Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
ZOE
The mayor and Edith’s wedding day had come quicker than Zoe could’ve ever imagined.
She’d managed to transform the Cinnamon Spice Inn into something out of a storybook.
Outside, Zach’s handiwork stood proud in the garden: a newly built gazebo draped in garlands of roses, phlox, and greenery, the archway wound with thistle and veronica so that when Edith stepped beneath it, she’d be framed in a living tapestry of her roots.
White folding chairs fanned out in tidy rows across the grass, their ends marked with posies of roses and trailing ribbon.
Inside, the inn glowed with soft lantern light and the fragrance of fresh flowers.
Ivory Avalanche roses bloomed at the heart of each arrangement, their creamy petals opening like promises.
They were laced through with purple eustoma, sprigs of spiky blue veronica, soft tufts of thistle, delicate white phlox, and layers of fresh, seasonal greenery.
Each piece shimmered with intention, every color threaded with meaning.
Every windowsill held a vase of blooms, and garlands swept down banisters. The air was alive with anticipation, voices carrying as guests began to arrive—laughter in the foyer, the scrape of chairs being adjusted, the faint hum of a string quartet warming up in the corner.
Despite her best efforts, Zoe hadn’t found the Moonlight Kiss in time for the wedding.
She and Krista had spent the past two evenings hiking the forest, tracing first what was left of the old Cherry Blossom Trail, then exploring the various ridges in the area.
They’d tried to reach the spot she and Jackson had seen from across the river, where the remains of an old settlement sat tucked in a bend of the water, but the current was too strong to cross, and every detour they searched for led to a dead end.
More than once, Zoe caught herself wishing she’d had Jackson’s list—the one he’d kept so neatly updated, marking every lead and location they’d checked. It would’ve made things easier, more organized. But since they’d agreed to give each other space, she hadn’t wanted to reach out.
In the end, Edith had been nothing but gracious. “Don’t you worry about it,” she’d told Zoe with a kind smile. “It’ll be found when it wants to be found. Perhaps the mayor and I aren’t the couple who needs it most.”
Zoe was thankful Edith wasn’t too disappointed, but still, she wasn’t going to give up looking for it. Maybe after the wedding when the spring rains slowed and the river calmed down.
Zoe stepped back from the last centerpiece she’d placed in the dining hall, brushing stray petals from her palms. For a heartbeat, she let herself savor the culmination of a week’s work, the sheer beauty of it all.
But she also knew that every eye in Maple Falls would soon be here to witness not only Edith’s vows but also, inevitably, her and Jackson’s charade of a romance.
Twenty-two more days, she reminded herself.
A little bit more than three weeks until the Spring Fling.
They hadn’t seen each other since that night. Since they’d agreed no more time alone. No more blurred lines. And now here they were, about to spend an entire evening surrounded by love and champagne and slow dances. The universe, apparently, had a cruel sense of humor.
How was she supposed to stand next to him in the glow of twinkle lights, to smile and play the part of the perfect girlfriend, when her heart ached just thinking about him?
How was she supposed to look into his eyes—those deep, steady eyes—and not remember what it felt like to have his mouth on hers?
Zoe pressed a hand to her chest, willing her pulse to slow. Tonight was about Edith. About joy and promises and new beginnings. Not about her and Jackson and the mess of almosts and maybes between them.
Madison had been kind enough to offer Zoe her old bedroom upstairs at the inn to change, and Zoe had taken full advantage.
She slipped out of her khaki shorts and collared work shirt with the Cherry Crush Flower Shop’s embroidered logo, trading them for something softer, dreamier—an ankle-length chiffon dress the color of cherry blossoms.
Her heart skipped as she checked herself in the mirror one last time, smoothing the skirt with slightly trembling hands.
The hum of voices rose from below, laughter and strings from the quartet carrying up the stairwell. Gathering her breath, Zoe stepped into the hallway.
At the top of the stairs, Zoe paused, her fingers brushing the banister. Guests murmured below, laughter and clinking glasses rising toward her. Then her eyes found Jackson.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. But the deep charcoal wool suit he wore, tailored to his broad shoulders and narrow waist, was pure perfection.
The crisp white shirt, the slate tie, the polished shoes—all of it just sharpened the lines of his body, making every inch of muscle and height impossible to ignore.
He looked devastatingly handsome, like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, not standing in the middle of their sleepy little town.
Zoe’s heart skipped. Silly as it was, she felt like a princess staring down at her prince. Except this wasn’t her ball, and Jackson wasn’t hers. Not really.
Still… tonight, he would be. At least in the eyes of everyone watching.
Jackson’s gaze lifted up, caught her, and held. For a moment, it was as if the entire inn hushed. The flowers she’d spent the week arranging framed every doorway, the air perfumed with roses and phlox; the scene was stunning. But it was the look in his eyes—steady, intent—that stole her breath.
“Beautiful as always,” he murmured when she reached the bottom step. He took her hand, steady and warm, and brushed a kiss against her cheek.
The freshly shaved smoothness of his skin startled her. It sent a ripple through her, a dangerous thought blooming in her mind of where else she wanted to feel his touch. She quickly looked away, heart racing.
Kit bustled past, balancing a tray of glasses. “Pre-wedding cheer!” she announced. Each glass shimmered pink from the Heather Blossom Spritz—a mix of sparkling wine, wildflower honey, and just a splash of raspberry cordial, garnished with a sprig of thyme.
By the time they’d sipped their drinks, the wedding had begun.
Edith and Hank kept their ceremony simple, standing beneath the garlanded gazebo with hands entwined.
Hank looked every bit the proud groom in a light-gray linen suit and a pink bowtie that matched the spring blooms and ribbons in Edith’s bouquet.
His polished black shoes caught the sunlight, and when he shifted his weight, the flash of bright red socks dotted with tiny hearts drew a ripple of laughter from the front row.
Edith’s voice trembled at first, then steadied.
“Hank Bloomfield, you were my first dance, my first kiss, my first love. Life pulled us apart—we grew, we changed, we lived whole lives without each other. And yet… somehow, every road led me back here, to you. I couldn’t be happier to be here, by your side, for the rest of our lives. ”
Hank’s throat worked as he swallowed hard.
“Edith MacAllister, you have been the one constant in my life—even when you weren’t beside me.
Through deployments, through marriages, through raising families, I carried you with me.
You’ve always been the one that got away.
And now—by some miracle—I get to call you my wife. I won’t waste a second of this chance.”
Zoe felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t known Edith and Hank’s romance went back so many years.
When they kissed, the crowd erupted in cheers. Even the toughest men in town dabbed at their eyes with folded handkerchiefs.
The reception flowed into the spring evening.
Lanterns strung across the garden swayed in the breeze, casting soft gold light.
Tables groaned beneath platters of Kit’s mouthwatering creations and, of course, Edith’s famous shortbread.
She had baked plenty, placing the cookies in little cellophane bags as favors for the guests.
It wasn’t just the food people talked about, though.
Guests stopped at nearly every table to admire the flowers and gush over how gorgeous they were.
Zoe kept catching snippets of praise as she passed: “Who did the flowers?” “These are incredible.” She handed out more business cards than she’d brought, fielding requests for summer weddings, anniversary parties, and even a fall fundraiser two towns over.
More than one guest promised to recommend her to everyone they knew.
Maple Falls knew how to throw a party. Edith had hired the same band that played in the park on summer Fridays. They rolled from classic rock to slow ballads to the Scottish jigs Edith loved best. Children raced between chairs, their laughter mingling with the reel of fiddles.
“Mr. Jackson!” Emma’s voice cut through the music. “Dance with me!”
Zoe watched as Jackson laughed, scooping the eight-year-old without hesitation. He spun Emma across the grass, her pink dress ballooning as she squealed with delight. Gertie, sitting at a nearby table, chuckled and called over, “You’ll make a great dad someday!”
Jackson only smiled, shaking his head, but Zoe caught the flicker of something behind his expression. He probably didn’t want kids, Zoe thought with a stab deep in her heart.
Then Edith’s voice rose over the chatter: “A ceilidh! Let’s have a proper ceilidh!”
The band cheered in agreement, the fiddler launching into a bright, lilting tune while the caller’s voice carried above the crowd. “Take your partners—forward two, back two! Swing your lassies!”
Laughter and clapping filled the hall as couples got into place. Skirts swirled, boots thudded against the wooden floor, and the air pulsed with energy. Zoe barely had time to catch her breath before Jackson found her hand, his grip sure and warm as he pulled her into the dance.
“Left hand! Right hand! Turn your partner!” the caller shouted, and they did—spinning, laughing, half off-balance but perfectly in sync.
The heat between them built with every turn, every brush of fingers and pull of breath. His palm pressed against her waist to steady her, and her laughter faltered when he drew her closer, the music and noise fading until there was only the two of them and the wild, dizzy rhythm of being near him.
The music soon shifted into something slower, a reel that melted into a ballad, and Jackson didn’t let go of her hand.
“Don’t go,” he said, not a question so much as a quiet certainty.
Zoe’s heart gave a startled flutter. She nodded, and before she could think better of it, his palm settled at her waist, pulling her close.
His hand was broad and warm through the thin fabric of her dress. She placed her own hand tentatively against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the crisp line of his suit.
They swayed, slow and unhurried. Neither seemed willing to break the fragile spell.
“You clean up well,” Zoe whispered, eyes flicking to the perfect line of his jaw, freshly shaven, and the way his tie sat just so against his white shirt.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Figured if I was going to be paraded around as the boyfriend of the most beautiful woman in Maple Falls, I should at least look the part.”
Zoe laughed softly, the sound catching in her throat when his thumb accidentally brushed against the curve of her waist. She inhaled, and his cologne reached her. It was something woodsy, threaded with spice, subtle enough she wanted to lean in and chase it.
Her gaze drifted to his lips, just for a second, before darting back up to his eyes. And oh, those eyes. It was a dark storm trained only on her. It felt like the whole world had melted away, leaving only the two of them, suspended in the glow of lantern light.
He twirled her suddenly, slow and deliberate, his hand catching hers with perfect ease as though they’d done this a hundred times before. She spun back against him, her back brushing his chest, his breath warm against her temple.
Her pulse skipped. The air between them was charged, every brush of fabric, every shift of his hand sparking like fire. She could feel the muscles of his chest rise and fall under her palm, feel the heat radiating off him in the cool spring night.
She knew she should say something, remind him, remind herself, that this was all for show. They would be breaking up soon. Their feelings were real, but Jackson’s pain was keeping them apart.
But when he drew her a fraction closer, her body betrayed her, relaxing against his like it belonged there.
The fiddles lifted again, the crowd around them cheering, clapping, spinning each other in fast circles. But Zoe and Jackson stayed in their own world, moving as though time had thinned to just them, their rhythm different from everyone else’s.
Zoe tilted her head back to look at him. His eyes flicked to her mouth.
He wasn’t kissing her, not yet, but the moment swelled with the certainty of one. And when the song shifted and couples began turning out to switch partners, she felt a flare of panic at the thought of leaving his arms.
Jackson’s grip tightened slightly, possessive, steadying. His mouth brushed her ear as he leaned down.
“Fresh air?” he murmured.
Zoe nodded, her heart in her throat. Together they slipped away from the lantern glow, crossing into the grove of cherry trees at the edge of the property.
Pink blossoms were thick in the tree branches, fluttering down in the breeze and catching Zoe’s hair, brushing her shoulders.
The night hummed around them, alive with crickets and the fading notes of the music.
And in the hush of that hidden place under the cherry blossom, with the scent of spring thick in the air and the warmth of Jackson’s hand still lingering at her waist, the line between pretend and real began to blur all over again.
She shouldn’t want him to touch her.
She should be protecting her heart.
But when it was just the two of them, alone with their thoughts and desires, whatever line they’d drawn between them was gone. And soon there would be no going back.