Page 3

Briar

O utside the window, the crunch of footsteps on the gravel reached my ears. I raised my eyes to the open door, pushing my chair back in anticipation of needing to help a customer.

“Briar?”

My heart lightened, and my shoulders relaxed at Amy’s familiar voice.

“In the office,” I called, a smile playing on my lips.

A moment later, Amy appeared, framed in the doorway, the light behind her casting her in silhouette.

She leaned casually against the frame, the sun shining through her curly, light brown hair like a halo.

Seeing her eased the weight on my chest. In a world without my mother, she was the family I needed.

Amy stepped into the room, looking effortlessly chic in her fitted jeans and tank top with a loose, wide-necked sweater thrown over the top.

She turned toward the right to help herself to a cup of tea from the small table with drinks set on it.

The bangles she wore on her wrists clinked together as she worked. “Just about ready for tonight?”

I sighed, drumming my fingers on the desk. “Not really. I think it will be a lot of fun, but I didn’t expect how much work it would be.”

Amy poured the water from the kettle over the infuser, holding the chain against the china.

I loved my eclectic, mismatched teacups and saucers.

She smiled at me through the rising steam.

“That’s what you have me for. The caterers arrive at five.

I’ll have the fires ready in the pits by five thirty, and we open the doors at six. ”

I laughed, my heart fluttering with a tinge of excitement. “You mean the doors will already be open since the garden center doesn’t close until six.”

She flicked her hand. “Mere details,” she said, her voice taking on an upbeat, singsong quality before she chuckled.

I glanced down at the journal and cleared my throat. “I think this event was a good idea. It’ll be a wonderful way to raise money for charity and bring more customers into the business. Thank you for doing it.”

The party tonight had been her idea—floated after an impromptu, sweaty yoga session in my greenhouse a few days after the funeral.

“Can’t you see it?” she had said before taking a long draw from her water bottle. “A garden party in the center. We can call it Fireside in Bloom, with fires, a beautiful spread of appetizers, wine, champagne—the works.” Her smile widened as she’d proposed it.

I’d rolled my eyes, but my grin had betrayed me. “Only if you’re organizing it. I can’t put something like that together. Not now.”

“Are you serious?” Her face had lit up even more, as though I’d handed her the keys to the kingdom. And perhaps I had, but seeing her excitement stole just a bit of the pain from my chest.

Amy’s enthusiasm had been hard to match, and I tried to help as much as possible. Slowly, Fireside in Bloom had come together. We expected over a hundred guests who would indulge in the evening atmosphere of the garden center, along with hors d’oeuvres, drinks, and mingling.

Amy sat in one of the two kitchen chairs in front of my desk and gestured at the book beneath my hands. “Looking through that again?”

My voice dropped. “I was just… seeing if it contained anything to help me fulfill my promise to her.” Even to me, it sounded flimsy.

“Did you find anything?”

I shook my head. “Nothing outside the story of my ancestor’s insanity. I wonder if it’s hereditary?”

“Almost certainly, if you’re anything to go by.”

I opened my eyes wide and dropped my jaw, my hand flying to my chest before falling forward in laughter. I needed her, needed this. “Well, Isobel genuinely believed she was killing a vampire—one who had murdered her husband.”

“You can’t be serious.” Amy’s brows furrowed and lifted simultaneously. “How have I missed this part of the story?”

My lips parted, and I hesitated, not finding the words. “I don’t know. She commissioned a knife out of wood from her treen maker—”

Amy’s head tilted with the unspoken question.

“The carpenter who specialized in household objects, like dishes. Anyway, she commissioned this knife so she could go after the guy, whether or not he was human.” I couldn’t help but feel a strange kinship to my ancestor—a fierce woman, compelled by purpose, even if hers was to hunt a vampire.

Her boldness made me want to know more and gave me an understanding of my mother’s passion for her work.

“So either way, the man was going to die,” Amy said.

I nodded, the smirk growing on my lips. “Exactly. If he were a vampire, she’d have been acquitted, right? And my life would be a lot different.”

A long sigh escaped my lips. The woman should have been committed to an asylum, not sent to the penal colony, but in those days, the penal colony was considered the lesser of the two destinations.

My mother’s obsession with wanting to go to England made sense now because neither the journal nor anything online helped with what happened or why.

Amy smiled. “I could see you as part of the elite, wandering about your manor, obsessed with your greenhouse.” She laughed, sticking out her pinkie finger as she sipped her tea.

I snickered, joy bubbling in my chest. “Oh yes, and wandering around at night through the woods, trying to discern which sound was made by a stag and which was a vampire just waiting to take advantage of my exposed neck.”

Amy set her cup on the edge of my desk. “Alright, down to business: the party tonight. What do you need me to do?”

I rolled my eyes. “Aren’t we doing this solely because you’re in charge?” I teased. Amy stuck her tongue out at me, a cheeky acknowledgment of the role reversal because I usually remained in control of everything.

“Perhaps. And maybe to get you back into life again.” Her eyes softened as she spoke, shifting the mood of our conversation.

My shoulders drew in. I had hidden myself away after the funeral. My friends had always been my family, and never was that truer than now. Tonight felt like the first step back into existence—a chance to reconnect and, maybe, even find a new beginning amid the people I loved.

I leaned back in my chair, a light flutter in my stomach as my eyes dropped to the journal.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. It’s just so hard without her.

She was always at my side. And you’re right.

I need to get back to being me. Just with a bit of her as part of that.

” My promise to my mother echoed through my head, but even she would encourage me to leave the house.

Part of me felt ready to rejoin the world; another part clung to the past, where she still existed. Maybe, somehow, I could carry both.

Amy scooted closer and picked up my hands. “I know. Now we have to figure out how to keep going without her. And we will, together.”

Her warmth chased the chill from inside me. A tiny spark of hope flickered in my chest beneath the weight of my grief.

I forced a smile as I straightened in my chair. “What do you need from me?”

“What I desperately need,” said Amy, hopping up, “is final approvals. I can’t pull off tonight without you telling me exactly where you want everything to go.”

I laughed at her enthusiasm, grateful to have a friend who wanted to draw me out of my depressive slump. “All right. Let’s go.”

As we headed for the door, Amy grabbed my hand, her grip tight, as though afraid I would try to escape. Her infectious energy drew me forward, a reminder that life, in all its beauty, still waited beyond my door.

“What first?” I asked, stepping onto the covered porch behind Amy. I thought about sitting in one of the rocking chairs under the window to my right, but didn’t decide fast enough before Amy’s question.

“Where exactly are we putting the food?”

I squinted, putting myself into the minds of tonight’s guests.

Gravel paths snaked through the plants, many sitting on hand-built shelves leaning against the trees.

The scent of rosemary, sage, and damp earth clung to the air, mingling with the warmth of the sun that streamed down, casting golden flecks over the paths and the delicate, hand-painted garden signs.

I’d been bringing the herbs and flowers out of the greenhouse over the past few days, preparing for the season opening just a few weeks away.

In front of us, in a small clearing, rose a stone firepit.

The stones bore the faint scorch marks of countless fires, their smooth surfaces warmed by flames and polished by the salt-laden winds that swept through the property.

Sturdy, weathered chairs, each draped with a soft woolen throw for warmth on the cool nights, sat in a ring around it.

Many evenings, my friends would remain in the chairs long after the customers left when I closed.

A hollowness rose in my chest. I missed them, but I only had myself to blame.

They had called. I hadn’t answered, too caught up in wallowing.

A bittersweet smile crept to my lips. The firepit had been one of the first signs of my vision taking root.

Several smaller firepits dotted the property, but the one in front of me was the true heart of the space.

It was one of the first additions I made when I bought the property five years ago after turning twenty-one.

My mother had helped me with a loan, knowing that running my own business was all I ever wanted to do.

I swallowed a sob. Mum would have loved this—people mingling, laughter echoing.

She would have joined us until she pretended to be too tired, wanting to leave me to my life.

But she would continue to enjoy the sounds from inside her room.

“How about right there? Right next to the flower bed under Mum’s window, so people don’t accidentally trample the plants.

It also makes sitting around the fire with their food easy. ”