“Oh shit.” True to my fashion, the words fly out before I can stop them. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. Can I ask what he was convicted for?”

“Marijuana possession.” She purses her lips like there’s more to the story.

“Was this like fifteen years ago or something?” I realize New York is way behind the times and still adjusting to the whole legalization bid, but I can’t imagine anyone ever being convicted of a felony for pot.

“Try five.”

My eyebrows shoot to the top of my forehead. “What the actual fuck.”

“I know.”

“That’s a story I’d really like to hear, but honestly, my brain can’t handle any more new information at the moment. Ask him to come in. And if he can start tomorrow.”

She gives me a small smile. “Will do.”

I stop randomly grabbing bottles as soon as I realize I don’t even know how many arrangements I need to assemble. Pulling up the schedule Lucy has neatly organized, I start to make sense of what needs to get done. We’re so busy prepping for the week and chatting with the handful of customers who pop in to check out the shop that I don’t have time to think. Which is a welcome blessing since I know once I open the door to any thoughts of Jack, I’m going to fall down the rabbit hole, and quite frankly, I can’t afford to do that at the moment. I don’t see him forgiving me, because why would he, and I’m going to need the shop to flourish so I can actually afford a place to live.

It’s late evening by the time I have all the vessels and blooms for tomorrow’s orders ready to go. Lucy’s brother, Jason, came in right after lunch, charming me instantly with his easy smile and warm brown eyes. We get his tax forms filled out and run him through the basics of delivery protocol, and he promises to be in the shop tomorrow afternoon.

I lock the front door, give Lucy a quick wave, and head to the brownstone. I haven’t made it two steps before reality comes crashing back down on my brain. And my heart. The events from the party flip through my mind, and while the tears come immediately, I manage to blink them away, low-key afraid they might freeze on my cheeks in the biting late January night air.

But when I turn the corner and see three people lounging on my front stoop, the tears spill over. I press my hands to my eyeballs, but all that does is soak my mittens.

Harley takes my keys from me, opening the door and guiding me into the dining room. We all shuck our winter gear before collapsing at the farm table. Well, I collapse; they all sit like normal human beings.