“Aw, Ash, it’s okay. I like telling you ideas. You don’t have to do them. You know about the actual flower side of a flower shop and I don’t. You won’t hurt my feelings by telling me the problems with my ideas.”

Ash ran a hand through his hair. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. That is, as long as you’re not mean about it, I’m sure.”

“Well, I like the roses idea. I wish I had the money to do rose bushes. Like, little miniature red rose bushes instead of poinsettias. People could plant them outside in the spring. But they take a lot more care. Most people just throw the poinsettias away.”

He was staring at the ceiling as he spoke, and Truman got the feeling he was seeing a new side of Ash. An unselfconscious, less-filtered side than the Ash who couldn’t even brainstorm without feeling like his ideas were too unpolished.

Ash cupped Truman’s face. “It’s a good thought. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ash kissed him slow and sweet, and Truman found his thoughts moving far from business.

“I have an idea,” Truman said.

Ash started to move away from him. He slid a hand down Ash’s spine and grabbed his ass.

“Mmm, yes, please.”

***

Truman finished his work for the day, then decided to check out what kinds of holiday fare the shops on Main Street had on offer. He told himself it was research for Thorn, but he was just in the mood to poke around.

Muskee’s was his first stop. He hadn’t explored the nonfood offerings yet.

Carla was washing the counter when he came in, and she waved a hand in her customary greeting.

“Hey, Carla. How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain. The Larson girl just spilled a blue Gatorade on my counter, but what can you do?”

The back of Muskee’s General Store was divided into roughly five sections: home goods, clothing, bath products, décor, and a collection of things that Truman could only reconcile into a category called Maine things. There were spoons with Maine written on the handle, candles with cabins on them, plaid towels, cast-iron doorstops in the shape of bears, et cetera.

Truman picked out some extremely Maine soap for his mom and headed to the counter.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions about business on the island?” Truman asked.

“Shoot, kiddo.”

Truman did. He asked the same questions to Bob at the Hardware Store, the Osgoods at the Queen Bee (where he found a lovely coffee table book about the history of horse racing for his father), and several other shop owners up and down Main Street.