“On it.” The caterer disappeared back toward the kitchen.
Ryan approached next, three of his friends trailing behind him. “Mom, one of the sisters wants to know if it’s okay to take pictures in the garden. She asked me because I was closest to the door.”
“Of course she can. And tell her the light is best near the bench right now.”
Ryan nodded and headed off, his friends following. Tara smiled, watching them go. He’d come so far from the guarded, grieving boy who’d arrived last year. Now he had friends, purpose, a place where he belonged.
A murmur rippled through the room—heads turning toward the front door, voices dropping to whispers.
Tara looked up.
Ally had gone completely still by the window, her hand frozen mid-reach toward a dahlia that had drooped in its jar. Her face had lost its color, her eyes fixed on something—someone—in the doorway.
Tara followed her gaze.
A man stood on the threshold, tall and broad-shouldered, dark hair windswept, Daisy at his side, looking happy, tail wagging. He wore jeans and a simple button-down, nothing designer, nothing flashy—but something about the way he held himself, the way the room seemed to rearrange itself around his presence, marked him as someone used to being watched.
Colton Matthews.
He wasn’t looking at the crowd, or the decorations, or the art on the walls. He was looking at Ally, his blue eyes locked on her face with an intensity that made Tara’s breath catch. She knew it, knew they still loved each other.
And Ally—her daughter who’d spent months pretending she was fine, who’d thrown herself into her flower business and her bees and building a life that didn’t include the man who’d broken her heart—Ally looked like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Violet stirred in Tara’s arms, making a small sound.
Neither Colton nor Ally moved.
CHAPTER 22
ALLY
The last jar of lavender honey slipped from Ally’s fingers.
She caught it an inch above the display table, but barely—her hands had gone numb at the sight of him in the inn’s doorway, afternoon light framing his shoulders.
Colton.
He looked different. Not thinner exactly, but worn in a way she’d never seen, as if the city had sanded down some essential part of him. His dark hair was longer than she remembered, curling at his collar, and there was a hesitance in the way he scanned the crowded room that she’d never witnessed in all their time together.
A commotion at the door behind him—nails scrabbling on hardwood, a familiar bark. Daisy came barreling through the entrance with Angus right behind her, both dogs having apparently spotted him from outside. The retriever’s tail went wild, her whole body wiggling, a soft whine building in her throat as she launched herself at Colton.
He dropped to his knees right there in the doorway, catching her, burying his face in her fur. “Hey, girl. Hey. I missed you too.” His voice cracked on the words, muffled against her coat. Daisy’s tongue found his face, his ears, anywhere she could reach, her tail thumping so hard her whole body shook with it.
Ally watched from across the room, her throat tight. She’d taken care of Daisy ever since he’d left—fed her, walked her, let her sleep at the foot of her bed on the nights the dog seemed particularly lost. But this was where Daisy belonged. With him.
Colton finally looked up, one hand still buried in Daisy’s fur, and found Ally across the room. His blue eyes were red-rimmed, his face open in a way she’d never seen in all their time together.
“Thank you,” he said. “For taking care of her.”
Ally couldn’t find words. She nodded instead.
He rose slowly, Daisy pressed against his legs like she’d never let him out of her sight again, and crossed the room toward her. Angus trotted along behind them, tail wagging, apparently delighted to have his friend back.
“She looks good,” he said when he reached her, his voice still rough. “Healthy, happy.” He swallowed. “Will told me you’ve been out to the house every week checking on it when you took care of the horses.”
“Someone had to.” She kept her voice even, busying herself with straightening jars that didn’t need straightening. “Thunder gets anxious when his routine changes.”
“He’s always been that way.” Colton’s hand found Daisy’s head, scratching behind her ears. This close, Ally caught cedar and coffee beneath the staleness of airplane air not quite washed away. “You didn’t have to do any of it. The horses, Daisy?—”
