I was the poster girl for the basic bitch painting uniform and resisted the urge to change again.

“You’re just painting the shop, not auditioning for Top Model, for God’s sake,” I muttered at myself, annoyed.

I blew out of my room before I could change my mind again.

It was anxiety, I realized, and took a second to catalog the details I was aware of. I didn’t exactly hate Luke anymore. I mean, he was a pig and a flake, but when he’d stood at the head of that table and told us his ideas, the energy in the room had shifted in his direction. He could be a force to be reckoned with—when he applied himself. When he had passion.

That was really the thing that was the most astounding—witnessing his passion. He cared more than I’d realized, worried more than I had known. He believed we would succeed with optimism and hope, and he imagined all the ways we could make it happen.

We. All of us. Even me.

It was the cherry atop the humble pie I’d promised to eat. Now that I was paying attention to the good, the bad had fizzled out like a bunk firecracker—still full of gunpowder, might blow my hand off if I touched it, but probably harmless.

Probably.

Dad was in his recliner in the living room, listening to The Allman Brothers, reading glasses on the tip of his nose and a book about the Civil War split open in his lap.

“Hey, Pigeon,” he said, smiling when I walked in. “Don’t you look adorable?”

My nose wrinkled as I moved to the kitchen to change the water in my vase.

“What? You don’t want to look adorable?”

“No. I mean, yes, I like to look pretty, but I don’t know that I should want to look adorable.”

“Ah. Luke will be there, then.” He didn’t ask. He stated.

I huffed, setting the bouquet on the counter and turning for the sink to wash the vase. “It’s not easy or simple. Nothing is when it comes to him and me. But he … well, he wants to save the flower shop, and he put his trust in me. Makes it kind of hard to want him to swan dive off the Flatiron Building.”

He chuckled.

“I stayed up half the night, sketching out ideas for window installations. I’m not going to let Mrs. Bennet down. Longbourne will survive—thrive—if I have anything to do with it.”

“I don’t doubt you’ll make it so, Tess. You’ve done everything you’ve ever set your mind to, and I can’t fathom this will be any different.”

I stuffed a paper towel in the vase, drying it off before filling it up again. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Leftovers are in the fridge for lunch. I have a feeling we’re not going to finish painting today. I researched it last night, and I’m not even sure Luke knows how to paint brick properly. We have to wash all the brick, wait for it to dry, and then caulk the cracks before we can even prime it. Knowing him, he’s just gonna slap paint on there, willy-nilly.”