The sizes varied, from men’s to women’s, big to small. Some had to be from the thirties or forties, the style both foreign and familiar, the shape of the toe, the craftsmanship of the buckles. All of them were worn, loved.

“We could set them up in the windowsill and fill them with flowers. Maybe ranunculus … have you walked through the greenhouse rows lately? It’s legitimately exploding.”

I reached for a boot, the feel of cool rubber under my hand as I inspected it with awe and appreciation. This boot had lived a lifetime, as had the components of the swing, of the crates he’d turned into planters for me.

For the shop, I corrected.

Emotion washed over me, my surprise and sentimentality over all he’d done overwhelming. “It … it’s perfect. Just perfect.”

He smiled, setting the boots on the table. “Man, I’m relieved. I figured you were going to hate it.”

I made a face. “Hate it? How could I possibly hate this?”

Luke scratched at his neck. “I dunno, Tess. I figured I’d screw it up somehow, especially since you didn’t weigh in on a lot of this. I changed your plan.”

“You adjusted my plan. Lucky for you, they’re good ideas,” I teased.

“I mean, don’t overdo it on the flattery or anything.”

“Thank you, Luke,” I said quietly, my smile small and awed. “I could never hate this or anything you create. You, my friend, are truly talented and in ways I could never be. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel like I wouldn’t approve. I haven’t been myself lately. You … you tend to do that to me.” I snapped straighter, smiled wider. I’d said too much. “So please, go nuts anytime you want with zero concern for what I think.”

He watched me with his thoughts clicking behind his eyes, though they were otherwise hidden from me. “That’d be impossible. But thanks all the same.” I opened my mouth to respond, but he spoke first, changing the subject. “Now, what do you say we get started? I want to show Mom tomorrow. If we don’t, I’m pretty sure she’ll bust in here like the Kool-Aid man whether we like it or not. It’d blow our whole surprise.”

Our surprise, he’d said. My smile widened.

“All right. Let’s hang sheets in the window, just in case she decides she needs to take a walk.”

“Smart thinking. She’s up there, scheming—I swear I can practically hear her—but Jett’s got strict instructions to keep her still. If he has to watch another historical film, I think he’s going to go ballistic and start wearing a top hat and cravat and calling everyone madame.”

A laugh burst out of me. “How do you know what a cravat is?”

He shrugged. “He’s not the only one who’s had to keep Mom busy so someone else can make trouble. BBC makes for a great diversion,” he said, moving for a flat cart.

“What’s your favorite?” I asked, helping to load our haul onto the cart.