Page 2

P resent day

Clara tipped back her head, the warm shower soaking her waist-length blonde hair.

God, those post-run endorphins were good. How it had taken her almost thirty years to get into running, she had no idea. She should have started earlier. Of course, she wouldn’t be winning any awards for her speed or endurance, but heck, she had no one to impress.

Plus, it was a good way to start her week.

For most people, Monday meant the first day of the work week. Not her. Not anymore, anyway. She had one thing on her to-do list today—buy pink peonies from Sassy Stems, the local florist.

Okay, two things, because she also needed an almond croissant from The Tea House as urgently as she needed air. God, even thinking about Mrs. Gerald’s croissants made her stomach rumble.

When the water suddenly turned cold, she groaned.

Guess Scarlett’s shower time had started, and Clara’s was over.

Every time her roommate turned the water on in the other bathroom, her shower went cold. It was like the woman knew when she was in the shower and scheduled her own at the same freaking time.

They weren’t friends by any means, but Scarlett was quiet and rarely home—two things that worked well for Clara, considering she had acupuncture clients coming in and out of her converted garage all day.

She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. In her bedroom, she put on some loose, high-waisted beige pants and a tight white tee. Younger Clara had been all about tight, uncomfortable high fashion. Twenty-nine-year-old Clara? She was definitely a comfort-with-a-side-of-more-comfort girl.

Heck, even the fact that she used tinted moisturizer instead of applying a full face of makeup showed what a different person she was.

She was about to pull her long hair up into a messy bun when she stopped.

It had finally reached the pre-chemo length, and she loved it.

Down…definitely down.

In the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

A printed article on the corner of the island caught her attention. Strange. Scarlett rarely left her stuff lying around. She lived and breathed her work as an investigative reporter, and when she wasn’t out chasing a story, the woman was on her laptop or phone ninety percent of the time.

Clara lifted the piece of paper and scanned the title.

Thirty-Two-Year-Old Masseuse, Lauren Tabs, Suffers Fatal Heart Failure.

Thirty-two…it was so young for heart failure.

She scanned the article. The woman hadn’t smoked. Hadn’t drunk alcohol. In the photo, she looked fit and healthy. She’d had no reported underlying medical conditions. She’d gone in for rotator cuff surgery.

How did a patient die of heart failure after rotator cuff surgery?

“What are you doing?”

Clara jumped and dropped the stapled pages to the island. “Scarlett. Hey.”

Her roommate wore jeans and a blue tee. Her cute brown pixie cut and whimsical red-framed glasses did nothing to take away from the annoyed pinch of her brows.

“I just saw the article.” She glanced at the papers, then back at Scarlett. “It’s so sad.”

“Did you know her?” Scarlett asked, lifting the papers and pushing them into her laptop bag.

“No, I never met her.”

Scarlett kind of looked disappointed.

Clara cleared her throat. “Working today?”

“Researching.”

Clara nodded, but she knew better than to ask what she was researching. She’d done that once and received a spiel about how investigative journalists don’t share until their work is published.

“There’s still that big crack in the floorboard in my room,” Scarlett said, looking down at her phone. “I feel like I’m going to trip on it every time I move. And it squeaks. If you could fix it, that would be great. I’ll see you later.”

Scarlett turned and started toward the door.

Clara almost laughed. If there was a word for someone addicted to a job and devices, there would be a photo of Scarlett next to it in the dictionary.

“Bye,” Clara called as she cracked open her bottle of water and lifted it to her lips.

Scarlett was halfway across the living room when she stopped and turned back. “Actually, before I go, I noticed that you run.”

Clara lifted her brows. “I do…kind of. It’s new.” And this was the first time Scarlett had ever taken any interest in her life.

“Would you be interested in joining a running club with me?”

Clara could have choked on her water. “You want to join a running club together?”

Scarlett nodded. “Yeah. We’re roommates, and we haven’t spent a lot of time together. It could be fun.”

True. They hadn’t spent a lot of time together. But that was Scarlett’s doing. Clara had tried to get to know her. “I didn’t know there was a running club in Amber Ridge.”

“Some people from the hospital just started it. They’re called the Pulse Pounders.” Then Scarlett did something Clara had never seen her do before. She smiled.

“Um…okay, sure. I love trying new things.” And hanging out with Scarlett would most definitely be a new thing.

Scarlett straightened. “Great. It’s Thursday morning at six. We’ll drive in together.”

Wait, what? Six?

She opened her mouth to take it back or ask if the start time was in any way negotiable, but Scarlett was already gone.

Six. Okay. She could do that. She might be half asleep during the run, but she’d survive.

She grabbed her phone and keys before heading out to her red Volkswagen Beetle.

As she pulled out of her driveway, her gaze caught on the cute bungalow across the road.

It belonged to Mildred, the owner of Sassy Stems. It was actually how she’d developed her flower obsession.

Live across the road from a florist and see her bringing home beautiful flowers long enough and an addiction would begin.

When she reached the florist’s shop, she stepped in to see another lady already talking to Mildred, who was behind the counter.

“No, this is not what I ordered,” the woman with short bleached-blonde hair said. She wore a sleek pencil skirt and heels. “I asked for deep blue irises. These are light blue at best.”

Mildred straightened, a lock of black hair falling into her eyes. “Ma’am, this is all that was available, and they look deep blue to me.”

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

Clara peeked around the woman to see the most beautiful bouquet of irises she’d ever seen. And yes, they were most definitely a deep blue color.

The customer crossed her arms. “I’m not buying those.”

Annoyance flared in Mildred’s eyes. “Ma’am, I ordered these for you.”

“Well, you should have ordered the right ones.” Then the woman turned and stormed out, her shoulder brushing against Clara’s.

Jesus. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Mildred sighed and slid the bunch behind the counter. It was the first time Clara had seen the woman without a smile on her face.

“I’ll take them.”

Mildred’s brows rose. “Oh, Clara, you don’t need to do that. You like peonies.”

“No, I like beautiful flowers that smell nice, and that bouquet fits the bill.”

The smile returned to Mildred’s face. “I’ll discount them for you.”

“You absolutely will not. They look like they’re worth a lot. I’ll pay whatever she was going to pay.”

Mildred chuckled. “I won’t let you do that. But I will wrap them up for you.”

Clara looked over to the board to see Mildred’s flower joke of the week.

Why did the tulip refuse to speak to the daisy? It was a little stalk-y.

Clara grinned. This was why she loved her town. Because ninety-nine percent of locals were Mildreds and not whoever that rude customer had been.

Mildred turned. “Here you go. Oh, and Jesse came in the other day to buy your mom some flowers.”

“He’s always showing me and Becket up.” She was half joking, of course. She reached across with her credit card to pay.

Mildred leaned forward and lowered her voice, even though there was no one else in the store. “He was with that cute friend of his.”

Her skin tingled. She was talking about Holden.

Holden, who now lived in Amber Ridge.

Holden, the man she’d once declared her love and in front of whom she now became a nervous wreck.

“Really?” That was good. She kind of sounded unaffected.

“Mm-hmm. I would mention that your brother’s cute too, but—”

“Nope. Don’t do that. As their sister, it is my duty to profusely deny either of my big brothers being even mildly hot.”

“Well, they’re both madly in love and off the market now anyway.”

It was true. In the last few months, Jesse had found Aspen, and Becket had found both Sky and Bella. Bella being the Chinese Crested dog they’d adopted. Which was a surprise in itself, seeing as Becket hated dogs.

“Here you go.”

Clara grinned as she took the bouquet. “Thanks, Mildred. Have a lovely day. And I hope you don’t get any more customers like the last one.”

“Me too, Clara. Me too.”

Clara stepped outside and smelled the flowers. Holy flaming God, they smelled good. Maybe irises would be her new peonies?

She was about to climb into the car to go get her croissant but stopped. It was a nice day. Why would she drive?

Flowers in hand, she walked, still smiling when she reached The Tea House. That smile widened when she stepped inside because there, in the display case, was one almond croissant left…and it had her name on it.

She was halfway to the counter when Mrs. Gerald took out the croissant.

“ No .” She’d meant to say that in her head, but the word just slipped out of her, along with any hope she had of eating the croissant.

Mrs. Gerald looked up and cringed. “Sorry, dear, I didn’t know you were coming in. I just sold it.”

She stopped at the counter. “To who?” Maybe she could bribe them into selling it to her. She probably had a twenty, or at least a ten, in her purse. Or maybe some coins, but hey, some people would do anything for free cash. Or maybe she could Venmo them?

“To me.”

She gasped at the deep voice.

Before she could turn, a large figure came to stand beside her.

Then she looked way up into Holden’s hazel eyes. “Hey.” Her voice was breathy and nervous…everything she didn’t want.

“Hey, Clara.” That familiar smile stretched across his lips.

Had he gotten even prettier today? Because he looked prettier.

“I see you bought the last almond croissant.” That was better. Less breathy and minimal heat to her cheeks.

“I did.”

She nibbled her bottom lip. “You know, I love almond croissants.”

“Really?”

“They’ve kind of become an obsession of mine.” She eyed the cake display. “The rhubarb pie looks good.”

“It does.”

God, he was really going to make her ask? “What do you want for it?”

One side of his mouth lifted. “You’re bribing me for my croissant?”

“Ten bucks.”

“You really think I can be bought off so easily?”

“Fifteen.” Did she have fifteen dollars? In her bank account, she did.

He chuckled before turning to Mrs. Gerald. “I’ll change my order to pie. Clara can have the croissant.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He studied the flowers in her hands, a frown forming between his brows. “Are they from someone?”

“Yeah. Me.”

For a moment she thought she saw relief in his eyes, but that couldn’t be right.

He tilted his head. “I thought you liked peonies.”

Her heart thumped. He knew her favorite flower? “I do. But there was a rude lady and Mildred looked sad, so I bought these.”

“I have no idea how that led to you being the owner of those irises, but they look good in your hands.”

“Thank you.”

“Here you go,” Mrs. Gerald said, setting pie and coffee in front of Holden and a sweet tea and almond croissant to go in front of her.

Clara grinned at the older café owner. “This is why I love you, Mrs. Gerald. You know me too well.”

“Next Monday, I’ll save you an almond croissant.”

“You are my favorite person.”

She paid and turned to see Holden still looking at her. And geez Louise, his gaze was intense.

“You look happy,” he said quietly.

Why did that little comment make heat creep up her neck? “I am. I’ve got my flowers and thanks to you, my almond croissant. Heck, Scarlett even asked me to join a running club with her. It’s a good day.”

The smile dropped from his face. Shit. She’d forgotten about his reaction to her newfound hobby. Which was ridiculous, by the way.

“A running club? Is that a smart idea?”

Her back straightened, the nerves turning into something far more defensive. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“A running club will have seasoned runners in it. You’ll feel pressured to keep up with them. You still get fatigued after being sick.”

Okay. Butterflies in the belly had officially ceased. “I know what I went through, and I know my body. I’m very capable of monitoring my limits and stopping when I need to. I’ll see you later, Holden.” She turned to go but he gently gripped her arm, stopping her.

“Clara. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just worried.”

She swallowed. “I don’t need you to worry. I can look after myself, Holden.”

His brows twitched, but he released her arm and she walked out, wondering if she would always be the girl who’d had cancer to him. Whether that would forever be the lens through which he saw her.