“I think the key is growth,” Jo says thoughtfully. “Both characters have to have changed enough that the same problems won’t destroy them again.”
“But not so much that they’re unrecognizable,” Amber adds. “The core of who they were—what made them fall in love the first time—has to still be there.”
“What do you think, Delilah?” Hazel asks.
I consider the question, Scott and Jessica watching me with interest. “I think second chance romances feel more earned than first-time love stories. The couple has history. They’ve hurt each other. They know each other’s worst qualities. And choosing to love someone despite all that, because of all that—it feels more real.”
Jessica smiles at me like I’ve said exactly the right thing. “I love that. It’s like—the first time around, you fall in love with potential. The second time, you fall in love with reality.”
“Yes!” I lean forward, getting animated. “And there’s this beautiful sadness to them. This sense of ‘what if we’d gotten it right the first time?’ But also this hope that maybe the timing is finally right.”
“Speaking of timing,” Amber says with a mischievous look. “Delilah, are there any interesting men in your life? Or should we start matchmaking immediately?”
I laugh despite myself. “I’ve been divorced for six months. I’m definitely not ready for anything.”
“I didn’t think I deserved love,” Jessica says quietly, and Scott takes her hand. “But this town has a way of proving you wrong about what you deserve.”
“And what you’re capable of,” Scott adds. “I spent years hiding who I was. Jessica taught me that being seen completely is terrifying and necessary.”
Their love is so evident, so hard-won and treasured, that I feel tears threaten. This is what I want. What I thought I had once. What I’m terrified to risk again.
“So no one special?” Caroline presses, grinning. “No cute contractor helping with shop renovations? No mysterious stranger who keeps buying flowers?”
My chest tightens. Because there’s this man who’s been buying flowers from Mom’s shop for years, according to theorder history I’ve been reviewing. Someone whose name makes my heart race and my stomach drop simultaneously.
The guy I loved desperately ten years ago before everything fell apart.
I came to Twin Waves fully expecting never to see him again, but I spotted his truck yesterday parked two blocks from my shop, making me realize Mom’s “retirement” might have been more calculated than I realized.
But I’m not ready to talk about that or admit that “fresh start” might actually be “second chance I’m too terrified to take.”
“No one special,” I say firmly. “Just me and a lot of flowers.”
Hazel looks like she doesn’t believe me, but she lets it drop. “Well, if that changes, you have a built-in support system now. This book club specializes in romance counseling.”
“And meddling,” Jo adds.
Michelle corrects, “We prefer to think of it as enthusiastic encouragement.”
The conversation shifts to the book we’re officially discussing—a second chance romance about a wedding planner and her ex-fiancé. I relax into the discussion, surprised by how natural it feels. How these women include me like I’ve always been part of their group.
How Jessica and Scott keep exchanging looks that speak of inside jokes and shared history and love that’s been tested and emerged stronger.
After the meeting winds down, Jessica walks me out.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I say sincerely. “That was...I needed that.”
“We all need it. Community, people who get it.” She pauses on the front porch, the intracoastal breeze carrying salt and possibility. “Delilah, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“That look you got when Caroline asked about men in your life—that was the expression of a girl with a complicated history.” Jessica’s smile is gentle. “I recognize it. I wore it for years.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. And that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” She squeezes my arm. “But when you’re ready—when whatever second chance you’re running from or toward finds you—we’ll be here. All of us. Cheering you on and meddling enthusiastically.”
“What if I’m not brave enough?”
