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Aunt Dotty laughs. “You’ll see soon enough, dear.”

Then she gives me a wink, grabs her bouquet, and walks out with Margot like she just dropped a secret. That in itself is surprising because Aunt Dotty usually stays a few more minutes after her order to talk and fish for new gossip.

Another couple comes in right after. “Calla lilies?” I ask before they can open their mouths.

They nod, grinning like they’re in on something. “Big day in Bardstown,” the man says. “Very special.”

“Okay, but what kind of special?” I try to dig deeper, but they just chuckle and leave me with no answers—only more questions.

By the time I finish tying another ribbon around the tenth bouquet, I realize something unexpected. Why should I worry about the festival? I’m making bank!

Whatever this festival is—cryptic and dramatic as it may be—it’s made today my best sales day in months.

I smile as I wipe down the counter, arms sore from wrapping and arranging. “Keep the orders coming, Bardstown. Just keep buying my flowers while you’re at it.”

An hour later, the door swings open, and I nearly drop the bouquet I’m working on. It’s my mom, out of breath and wide-eyed like she just ran a marathon.

“Lock up,” she says.

I blink. “What?”

“Lock. Up. The mayor’s declared the whole town is at the festival. There’s no one left to buy flowers.”

“Oh, you also knew about the festival?” I screech. “And I didn’t hear anything about that.”

She rolls her eyes in that dramatic way only mothers can. “Darling, you hear nothing when you’re cooped up in this shop of yours. Now grab your things. We’re going.”

I don’t even argue. After the day I’ve had—the strange customers, the calla lily mystery, the secrets in everyone’s eyes—I’m too curious not to.

We walk together, and the second we turn onto Main Street, I feel it.

The entire town is buzzing.

And when we reach the park… I stop in my tracks.

There’s a pathway. Not just any pathway. It’s lined with calla lilies—rows and rows of them—and framed with canvas after canvas of artwork.

Art.

Everywhere.

The whole park is transformed into an outdoor gallery, and everyone—everyone—in Bardstown is here.

I swear I catch a glimpse of Emma and Sam in the crowd. Beside them are Riley and Ethan. When I try to move toward them, my mom holds me back.

“Just go,” she says softly, nudging me toward the flower-lined path.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

She doesn’t answer—just gives me that look. Thatyou’re-about-to-understand-everythinglook.

Reluctantly, I step onto the path.

That’s when I notice the red carpet. It’s subtle, just peeking beneath the petals, but it’s there—and I’m the only one walking on it.

As I take a few slow steps forward, something catches my eye.

A painting.