She was meeting Halley’s grandma for dinner and bingo tonight.

That meant she was in a feisty mood.

Nobody—I repeat, nobody—needed Aunt Bethel in a feisty mood.

I hummed as I finished up the first bouquet and packed it up to put in the walk-in fridge. When it was safely inside, I moved onto the second one.

An hour later, I’d made my way through four orders and was about ready for lunch. My stomach was rumbling, so instead of starting on the next order like I’d wanted to, I grabbed my phone and my purse and walked through to the front of the store.

Aunt Bethel was frowning at a customer. “I don’t know, dear.”

“What’s up?” I tucked my phone and purse under the counter. “Can I help you at all?”

Aunt Bethel nodded. “The lady needs several floral arrangements for an engagement party next weekend. I tried looking in the book but I can’t read your dad’s blasted handwriting.”

I slid the appointment book over and flipped forward to next weekend. The chicken scratch on the book was instantly recognizable, but not as Dad’s. “Aunt Bethel, this is your handwriting.”

The woman in front of us dipped her head to hide her smile.

“Is it?” Aunt Bethel leaned over and peered down at it, adjusting tiny, half-moon shaped glasses. “So it is.”

“And it says, ‘Party at Creek Community,’” I said dryly, then looked up at the customer. “Sorry about that. We’re short-staffed.”

“Don’t worry.” She smiled. “Are you able to do anything?”

“What did you have in mind?”

The bell above the door dinged as I grabbed a notebook and jotted down everything she asked for.

“I don’t see why not,” I replied before giving her an estimated cost.

She nodded. “That’s acceptable. Thank you—can I book that in?”

“Absolutely. If you fill out this form, I’ll arrange delivery on Saturday afternoon for you.” I handed her the booking form. “There’s a stool over there and a space to fill out the form.” I pointed to the other side of the counter. “When you’re done, I’ll ring it up.”

She took the forms from me with a nod and a smile and went to fill them in. I turned toward Aunt Bethel to ask if she wanted to take her lunch before me since I had to handle the customer, but I froze before I could.

Noah was here.

In the store.

Nothing came out of my mouth. Not even a strangled sound. Just… Nothing.

He stood in the middle of the store wearing the same clothes he’d been in when he’d visited me in the hospital—a white polo with the fire station’s logo stitched into the chest and black sweat shorts.

“Hey,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”

“I—”

“She does,” Aunt Bethel said, then looked at me. “I can charge a card, Reagan.”

I grimaced. “All right. Come on through to the back,” I said to Noah, nodding.

Leaving my purse where it was, I scooted past Aunt Bethel and walked down the small corridor to the back room where I’d been working all morning.