“Oh, Emmi, everything is so beautiful.”

Emmi grinned with pride. When she’d purchased the house from Florence Prescott ten years earlier, she’d completely redecorated it from the ground up in the shabby-chic style she loved. Flo had never cared about decorating or gardening back in the day when she was working. If it was clean and functional, that was good enough for her.

“I had a lot of energy after my divorce and I needed to funnel it somewhere useful. This house was a lifesaver. Once I got the inside done, I turned my focus to the garden. It was a sorry mess. No offense to Flo, bless her heart.”

“Not like the mayhem of wildflowers that cover the dunes around Primrose Cottage.”

“Which is a look I also admire,” said Emmi. “Lovie and I used to argue about my garden. She never wanted anything cultivated. Said I should only have indigenous plants, as nature intended.” She shrugged.

“As does Cara. And me.” She lifted one shoulder. “I guess it runs in the family. But it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your beautiful garden.”

“It doesn’t come easy when you’re digging in sand, I can tell you. Nothing cultivated lasts long. In truth, your grandmother was right. But I’m an old dog and all that.”

As she followed, Linnea couldn’t help but notice that, under Emmi’s plain green tunic top, a riotous pattern of flowers and rhinestones covered the rear of her jeans. No matter that Emmi ordered all the new fashions for the women’s department of the local Belk department store—when it came to her own clothing, Emmi loved her “doodads and sparklers,” as she called all the colorful stitched designs, beads, and rhinestones.

Emmi led them to the black iron patio set, and they took care to settle on the bright coral cushions at far opposite sides of the table.

“I think I can guess why you’re here,” Emmi opened.

“John,” said Linnea.

Emmi nodded, her green eyes sparkling with joy. “You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when he just showed up at my door. That boy likes surprises.”

“I’ll say. When did he arrive? I hadn’t heard a peep.”

“You mean to say he didn’t tell you he was coming?”

Linnea looked at her hands and shook her head. “He wouldn’t.”

Emmi looked at her, one brow raised. “That’s sad to hear.” She skipped a beat. “I told him to tell you he was coming.”

“He might have. I, uh…” Linnea tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t answered his texts.”

Emmi paused and digested that. Linnea felt a slight chill enter the space between them. Talking about a breakup with the ex’s mother was, by definition, awkward.

“Well,” Emmi said crisply, “I’ll start from the beginning. There was this conference for one of his clients in Myrtle Beach. John flew in to make a presentation. I gather it was successful,” she added with a mother’s pride. “He’s really good at public speaking. So, being so close and all, he surprised me and Flo with a visit. No sooner did he arrive when he got a text from a friend saying he’d caught that virus that’s going around.”