Even if only for a moment.

For that moment, there was nothing required but that kiss. No words, no demands. No desire—that we had slaked for the time. It was just the simplicity of that kiss. Of him and of me. Of the years between us and the days that had passed.

He held my face with one hand, holding me upright with the other. Broke away to look down at me, to search my eyes. His lips tilted, the smile so desperately Luke, the one it seemed I had known for what felt like forever.

“Did I make good on my promise?” he asked, his thumb stroking my cheek.

A twist of my heart as I looked up at him, knowing this was my only taste, my only chance. But I’d keep him here all night, and I’d take everything he was willing to give me, giving him everything I had. For tonight.

“It’s a start,” I said, smiling.

And he kissed me, just like I knew he would.

11

Ever the Gentleman

LUKE

“No peeking,” I warned my mother as I helped her down the stoop.

“Lucas Bennet, are you accusing me of cheating?” Her gnarled hands rested over her eyes, which were open and actively trying to see out from between her fingers.

“I’ve played Monopoly with you, so yes.”

Tess, who had her other arm, smiled at me. “You’re the picture of virtue, Mrs. Bennet.”

“I’ve always liked you best, Tess,” she said.

“Why, because she always agrees with you?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Mom answered lightly.

My siblings waited in front of the shop in a chattering pack, my father standing silently on the edge, smiling faintly. It was his resting face—eyes soft and smile only at the corners, his expression in a constant state of both amusement and amiability. It was rare that he put up a fight. But when he did—boy, look out.

They quieted as we approached, and I moved Mom front and center on the sidewalk across from the door.

“All right,” I said once I got her positioned. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for two days, Lucas. Say when before I die of old age and infirmity!”

A chuckled rolled through us.

“Open your eyes, Mom.”

For a moment, she didn’t move her hands, as if now that the time was upon her, she was afraid. A breath, shaky and deep, sawed in and out of her. And then she found her courage and looked.

The shift of her face stole my breath. A softening, a flush. A widening of her eyes, the shine of tears against the crisp cerulean of her irises. Her trembling fingers pressed to her lips. Tears slid down her cheeks in plump droplets.

She didn’t speak. This was a miracle of its own—my mother had never been at a loss for words in her life.

Her brows drew together with a shake of her head as she took it all in. The windows, teeming with flowers. The taste of the interior, bright and white and crisp and clean. The shop—her shop—transformed, made new.