The bell above The Lonely Pen chimed as Ally pushed inside, box balanced on her hip.
“Honey delivery!” she called out.
Francesca looked up from her display, face brightening. “Perfect timing. I just sold the last jar yesterday. Mrs. Patterson bought three—she’s convinced it’s the secret to her prize-winning biscuits.”
“Tell her I’ll have more lavender honey next month.” Ally set the box on the counter. “Where do you want these?”
“By the register. People grab them on impulse.” Francesca started unpacking the jars, turning each one so Sam’s labels faced out. “These are gorgeous, by the way. Sam’s really talented.”
“She is.” Ally pulled out her phone to check the time. “I’ve got to run—Lettuce Eat is expecting me in ten minutes, and I still need to prep for tomorrow’s market.”
“Go, go.” Francesca waved her toward the door. “And tell your mom I’ll see her at book club on Thursday.”
Ally was already halfway out, mentally running through her list. Lettuce Eat, then the farmer’s market setup, then home to check the new hive she’d installed last week. The queen had been slow to settle, and she wanted to make sure the workers were building comb properly.
Her phone buzzed as she climbed back into the car. A text from her mom.
Dr. Timmons put in a standing weekly order for flowers for his office, said they really brighten up the place. You’re really doing it, honey. So proud of you.
Ally smiled and typed back.
Just getting started. See you at dinner. I hear Will is making his famous fried chicken.
She started the engine and pulled back onto Main Street, Daisy in the passenger seat, the remaining honey jars clinking softly as she turned toward her next delivery.
CHAPTER 11
CHRISTINA
The examination room smelled of antiseptic and latex gloves, which always made Christina think of flu shots and scraped knees. She sat on the crinkly paper covering the exam table, her legs dangling, while her mom perched on the plastic chair in the corner with her purse clutched in her lap.
Dr. Agos was running late. The ultrasound tech had already come and gone, leaving behind a strip of grainy photos that Christina kept touching, tracing the outline of Violet’s profile with her fingertip. Her daughter. Still surreal, even at eight months.
“You’re quiet today,” Tara said.
“Just thinking.” Christina set the photos on her belly, watching them rise and fall with her breath. “About names.”
“Have you decided?”
She had. She’d known for weeks, actually, but saying it out loud felt different. Bigger. Like once she spoke the words, they’d become real in a way they hadn’t been before.
“You already know Violet,” Christina said. “But for the rest. Violet Frida Singleton.”
Tara went still.
“Frida,” she repeated, her voice catching. “After?—”
“After Aunt Frida, yeah.” She looked at her mother, at the tears already gathering in her eyes. “Is that okay? I know she was your aunt, not mine, and maybe it’s weird to name my baby after someone I only met once when I was little, but?—”
“Christina.” Tara was out of the chair and crossing the small room, her sandals clicking on the linoleum. She took Christina’s hand and squeezed, her fingers warm and slightly trembling. “It’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect.”
The tears spilled over then, tracking down her mom’s cheeks, and Christina felt her own eyes stinging in response. She’d expected her mom to be touched, but this—this raw emotion—caught her off guard.
“She would have loved it,” Tara managed, dabbing at her face with her free hand. “That her cottage, her legacy... that it led to this. To Violet.”
Christina nodded, her throat too tight for words. Outside the examination room, she could hear the muffled sounds of the clinic—phones ringing, footsteps in the hallway, the distant cry of someone else’s baby. But in here, it was just the two of them, suspended in a moment that felt important despite the fluorescent lights and the blood pressure cuff hanging on the wall.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Christina said finally. “About how names carry things. History. Meaning. And Violet will grow up hearing about how Great-Great-Aunt Frida left her cottage to a woman who needed a fresh start, and how that fresh start changed everything for all of us.”
