“You leave my jobs out of this,” she defended with another sigh. Sure, Emma wasn’t wrong. Sloane did bounce between several jobs within the event-planning world in Nashville. She’d been a florist’s assistant the longest but worked part-time for a catering company and doing the odd job for several venues when the occasion arose. It wasn’t traditional by any means, but Sloane loved being a part of it all.

“You know I’ve been working for years to build up the resources and connections to start my own event-planning business. Not to mention Mrs. Baker offered me co-owner status at the florist shop; all I need to do is come up with the cash. I’m not about to throw either dream away—viral blog or no viral blog. So come off it and commiserate with me in my embarrassment like a true best friend.”

She heard Emma sigh.

A small silence filled the classroom. Both women were in uncharted territory because of the situation. The silence slowly gave way to the outside world of Arbor Bay, Alabama. It didn’t matter how long Sloane was away from the small town—its sounds never really changed. A loop of the same old, same old. Sometimes it was sleepy. Sometimes it was loud. All times it was familiar.

Even now, she felt like she’d never been anywhere else, never mind the fact that she’d been living in Nashville. Construction on the academy’s float for the festival kickoff in two weeks already had various poundings and yelling coming from volunteers and staff who’d been roped in. A car horn blared somewhere down the block. Sprinklers were chh-chhing across the street.

The same street that, if followed without taking any turns, eventually led to the edge of town. And right to the Robertson estate.

Where it all had started.

Where Sloane had fallen in love and then been foolish enough to talk about it on the internet.

What were you thinking?

Finally, Emma spoke. Her earlier concern had transformed into a maternal voice that zipped urgency down Sloane’s spine.

“Sloane De Carlo, you get off the floor right now. You’re done with this self-pitying crap. Get up now.”

Sloane uncovered her eyes to see a wall of red hair hanging over her face. Emma’s expression was as severe as her tone. Begrudgingly, she let Emma help her up, but her tone only marginally softened again when she was standing straight.