And suddenly, I was wide awake.
Portia Dane:Good morning, Joy. I hope you slept well. Can you come by Dominion Hall today at 10:00? I’d like to talk details in person.
I stared at the screen, my heart doing a small, startled leap.
Today.
I’d assumed we’d email. Maybe talk logistics over the phone. I hadn’t expected … this. Not so soon. Not at Dominion Hall, like it was the most normal thing in the world to invite a florist out to one of Charleston’s most mythic addresses with less than a day’s notice.
But the truth was, I was ready.
I typedOf course.I’ll be there. before doubt could get its footing.
Downstairs, the house smelled like coffee and toast. Momma stood at the counter in her robe, hair still damp, flipping eggs in a pan like she’d done it every morning of her life—which she had.
“You look awake early,” she said, smiling at me over her shoulder.
“I didn’t sleep much,” I admitted, pouring myself coffee. “I’m going to Dominion Hall this morning.”
Her eyebrows lifted, just slightly. “Well. That’s something.”
“I know.”
She watched me for a moment, then nodded once, decisive. “Eat something. Big houses have a way of draining you.”
I smiled and did as I was told.
By the time I pulled out of the drive, the sun was already warming the fields, light catching on rows of zinnias and lisianthus like they were waving me on. Sunny barked once from the porch as I passed, tail wagging like he knew this mattered.
The drive into Charleston felt different than usual. Less routine. More … charged.
I showered and dressed back at my condo—simple sundress, hair braided—then headed out again, palms steady on the steering wheel, the insulated box of flower samples riding shotgun like a promise I refused to set down.
When I turned onto the long, gated drive, my breath caught all the same.
Dominion Hall rose out of the trees like something that had always been there and always would be. Stone and glass and quiet authority. The kind of place that didn’t need to announce itself.
The gates opened without a word.
As I drove through, I reminded myself of why I was here.
Not for the rumors.
Not for the power.
Not for whatever happened behind these walls.
I was here for the flowers.
For Wadmalaw soil and Charleston sun and careful hands that knew when to cut and when to wait.
I parked, lifted the box from the passenger seat, and stepped out into the morning air.
Whatever Dominion Hall was, I had something worth bringing inside.
I walked up the broad steps, my sandals quiet against the stone, and before I could even lift my hand toward the door, it opened.
A man stood there in a crisp white shirt, sleeves cuffed neatly, expression calm in the way that made me think he’d seen everything.
