As I turned the key and left for Judy’s, I felt a spark of determination to see that change. Even if I really did have to get out on the sidewalk in a sandwich board.
When I was a kid, the shop had been the cornerstone of an empire with a handful of stores spread all over the city. Dozens of employees, several full-time delivery drivers, a constant whirl of action. It was never quiet, nor was it empty. But now … now, it was deserted. Passersby didn’t stop at the windows, didn’t pop inside to take a look. As classic as the shop was, it wasn’t timeless—it was dated and dark and dull. There was nothing fresh about it, nothing new. Nothing to catch the eye of a man on his way to his girlfriend or a woman looking to bring something fresh into her home.
The truth was, since its establishment, the store had largely taken care of itself, providing the business needed to expand without much tending. My grandmother had been the one with the business mind, a trait she had not passed on to her daughter.
And when technology rose, Longbourne was left in the dust. Ecommerce. Social media. Big-box delivery companies. The old way of doing things died, and Longbourne withered from the drastic shift in the weather.
For years, Mom convinced us everything was fine, and we were too busy living our own lives to acknowledge it wasn’t. We started losing weddings to Bower Bouquets. The shops began to close one by one as Longbourne retreated in an attempt to stay afloat. Our inquiries and attempts to help were brushed aside.
It wasn’t until only the flagship store was left and our trust funds, which the accountant deposited in monthly based on the shop’s income, began to dwindle that Marcus finally approached Mom.
What he found was shocking.
The family accountant and shitty, outdated business advisor—who was older than actual dirt, by the way—had done a piss-poor job advising them and sent them not only into deep tax debt, but had inadvertently misled them as to the state of the estate.
So Marcus used his substantial wealth to invest in the shop, buying it from Mom so she could “retire”—which she had done very little of—and then called us all home to help. We had to save the shop, not only for Mom and our legacy, but for Marcus’s sacrifice and the future of our inheritance.
We had a long way to go, and each of us had our parts. Though mine was unclear—I’d been tapped to come back and be the shop patsy, the bulk of my responsibility seeming to revolve around menial tasks with little to no stakes. Like deliveries.
But they’d forgotten that I was an idea guy. I just wasn’t a get-it-done guy.
By the time I pulled up to Judy’s building, my imagination had painted a picture of all the things we could do, all the ways we could update the shop, ideas bubbling like a stream. So much so, before I got out of the van, I fired off a text to my siblings, calling a meeting—kids only. Tonight, after Mom and Dad went to bed, we’d formulate a plan.
My mind wandered as I trotted up the steps, making more important plans to pick up donuts and coffee on my way back. I wondered briefly if I could make Tess smile with my offering, then remembered myself, shooting instead to get her to stop insulting me.
I hitched the box on my hip and knocked on the familiar door, which opened before my hand returned to my side.
Zebra print. Should have made a bet with Kash.
Judy stretched her arm, her face twisted in a seductive smile, silk kimono sliding off one shoulder. “Why, hello, Luke.”
“Special delivery,” I said, amused. “Where do you want it?”
“Anywhere you’ll give it to me,” she said, grabbing a handful of my shirtfront to drag me inside.
And with a laugh, I let her.
TESS
“What in the world did that hydrangea ever do to you?”
When I looked up, Ivy was smirking at me from the other side of my table. I’d been too busy fuming to notice her approach.
“Guess it was just too pretty,” I said, snipping a branch and depositing it in the water bucket.
“Like somebody else we know,” she teased.
“I can’t imagine what you mean, Ivy Parker.” Snip. Dunk. Fume.
She gave me a look as she picked up a pair of shears. “Tess, it’s been ten years. You haven’t even seen him in five.”
“I know,” I huffed.
“Surely you can’t still be mad.”
I plunked my shears down on the table and gave her a look right back. “I’m not. Honestly, I haven’t even thought about it in years.”
Ivy gave me a look.
“I mean it. Honestly, it was a relief when he moved away. I’m not mad he forgot about the kiss. Annoyed maybe. Irritated? Sure. But the truth is, Luke acted exactly like I should have expected him to. And him forgetting the kiss busted my rose-colored glasses. I saw every shitty thing he did, and that was all I could see.”
“Can see,” she corrected lightly, snipping a branch.
“He’s just so…” Arrogant. Conceited. Vain. Maddening. “He’s so completely Luke. He hasn’t changed a bit. In fact, I think the years have made him worse.”
“Or made you more grumpy.”
I sighed.
“I’m glad to hear you admit you’re not mad he forgot he kissed you when you were sixteen. Otherwise, I’d tell you to get yourself some real, adult problems.”
“The fact that he kissed me and pretended like I didn’t exist afterward doesn’t exactly help his case any.”
“No, I guess it wouldn’t.”
I eyed her. “But…”
“Well, Luke’s a lot of things, but an asshole isn’t one of them. I think if you told him, he’d feel bad. Don’t you?”
“Does Luke Bennet actually feel anything?” Snip.
She ignored me. “You didn’t even tell me until he moved to the other side of the country. Five years, you kept it from me, your best friend. You even let me fool around with him right there under your nose.”
I kept my eyes on my hands, which were busy. “Because it obviously didn’t mean anything, Ivy. Why make a fuss?”
“Because you were hurt. I wouldn’t have ever kissed him again if I’d known—you know I was about as serious about him as he was about me, which is to say not at all. I don’t even think I considered him when he wasn’t in the room. I didn’t even know you had a crush on him, and if I’d known I wouldn’t have ever fooled around with him again. Either I’m the most dense woman on the planet, or you’re better at keeping secrets than Batman.”
I laughed. “Trust me—it was my doing. I didn’t want you to know, Ivy. I didn’t even want to like him, never mind admit it out loud.”
“I could never keep something like that to myself,” she continued, disregarding what I’d said beyond a warming of her eyes. “I think I’d combust from the pressure. And especially if I’d just been through what you’d been through.”
My mom.
Silence stretched between us as we both went back to that time. I’d always been reserved with things that caused me pain, preferring to shoulder the burden on my own. That way, I was in control. Telling someone else … well, that was harder. To open up and expose my softest places, my deepest bruises also left me open to getting hurt.