My siblings weren’t wrong, ribbing me about the lemonade stand. I loved the rush and possibility of new ideas, but follow-through had never been my strong suit. The only thing I’d really tried to stick out was my marriage, which taught me two important things: sticking things out could ruin you, and I was terrible at relationships.
But this time? Right now? This would be different. Quitting wasn’t an option, and giving up wasn’t on the table. It was do or die. And I was prepared to ride or die.
It was why we’d all come home, and our future was at stake. Our family was at stake. And one thing I would never walk away from was my family.
“Hey,” a gentle voice said from behind me.
I started at the sound, so lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t heard Tess approach.
She chuckled. “Sorry to scare you. I … I just wanted to say thank you. For suggesting that I take on so much responsibility.”
“You act like you haven’t been running the shop for years.”
I noticed her cheeks flush, even in the dark shop. “Maybe, but I’m not a Bennet. I feel lucky to even be included in these kinds of meetings.”
I turned to face her, pinning her with a look I hoped communicated my earnestness. “Tess, you are as much a part of this family as anyone. You have been Mom’s hands for years. She taught you everything she knew, and then you did the unthinkable—you surpassed her.”
Tess drew a shallow breath.
“Don’t you dare tell my mother I said that.”
Her surprise left her on a laugh.
“This store is just as much yours as it is ours. More maybe. Other than Kash, you’re the only one who didn’t leave. So please, don’t thank me. It’s me who should be thanking you.”
She watched me for a moment with a smile on her lips. “Well, how about that? Ivy was right.”
I frowned. “Right about what?”
“Maybe you aren’t such a dick after all.”
Laughter shot out of me, a little too loud and completely unbridled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Tess.”
She shrugged a small shoulder, smiling sideways as she turned to walk away. But as she left, she looked back over her shoulder. “Really, Luke, thank you.”
I slipped my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “You’re welcome,” was all I could say.
Surprise had otherwise rendered me speechless.
7
Princes and Pirates
TESS
It took entirely too long to decide what to wear to paint a flower shop.
Clothes lay in a heaping pile to rival Everest, so many that a glance into my gaping closet showed little more than hangers. In my defense, I had a lot of needs to fill—must be old and-or disposable enough to get paint on them, must be appropriate for climbing ladders, and most importantly, must be adorable.
If my ass was going to be in Luke Bennet’s eyeline all day, it’d better look good.
I shifted three-quarters, inspecting my reflection. Auburn hair in a messy bun, bangs thick and shaggy, a blue bandana tied in a band with the knot on top. Mom’s old Cure T-shirt, dotted with paint from my bathroom when she’d painted it years ago. I’d knotted the hem to make it look fitted, cuffed the sleeves to put them at a modern length. And I topped it off with a pair of overall shorts because that seemed too obvious to pass up. My face was fresh and untouched by makeup, but I wasn’t so confident that I was willing to ignore mascara.
I was the poster girl for the basic bitch painting uniform and resisted the urge to change again.
“You’re just painting the shop, not auditioning for Top Model, for God’s sake,” I muttered at myself, annoyed.
I blew out of my room before I could change my mind again.
It was anxiety, I realized, and took a second to catalog the details I was aware of. I didn’t exactly hate Luke anymore. I mean, he was a pig and a flake, but when he’d stood at the head of that table and told us his ideas, the energy in the room had shifted in his direction. He could be a force to be reckoned with—when he applied himself. When he had passion.
That was really the thing that was the most astounding—witnessing his passion. He cared more than I’d realized, worried more than I had known. He believed we would succeed with optimism and hope, and he imagined all the ways we could make it happen.
We. All of us. Even me.
It was the cherry atop the humble pie I’d promised to eat. Now that I was paying attention to the good, the bad had fizzled out like a bunk firecracker—still full of gunpowder, might blow my hand off if I touched it, but probably harmless.
Probably.
Dad was in his recliner in the living room, listening to The Allman Brothers, reading glasses on the tip of his nose and a book about the Civil War split open in his lap.
“Hey, Pigeon,” he said, smiling when I walked in. “Don’t you look adorable?”
My nose wrinkled as I moved to the kitchen to change the water in my vase.
“What? You don’t want to look adorable?”
“No. I mean, yes, I like to look pretty, but I don’t know that I should want to look adorable.”
“Ah. Luke will be there, then.” He didn’t ask. He stated.
I huffed, setting the bouquet on the counter and turning for the sink to wash the vase. “It’s not easy or simple. Nothing is when it comes to him and me. But he … well, he wants to save the flower shop, and he put his trust in me. Makes it kind of hard to want him to swan dive off the Flatiron Building.”
He chuckled.
“I stayed up half the night, sketching out ideas for window installations. I’m not going to let Mrs. Bennet down. Longbourne will survive—thrive—if I have anything to do with it.”
“I don’t doubt you’ll make it so, Tess. You’ve done everything you’ve ever set your mind to, and I can’t fathom this will be any different.”
I stuffed a paper towel in the vase, drying it off before filling it up again. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Leftovers are in the fridge for lunch. I have a feeling we’re not going to finish painting today. I researched it last night, and I’m not even sure Luke knows how to paint brick properly. We have to wash all the brick, wait for it to dry, and then caulk the cracks before we can even prime it. Knowing him, he’s just gonna slap paint on there, willy-nilly.”
“You act like the poor boy couldn’t find his way out of a paper sack.”
“Sometimes, I wonder,” I said, depositing the bouquet back in its vase and fiddling with the arrangement.
“Well, good luck. Try not to kill him. I don’t think Mrs. Bennet would ever forgive you.”
“No, her precious golden boy can do no wrong, and she would be unamused if I dumped a can of paint on his head or hog-tied him and hung him up as our first window display. I could put some pansies in his mouth and call it a day.”
I made my way over to his chair and kissed his forehead.
“Have a good day, Daddy. Don’t get into any trouble, all right?”
“I’ll try to contain myself,” he said with a half-smile.
And when I pulled on my Vans and snagged my bag, I was out the door.