There’s something final in his tone, a wall I know better than to keep pushing against. I nod, even though it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t ask.”
By the time I leave, I’m frustrated, but I don’t let it show when I stop by Grace’s flower shop. Grace herself greets me from behind the counter, her hair tied up in a scarf patterned with sunflowers.
The whole shop smells like it’s been kissed by spring—earthy, sweet, green. Buckets of lilies, daisies, wildflowers. And then the roses, cut that morning, fresh and sharp with their faint peppery bite.
I tell her I need a bouquet for an unveiling, something that feels… right. Not romantic. Not cold. Something that says “we see you, and we’re proud.”
Grace doesn’t hesitate. She moves through the buckets like she’s painting with flowers, pulling stems of coral peonies, white daisies, lavender sprigs, and one sunflower in the center. She ties it all off with twine instead of ribbon, casual but deliberate, like she knows too much polish would feel false.
“Smells like a meadow,” I murmur when she hands it over.
She grins. “That’s the point. Tell Sadie congratulations from me.”
The bouquet rides shotgun as I drive to Baxter’s, the old brick wall already surrounded by half the damn town.
It’s strange, seeing the space transformed—tables set up, folding chairs for the older folks, kids darting between legs with cotton candy from some vendor. The smell of fried dough and coffee drifts through the air.
And there she is.
Sadie, standing with Boone at her side, her pink hair catching the sunlight like a flare. She’s nervous—I can see it in the way her fingers twist together, in the way her smile flickers on and off like she can’t decide if she has the right to hold onto it.
Boone leans down, says something low, and she laughs. Soft, unguarded.
I hate myself a little in that moment, because I understand Gabe more than I want to. I know exactly what it feels like to want her and know I can’t have her. And worse—I know what it feels like to dream about her.
Not just once. Over and over. Heat-drenched dreams that leave me aching in the dark, with her mouth, her skin, her voice filling every corner of me.
I shove the thought down hard, because if Boone ever knew, I couldn’t face him. He’s my brother in all the ways that matter, and I’ll never betray him like that. Not out loud.
I school my face into something easy and walk toward them. “You two look like you’re running the show.”
Sadie turns, and the relief in her eyes when she sees me almost knocks me flat. “Shep. You came.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, and I hand her the bouquet.
Her fingers brush mine as she takes it, and for a second, the scent of the peonies and lavender is drowned out by the pulse of something else—something sharp, forbidden.
She hugs me before I can think better of it, a quick squeeze that smells like paint and soap and Sadie, and it takes everything in me not to hold on too long.
When she pulls back, Boone’s watching, but not with suspicion—just pride. He looks proud of her, proud to be next to her. That’s good. That’s right.
“You nervous?” I ask her.
She exhales, nodding. “Like I’m about to fall flat on my face.”
I shake my head. “You’ll be fine. Trust me. The mural’s the star today. You just have to stand there and let it do the talking.”
Boone clears his throat. “Is Gabe coming?”
The question makes Sadie stiffen, almost imperceptibly, and I don’t miss it. I lie before I can think better of it. “He had to cover at the station. You know how it is.”
Sadie nods, though her eyes flick down. Boone doesn’t press, but I can tell he’s not buying it.
Before the tension can thicken, Jake steps up with Julian Vance at his side, clapping his hands to gather attention. Sadie’s whisked away by Jake, bouquet still in hand, her shoulders tight as she heads for the little stage set up in front of Baxter’s.
And then the tarp comes down.
