I stop maybe a hundred feet away and try to think.
Corbin strides out, says something to the guys, then laughs, but the sound cuts off when he turns my way.
“Just set it up in the corner,” he tells someone. “Back in a minute.”
He jogs to me, concern etched in his thoughtful eyes, like he already knows everything that’s happening in my head, like he can read all my feelings on my face.
“What’s wrong, Firecracker?” he asks when he reaches me.
The new nickname settles some of my spiraling thoughts. “Did you just call me firecracker?”
“Seems about right for you.” His eyes narrow as he assesses me, then he reaches for my shoulders, squeezing them. His gaze burns, intense, like he’d destroy anybody who hurt me. “Mabel? What happened?”
The question is urgent, insistent.
“It’s stupid,” I say quietly.
“It’s not stupid.”
“It is. I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to swallow the hurt—a hurt I brought on myself.
“Mabel,” he says, his voice a warning.
“I swear.”
He glances over his shoulder then back to me, his eyes alight with a plan. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
22
HE HAD IT BAD
MABEL
He jogs to the firehouse, ducks his head in, and then returns to me in less than a minute. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“What is it?”
“Something I think you’ll enjoy. Seems like you need it right now.”
My chest warms. “I do. Thank you.”
He rubs my arm. “I had a feeling.”
I push the knitting club and my mother out of my head as we get in his car.
He drives to a little flower and plant store on the outskirts of town. Its face is made of white bricks, and the name, Enchanted Blooms, is written in a wistful script on the gleaming window.
When we reach the door, Corbin pauses, then swallows like what he’s about to say is uncomfortable for him. “It’s…wisteria. The color of the door.”
I stare at the color…and he’s dead on. The door is painted a soft, delicate shade of purple. “How did you know?” I ask, my voice pitching up with wonder.
“The owner is a friend of my mom’s. I went in here the other day to pick up a plant.”
That doesn’t explainhowhe knows, but I keep listening.
“And I could tell that everything in here was some kind of…” He pauses, waves like he’s casting about for what to say next. “Pretty color. But I didn’t know what. I just knew you’d probably want to see it. Do you want me to show you?”
My breath catches. “Yes.” I’m more eager than I’ve ever been to bake, to read, to spend time with friends.
