“So Oopsie Daisies is struggling?”
“Big time.”
Nick says, “Really sorry to hear it. I’m sure Ruby is giving it everything she’s got.”
“If you mean happy thoughts, sure. She’s an ace at that. But she’s not exactly a savvy money manager.”
Nick purses his lips. “But she’s amazing with flowers and people. I booked her for my Valentine’s opening and Tessa’s mom ordered the wedding flowers from her.”
Unlikely the shop will make it that far.
Before I can delicately ask, Nick throws in, “I’m sticking with her.”
“You’re still giving us the business? That’s generous.”
Nick waves away my comment. “It’s a small town. We help each other.”
Skeptical, I push. “Even if you’re our last customer?”
“I’m sure Ruby will do a fantastic job. I don’t want to make things even harder by pulling my account. Worst case, with the wedding, we’ll figure something else out.”
“I respect that.” Truth be told, I’m not sure I would have done the same thing. I get to my feet. “I should probably get a shower and some sleep.”
“Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime.”
Nick walks me to the stairs. “Tessa keeps texting me cotillion ideas from Boulder. She can’t wait to get back for the dance. She loves any excuse to dress up.”
I huff a laugh. “Sounds like the cotillion will be the social event of the season.” I keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Oh, it will be,” he says. “You should come. Just don’t be surprised if you end up drafted into helping with the decorations. Ruby has a way of roping people in.”
Yeah, don’t I know it.
Chapter Eighteen
Griffin
Rubyand I sit on the weathered bench, takeaway coffee heating our ungloved hands, as we watch the sun slip behind the mountains. Over the last week, it’s become our thing. A few minutes at the overlook.
Since telling Ruby that I’m staying at the Timberline, she hasn’t stopped chattering about the cotillion. Everything from the live band to whether I own a bolo tie. That Silver Pine’s version of a ‘cotillion’ is less formal and more country. Listening to her stream of consciousness is like taking Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. I’m learning not to let my mind wander when I’m around Ruby.
“You and Clara weren’t close?” she asks, the conversation shifting abruptly.
“We were when I was younger,” I say. “Less so in recent years. I didn’t truly know her like you did,” Iadmit. “But she meant a lot to me. When I told her I was considering going in a different direction than my dad, she encouraged me to try. She believed in me even when no one else did.”
“So your father’s not a finance guy?” she asks, curiosity in her voice.
I chortle, the sound soft and a little raw. “Far from it. Dad retired after forty years with the postal service. He always hoped I’d take a federal job, steady and predictable. But Clara pushed me to find my own path. To take risks. To build something I could be proud of.”
I sense Ruby has more questions, but she simply nods, tucking her knees up. “Clara believed in everyone. Even people who didn’t deserve it.”
I hesitate, then the words spill out. “My son’s in college now. I don’t see him much. My ex-wife got the house, the dog, the holidays. I got…the quiet.”
Ruby doesn’t fill the silence, and I’m struck by how unusual it is for me to share my private life like this. Vulnerability has never been my default, especially not with someone I’m technically working with.
She turns to face me, forcing me into her steady, gray-eyed gaze. Her presence is heavier than I expect, compelling in a way that makes me suddenly self-conscious. When she finally speaks, it’s soft. “Quiet can be good. But not forever.”
