She wound her way into the workspace. “Thanks, Tess. You work back here, right?”

“Try to.” On days we aren’t interrupted.

As we stepped up to the tables, Ivy looked up, her jaw popping open for a nanosecond before recovering.

“Ivy? How are you?” Wendy beamed, stepping around the table. When she caught a glimpse at Ivy’s belly, her face softened, her eyes sparkling with what seemed to be … tears? “Look at you. You’re beautiful.” Wendy gave her a hug, prompting a terrified look from Ivy over Wendy’s shoulder. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Oh, I don’t think you know him. Dean, one of our suppliers.”

Wendy’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Wait, the big guy? The one who always brings all the pots?” One of her brows rose.

Ivy laughed. “Yes. Pots—and a little pot, if the mood was right.”

“Congratulations, seriously,” she said, the words tight with emotion she covered by glancing around. “It hasn’t changed back here at all. God, I can’t count the times Luke and I used to sneak back here.” She laughed. “I think we hooked up on every surface in the building.”

The wind flew out of my lungs in a nearly audible whoosh.

Ivy tittered nervously, hopping off her stool as fast as any woman in her state and size could. “So what are you doing back in town, Wendy?”

“Oh, you know, just needing home for a minute. Ever get that feeling? When you need a friendly face? Not so many of those in LA these days.” She chuckled softly.

God, why did she have to be so charming? And a little sad? And really fucking pretty? And goddamn married to Luke? Once upon a time at least … though it was all I could think of, along with Wendy’s beautiful naked ass all over the shop I loved with the man I thought I could.

The thought tarnished the memories he and I had made here, made them feel tired and used, a repeat rather than a revelation.

In that moment, I could no longer understand what Luke was doing with me. Wendy was his equal in a way I could never be—larger than life, stunningly charming, beautiful in that mythical way that defied your senses. And all that in a summer dress and sandals, and without a stitch of makeup on her face.

And then there was me. Short and freckle-faced, eyes like mud and hair the shade of wet clay. Jeans smudged with dirt and with little holes worn where my thighs met. My pilled T-shirt and sneakers scuffed, the rubber cracked and peeling. Where Wendy was charming and worldly, I was awkward and a little suspicious, and I hadn’t left this side of Manhattan in close to a year. My world existed inside the blocks around this flower shop and included the people inside and my father.

Her world—Luke’s world—was too big and brilliant for the likes of me.

Wendy wandered over to the arrangement I’d been working on, bringing her pretty nose to the head of a peony. “This is so pretty, Tess. Luke always said you were the most talented florist he’d ever known. I have to say, I think he was right.” She smiled so gently at me that the ache in my heart squeezed tighter.