The phone was blessedly silent for a few seconds and then began to ring again. He grabbed the receiver and barked a terse “What?”

“You can’t ignore me, Gabriel.” His mother’s husky voice, deepened by decades of chain-smoking, was like sandpaper across his soul.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“The bills,” his mom said before he heard the deep inhalation of her taking a drag. It was a sound so familiar to him that he could envision the thin plume of smoke rising to the ceiling of her cramped apartment. Plenty of his friends had smoked overseas, but Gabe never took up the habit. Too many bad memories of his childhood, back when he’d been worried about his mother’s health. When he’d pour water over her precious packs of Marlboro Lights, risking her wrath in some unrequited hope that she’d finally stop with the cancer sticks.

“I’m taking care of upkeep on the store and Gran’s house,” he answered, keeping his tone neutral. “Plus paying for the facility. There’s no frivolous spending going on.” No way would he give her the satisfaction of knowing how much she upset him.

“You’re paying her bills with my money.”

“With Gran’s money.”

“Put her in a cheaper place.”

“No.”

He wasn’t going to explain again how Shady Acres was the best facility within fifty miles of Magnolia. Or the fact that Iris had friends who lived there and people she knew in the community who visited. He knew his grandma hadn’t planned to remain long-term in the nursing home, yet he couldn’t see a way that would change.

When he’d first arrived in Magnolia, she’d told him that she expected to be released at any moment. But it had become apparent that she wasn’t in a place to take care of herself or the shop, and although it was clear she struggled with the decision, Iris had agreed to become a long-term resident. He still held out hope she’d recover enough to return to her house.

“Do you know how much Shady Acres costs per month?”

“Insurance covers most of it,” he countered. “Gran’s savings are good for the rest.”

“She’s going to drain it so there’s no inheritance left for me other than that stupid flower shop, the one you’re supposed to be taking care of. I called Mary Ellen Winkler, Gabe. She told me you haven’t even decorated for Christmas and that sometimes you scare away customers. Are you trying to run the place into the ground so the business fails before I get it?”

“I’ve made a few updates. Besides, you don’t want it, Mom.”

“I want the money I can get from selling it.”

“Gran doesn’t own the building.”

“The business is worth something,” his mother insisted.

That was true, and Gabe had been determined to rejuvenate it when he’d first come to town. At that point, he’d felt he was making it better for his grandmother’s benefit. So she would return to a thriving storefront. He’d filled the place with plants and flowers because he knew Iris would be happy surrounded by so much flourishing green.