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Flora pauses, a thoughtful expression on her face as she stares at me. Then, finally, “She’s at the children’s hospital,” she says, clearly amused by something.

“Children’s hospital?” I repeat, a little surprised.

“She co-owns a foundation and volunteers there every weekend,” Flora explains, proud of her daughter.

Mia’s always doing something for others. It’s one of the things I noticed about her from the start.

“Will she be back soon?” I ask, unable to hide the flicker of hope rising inside me.

Flora shakes her head. “Probably not for a while. She spends hours there.”

I’m about to leave, telling myself I’ve heard enough, but something pulls me in. I need to see her again, need to understand what it is about her that keeps me coming back. It’s not just the attraction. It’s not just the frustration. There’s something else, something deeper.

“Would you be kind enough to share the address with me?”

Flora beams. “I’m nothing if not kind, sweetheart.”

I take down the address with appreciation. “Thank you, Flora.”

“You’re welcome. Take care, Jack.”

I leave the shop and get into my car, my mind racing with thoughts of Mia. When I input the address in the GPS, it’s about a fifteen-minute drive. I don’t mind.

When I pull into the parking lot of the children’s hospital, I grab my phone and dial Mia’s number, hoping she’ll pick up, even though I already know it’s probably a long shot. The call rings and rings until it finally goes to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Mia,” she says in her usual, cheerful voice. “I’m probably busy with something, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

I open the car door and walk inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic filling my nostrils as I approach the front desk. The receptionist behind the counter glances up at me, her eyes widening slightly when she sees me. I can feel the instant recognition—the way her gaze lingers on me just a little too long.

“Can I help you?” she asks, a little too eagerly, but trying to maintain professionalism.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice calm but a little distracted. “I’m looking for Mia. Mia Davis? She volunteers here. I was hoping to see her.”

“Oh, Mia, um, yes.” Then, her eyes brim with excitement. “You’re Jack Calloway, right? The actor?”

I don’t answer immediately, unsure how to respond to her sudden excitement. I’ve spent weeks in Bardstown not being recognized, and honestly, I love it. But I give the receptionist a small nod and my best superstar celebrity smile.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Oh my goodness.” She takes a deep breath as if trying to calm herself. “You look even better in person. I loved you inThe Iris. You killed your role. You kill all your roles.”

“Thank you, Dani.”

She gasps, as if me knowing her name is a wonder when there’s literally a name tag pinned to her shirt. “Mia?” I remind her. “I’d love to see her.”

“Garden,” Dani answers. “Yes, she’s usually in the garden in the back. Just follow the signs to the outdoor area, and you should be able to find her.”

“Thank you, Dani.” I wink at her before retracing my steps back out of the hospital.

I step through the glass doors that lead to the garden, the sound of children laughing and playing in the distance growing louder with each step. I walk down the path, passing rows of flowers and a few benches where people sit and talk. It’s a peaceful place, and I can see why Mia would spend so much time here.

It’s easy to spot her.

Mia’s standing by a small flower bed, talking to a young boy. She’s kneeling beside him, her hands on his shoulders as she listens intently to whatever he’s saying. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she’s wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans. She doesn’t see me at first, and for a moment, I just stand there and watch her.

Around her, the other kids are laughing, their energy vibrant despite the obvious signs of illness. I can see it—the faint pallor of their skin, the hospital bracelets, the way they move carefully—but they’re all so full of life in this moment. Mia is the spark,and it’s clear she cares deeply for them. I can’t help but feel something shift inside me, a tightness in my chest that I’m not prepared for.

She’s not even their mother and yet she’s here, caring for them, giving them hope, spending time with them. My inner child rears his head.