Page 7 of The Bridesmaid (Brides of Beaufort 3)

“Sorry to sneak up on you,” she said, looking behind me and smiling tenderly at Layla. “Wow, blue is her color, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I replied. I tucked my hands in my pockets and stepped off to the side, grateful that Ms. Hattie did the same so we wouldn’t be seen lurking outside the shop.

“How are you and Jo and Grayson settling into the apartment?”

“Great. They’re at the market grabbing some stuff, but I’ll do a bigger grocery run tomorrow.”

“And you decided to come here instead of going with them?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Uh, well, we ran into Layla earlier, and I think she got the wrong impression about me and Jo. She’s never met her, so I think she assumed …”

Ms. Hattie put two and two together when I trailed off and she let out a long sigh. “Oh dear.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, Zac, when my leasing agent said she’d found an ideal tenant to rent the apartment above my shop, I really didn’t think it was a good idea when I found out it was you.”

“I know.”

“You left that girl without telling her why, and it hurt her.”

Guilt poured over me, and my shoulders sagged under the weight of it. “I know.”

“But I have to say, now that I know the truth of the matter, I’m rooting for you.”

“You are?” I gaped at her, and my brows shot up so high I worried they’d get stuck to the awning over our heads.

Ms. Hattie wasn’t just the owner of the flower shop I now lived above, she was also friends with Layla’s mom. Even though she’d begrudgingly agreed to let me rent her place, I didn’t think she’d ever pull for me making things right with Layla.

“I am. I’m a big believer in true love, in case you didn’t know that about me. And I think what you and Layla had was the real thing. If there’s anything I can do to help you guys work it out, I’m all ears.”

I chuckled. “Thanks, Ms. Hattie. But I think I should probably make amends on my own. I really stepped in it with Layla, and it’s gonna take a lot to earn back her trust.”

“Well, I’m confident you’ll find a way.”

“Thanks.”

“Hattie,” her husband called, leaning out of the flower shop a few doors down. “Phone’s for you.”

“Coming, dear,” she replied to Thatcher before turning back to me, her eyes warm and kind. “Let us know if you need anything for the apartment. Good luck.”

I gave her a small wave and turned back to the window, eager for another look at Layla in that dress. I watched as she stepped down from the platform, gulping when Lyndi got her attention and nodded toward me.

Uh-oh. Spotted.