My sigh weighed a thousand pounds as I paid the cabbie and stepped onto Bleecker. The day had been eternal, the fiasco at St. Patrick’s exhausting. We’d made it out of the church without further incident, and no one was the wiser. The priest had given his blessing, just like we’d known he would, and I’d parted ways with the Felix Femmes with plans to meet for lunch in a few days to go over finishing touches on Natasha’s birthday party.

The way Brock had talked last week, they were still seeing each other. He’d probably be at the party, as would I, and there was no way for me to pass the task to someone else. I couldn’t admit what had happened to Addison without her using it against me, and although we had access to interns, there wasn’t a single one I’d trust with a Felix event.

So I’d endure it. I’d compartmentalize my feelings, pack them up, stow them away, and get on with it so I could do my job. So I could crush my job. I’d throw her the best goddamn birthday party to ever come out of New York despite the fact that she’d fucked my boyfriend.

Post-church, I’d gone on with my day, meeting with a caterer, stopping into the office for a meeting and to answer to Addison. And my last task of the day was to pop into Longbourne, where I’d become a regular fixture.

My purpose was twofold: take a look at the flower crop for a wedding this weekend and escort my very pregnant sister home. I’d been thinking about that pizza all week, and I’d convinced Ivy to let me get her a slice on the way home. Not that it took much convincing—pizza was her number one craving. I swore she was going to actually birth a pizza roll or a giant pepperoni. Or just a chubby little baby with doughy thighs and cheeks to pinch and fawn over.

And with that thought putting the first genuine smile on my face of the day, I walked toward the turquoise door of Longbourne and stepped inside, greeted by the dinging of the ancient bell over the door.

It really was something, what they’d done with the place. I’d been in and out of the shop since we were teenagers, when Ivy started working here. It used to be drab and dark, untouched by time, but when the Bennet children came home last summer, they came home with purpose. The makeover was brilliant—the shop was bright and cheerful, the windows inviting with gorgeous installations that had become a Village spectacle. I’d seen the crowds waiting on Sunday morning for the unveiling, and I’d heard from Ivy about the massive increase in business.