“You mean the flower shop that sits directly across the street from your garage?” Oh, relentless teasing plans swirl through my head.
His head jerks toward me in surprise. “You’ve seen the flower shop?”
“The one called Bloom?” Laughter flows from me with an ease that startles me. “Arlo, it’s hard to miss. Small town and all.”
“Oh, I suppose you’re right.” Scratching the side of his nose, he gives me a charming smile before facing forward to watch the movie.
Quietness settles over us. It’s not full of tension, but with a rare simplicity, one that many people only find after years upon years of knowing each other. It’s a luxury I had with Eric. A pang of loneliness sweeps through me, but I can’t really stuff it back into its box, because Arlo pulls all those emotions to the surface without even trying.
This here, this moment. I don’t mind telling him my secrets or exposing myself, and that’s why I grab the bag of snacks andtear into the Swedish fish. It’s easier to pretend I don’t like Arlo than the reality that I am indeed smitten with him.
I don’t know why, but there is just something simple about him, easy. He doesn’t feel like a random guy I’ve met in the past with those sweeping feelings of nerves that flutter in my belly for a quick night. This feels like friendship, like no matter what, he might end up as the friend I need right now without even trying.
Maybe there’s something else there, something more, but it swiftly becomes tainted with the reality that this town, this moment, and him have a time limit.
Why does that feel wrong, when I’ve spent so much time planning for a new beginning elsewhere?
CHAPTER 9
The endof the week and weekend passed with no more hiccups. Lark and I settled in at the B&B, and I even unpacked my suitcase. The simple room with its dark wood and soft ivory colors is slowly creeping toward feeling as though it’s mine.
It isn’t, and I’m not blind enough not to acknowledge that, but I folded my clothing, what clothing I have here, and set them in the drawers. Saffron showed us where the washer and dryer were. All simple things that slipped my mind as we struggled to make sense of everything that occurred.
Lark made a new friend, a loud, bubbly, and snarky child whom I can’t decide if I’m going to love or be very cautious of. Lark was so excited that Torrie offered to meet her this morning, she’s been bouncing around since the alarm went off.
“It’s so nice having bacon and eggs for breakfast.” She beams at me, her old green backpack hanging off her shoulder as we make our way down the road.
“Toaster Strudels hold all the important ingredients. They are just as good of a breakfast as bacon and eggs,” I argue without heat because we both know that they definitely are not as good as bacon and eggs. I’m just partial to the sweet stuff.
“Mom.” Unimpressed, Lark wrinkles her face up, smashing all her freckles together. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Do you ever look at the sugar content in those?”
“Why would I taint the fantasy?”
Her eye roll is damn near audible. “It’s a treat, like a dessert.”
“You never complained before?”
“That’s because the only option I had was diner food for breakfast or Toaster Strudels.”
“I cook.”
Her laughter spills over us with a snort, echoing off the now snow free trees. “Last time you tried to cook, you set the stove on fire.”
“How do you know that wasn’t just a ploy to see Steve again?” I elbow her as I wag my brows at the mention of the most beautiful creature in all of Atlanta—Firefighter Steve.
“He caught on to your antics, you know.”
“It was only a matter of time.” I sigh wistfully as I kick a stone down the road. The little town comes into view first, with the mural of flowers and the painted sign for Bloom. A part of me is terribly curious to meet the woman who ensnared Arlo’s heart. I didn’t miss the heartache there, or just how much he once loved her.
Or maybe I’m sadistic and curious to meet her for comparison reasons. I am a hot mess mom, and she owns a flower shop.
“What are you scowling at? The flower shop?” She hops up on the sidewalk, startling me out of my imaginary scenarios.
“I was thinking about getting you flowers for your first day of school.” It’s a terrible attempt at a cover, and suspicion crosses Lark’s face.
