This was supposed to be my peak season, when I can make the most money to help me float through the summer months.
Tourists, locals, the upcoming tree lighting ceremony…that’s all completely gone.
I had pre-orders for my wreaths stacked to the ceiling, gift orders already pre-paid and waiting for me to simply pack them and send them off…
Now all I have is insurance deductibles and a broken heart.
I can’t stop thinking about how much time, how much heart, I poured into all of it.
The hours spent arranging ornaments by hand, tying ribbon until my fingers ached, carefully arranging every display so the shop would feel like magic every time someone walked in.
What am I supposed to do now?
From somewhere off to my left, Dean’s voice answers softly, “Don’t worry, Noelle. We’ll get this place cleaned up for you.”
Normally, I’d appreciate his optimism.
That easy charm, the way he always finds something bright to say, even when things are falling apart. But right now, it just feels cruel.
Like a dagger to the chest.
“What’s the point?” I choke out. “It’s not like anything can be salvaged in time for the holidays. I’ve lost everything.”
Grant squeezes my hand, grounding me again. “Not everything’s broken. We’ll salvage what we can. Maybe there are items that can still be sold, even at a discount. Partial profit’s better than nothing. It’ll help until your insurance claim comes through.”
It’s a reasonable solution.
A smart one.
Exactly what I should want to hear in a situation where I feel completely out of control.
But I don’t because no amount of logic or planning can make up for this…this violation, this helplessness that I feel, this hollow ache in my chest that no insurance payout could ever fill.
My hand slips from his, and I move toward the counter.
My stool is on its side, lying among the shattered remains that were my front counter and the white spray paint that covers it.
Ugly designs mar the once pristinely kept case. I bend to pick it up, my hands trembling, and right as I go to set it upright, my knees give out.
I collapse onto it, the legs wobbling under my weight and the pieces of broken glass under it.
I press my palms over my face, trying to hold myself together, but it’s no use.
The tears come again.
“I’m sorry,” Grant says softly, rubbing my shoulder gently.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
When I pull it out, the screen is blurry, forcing me to wipe my tears to see it properly.
Dad.
The screen lights up with his text:Eli wants cocoa after skating. Want some? We’ll stop by the shop and drop it off.
I stare at the message, my throat tightening. There’s no way I can answer. Not when I’m more lost than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
“I don’t understand,” my voice cracks as I speak. “Why is he so obsessed with me? Eli isn’t even his. We only dated for a year. There’s no reason for him to still be this mad at me.”
