voice. “Ten tonight. Old Mill Road.”
“No,” I said. “Stop calling me from numbers I can’t block and start acting like my brother and not some crazy person.”
He hung up. I put the phone away. I told myself it was a test I had just passed. The ache in my chest did not agree.
Eric noticed the way I tucked the phone away. He didn’t ask questions and I didn’t offer. That felt familiar for both of us. Back at the curb, the alley light behind Petals and Pines flickered. It had always been unreliable, but the sight of it still raised the hair on my arms.
“Did Sandy get the deadbolt on her back door fixed?” he asked. His voice was steady and careful, like he was trying not to step on a bruise.
“I don’t know, I’ll ask her,” I assured, but I knew what he was insinuating. Somehow danger was following me again. As hard as I tried to escape it, my family always tried to draw me in. In the eight years I’d been gone that hadn’t changed.
“Make sure it gets fixed soon,” he said. He started to say more, then swallowed it. I knew the sentence he had not said: I will fix it myself. We were not those people anymore.
“I know, I remember,” I said.
“I’m heading to Maple Valley for deliveries,” he shifted awkwardly.
“Enjoy your morning,” I replied. It came out more formal than I intended.
“You too,” he smiled, and crossed the street without looking back.
I watched him go and hated how we sounded like strangers, who wished they weren’t, sharing a sidewalk. I told myself time would smooth things out. Then I remembered time had not fixed anything else, so why would things be different with Eric?
The rest of the morning stayed busy. I wrote a card for a promotion that needed to sound proud without sounding like a speech. I made a small apology bouquet. At noon, Noah stepped into the shop with his binder and a clear agenda.
“I’m here to confirm the festival route and the times our team will be on your block,” he said. “We want to avoid crowding you during deliveries. Would you prefer our checks at 10:00 a.m. or 2:00 p.m.?”
“2:00 p.m.,” Sandy replied. “We get morning suppliers.”
“Two it is,” he said, marking it down. “Thanks for the time.” He smiled at Sandy and then looked my way.
His eyes rolling over me in a way that said he was noticing me as a woman.
He was a good-looking man, but I felt nothing.
I never did. I’m pretty sure it’s because my short affair with Eric ruined me for every other man.
At one, our bell chimed. Nico leaned in the doorway with that same grin he had used at sixteen when he wanted something. My stomach dipped. I reminded myself I was not that girl anymore.
“Harmony,” he said. “You look good. Shop suits you. Welcome home.”
“I’m working,” I returned curtly as my blood ran cold. “What do you need?”
“Just came to say welcome back,” he said. “Your dad asked about you.”
“From jail?” I asked, and Nico’s eyes darkened.
“He has phone rights,” he explained. “And lawyer rights,” he added. I didn’t know what that meant, other than I knew my father was facing a slew of charges and was standing trial.
“My father only asks about control,” I reminded. “We both know the difference.”
His grin faded half an inch. “You still think you’re better than us?” I hated that question. Nico and my brother always liked to throw that comment in my face.
“I have a job to do,” I deadpanned. “And I think you should let me do it.”
He tried to look over my shoulder toward the bakery window, like he was checking who might be watching. I stepped forward so the door gently bumped his shoulder. “Goodbye, Nico.”
He lifted both hands. “It’s a small town. We’ll be seeing each other.”
“Not if I see you first,” Sandy said from the counter without looking up. He laughed like it was a joke and left.
I exhaled. My hands shook a little. I told myself it was leftover adrenaline from the morning rush.
The truth was simpler: I had believed that eight years away would be enough to change everything about this place, including me.
It had not. I was still me. The town was still the town.
The difference had to come from what I did now.
Sandy pushed a small vase toward me. “You okay?”
“I’m still standing. That counts.”
“It does,” she agreed. “Also, you have a customer who needs a corsage that looks like he tried.”
I made a clean, white spray-rose corsage and kept the ribbon simple. The boy paid in crumpled bills and walked out straighter than he came in. Small wins were still wins.
The afternoon went by. Students walked home.
A few tourists drifted through. I cleaned buckets at the sink and watched water run cold over my hands until the noise in my head faded to something manageable.
Across the street, Eric had his cap off, hair pushed back, and a crease between his brows that did not belong to baking.
He corrected the teen’s tray angle again.
The kid got it on the second try. Maya handled the register with a steady smile.
I tried not to stare and failed. He had chosen to be here when his whole body wanted to be somewhere else: the firehouse, orchard, anywhere that felt like action. He kept going anyway. I had loved that about him once and resented it at the same time. It pulled him toward duty first.
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown number: Ten. Old Mill Road. Don’t make me ask again. —O.
I deleted it and blocked the number, even though I knew he would just find another. I told myself I was strong enough to hold my ground. Then I wondered if coming back had been a mistake. Strength feels obvious from a distance and complicated up close.
We closed at six. I locked the front door and pulled the shade.
“Sandy, I forgot to ask. Eric mentioned earlier there was a deadbolt on the back door that needed fixing.”
“It’s been done. Pierre got to it yesterday,” she said.
I frowned. “If me working for you is a problem, I’ll understand,” I said to her. “I’m sorry about Nico dropping in like that.”
She walked over to me with a kindness that almost undid me.
“Sweetheart, we all deserve kindness in life. You aren’t your father’s legacy.
You have a right to live your own life and my boyfriend happens to be the police director, so we’re safe.
” She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a half hug.
“Thank you a million times,” I said to her.
“No, thank you. It’s been great having you as an employee, the customers love your work.”
That made me feel good because there was nothing like a day of honest work. That much I knew.
Sandy handled the back door and I went up to the loft upstairs.
It was small and quiet and mine. I set my bag on the chair, opened the window an inch, and let the cool air settle the room.
From the balcony, the street put itself to bed.
The bakery windows glowed for a few minutes longer and then went dark.
I told myself being able to see the life I wanted did not mean I had to take it all at once.
Sandy hollered from the sidewalk and held up a paper bag. “Dinner,” she called. “So you do not try to live on tea.”
“Thank you.” I went downstairs and took the bag from her. I wasn’t an affectionate person, but I gave her a good hug and squeezed her a bit too strong.
She gave me a smile that said she understood and I took the paper bag from her.
The soup and bread tasted better than anything I had made for myself in months.
I sat at the small table by the window and allowed myself time to think.
Coming home had felt brave when I typed yes to Sandy’s text.
It felt less brave now that Olivier was calling, Nico was smiling, and Eric was across the street carrying a life he never asked for.
Maybe I had expected the town to meet me halfway. Maybe I needed to meet myself first.
I washed the bowl, set it in the rack, and checked the locks. The quiet in the loft was simple. My heart was not. I lay down anyway and let the day go. If I was wrong about coming back, I would have to be the one to make it right. If I was strong enough, I would prove it here.
Sleep found me before the doubts did. That felt like progress.