“I’ll see you at the wedding, okay?” he said, trying to end the night on a good note.
“Mm-hm.” She nodded, not meeting his eyes.
With nothing left to say, Jackson turned and walked away, again. Leaving her standing there shouldn’t have felt like he was leaving his heart behind, but it did.
The only hope he could hold onto was knowing he’d see her in two days’ time. When once again, he got to pretend to be her boyfriend and hold her in his arms.
He told himself he could keep the line between them this time. That he could stand beside her and not give in.
But even as he walked away, he knew—the next time she touched him, the next time they threw caution to the wind, it would take nothing short of a miracle to pull them apart.
TWENTY-SEVEN
ZOE
Friday, March 21st
The mayor and Edith’s wedding day had come quicker than Zoe could’ve ever imagined.
She’d managed to transform the Cinnamon Spice Inn into something out of a storybook. Outside, Zach’s handiwork stood proud in the garden: a newly built gazebo draped in garlands of roses, phlox, and greenery, the archway wound with thistle and veronica so that when Edith stepped beneath it, she’d be framed in a living tapestry of her roots. White folding chairs fanned out in tidy rows across the grass, their ends marked with posies of roses and trailing ribbon.
Inside, the inn glowed with soft lantern light and the fragrance of fresh flowers. Ivory Avalanche roses bloomed at the heart of each arrangement, their creamy petals opening like promises. They were laced through with purple eustoma, sprigs of spiky blue veronica, soft tufts of thistle, delicate white phlox, and layers of fresh, seasonal greenery. Each piece shimmered with intention, every color threaded with meaning.
Every windowsill held a vase of blooms, and garlands swept down banisters. The air was alive with anticipation, voicescarrying as guests began to arrive—laughter in the foyer, the scrape of chairs being adjusted, the faint hum of a string quartet warming up in the corner.
Despite her best efforts, Zoe hadn’t found the Moonlight Kiss in time for the wedding. She and Krista had spent the past two evenings hiking the forest, tracing first what was left of the old Cherry Blossom Trail, then exploring the various ridges in the area. They’d tried to reach the spot she and Jackson had seen from across the river, where the remains of an old settlement sat tucked in a bend of the water, but the current was too strong to cross, and every detour they searched for led to a dead end.
More than once, Zoe caught herself wishing she’d had Jackson’s list—the one he’d kept so neatly updated, marking every lead and location they’d checked. It would’ve made things easier, more organized. But since they’d agreed to give each other space, she hadn’t wanted to reach out.
In the end, Edith had been nothing but gracious. “Don’t you worry about it,” she’d told Zoe with a kind smile. “It’ll be found when it wants to be found. Perhaps the mayor and I aren’t the couple who needs it most.”
Zoe was thankful Edith wasn’t too disappointed, but still, she wasn’t going to give up looking for it. Maybe after the wedding when the spring rains slowed and the river calmed down.
Zoe stepped back from the last centerpiece she’d placed in the dining hall, brushing stray petals from her palms. For a heartbeat, she let herself savor the culmination of a week’s work, the sheer beauty of it all. But she also knew that every eye in Maple Falls would soon be here to witness not only Edith’s vows but also, inevitably, her and Jackson’s charade of a romance. Twenty-two more days, she reminded herself. A little bit more than three weeks until the Spring Fling.
They hadn’t seen each other since that night. Since they’d agreed no more time alone. No more blurred lines. And nowhere they were, about to spend an entire evening surrounded by love and champagne and slow dances. The universe, apparently, had a cruel sense of humor.
How was she supposed to stand next to him in the glow of twinkle lights, to smile and play the part of the perfect girlfriend, when her heart ached just thinking about him? How was she supposed to look into his eyes—those deep, steady eyes—and not remember what it felt like to have his mouth on hers?
Zoe pressed a hand to her chest, willing her pulse to slow. Tonight was about Edith. About joy and promises and new beginnings. Not about her and Jackson and the mess of almosts and maybes between them.
Madison had been kind enough to offer Zoe her old bedroom upstairs at the inn to change, and Zoe had taken full advantage. She slipped out of her khaki shorts and collared work shirt with the Cherry Crush Flower Shop’s embroidered logo, trading them for something softer, dreamier—an ankle-length chiffon dress the color of cherry blossoms.
Her heart skipped as she checked herself in the mirror one last time, smoothing the skirt with slightly trembling hands.
The hum of voices rose from below, laughter and strings from the quartet carrying up the stairwell. Gathering her breath, Zoe stepped into the hallway.
At the top of the stairs, Zoe paused, her fingers brushing the banister. Guests murmured below, laughter and clinking glasses rising toward her. Then her eyes found Jackson.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. But the deep charcoal wool suit he wore, tailored to his broad shoulders and narrow waist, was pure perfection. The crisp white shirt, the slate tie, the polished shoes—all of it just sharpened the lines of his body, making every inch of muscle and height impossible to ignore. He looked devastatingly handsome, like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, not standing in the middle of their sleepy little town.
Zoe’s heart skipped. Silly as it was, she felt like a princess staring down at her prince. Except this wasn’t her ball, and Jackson wasn’t hers. Not really.
Still…tonight, he would be. At least in the eyes of everyone watching.
Jackson’s gaze lifted up, caught her, and held. For a moment, it was as if the entire inn hushed. The flowers she’d spent the week arranging framed every doorway, the air perfumed with roses and phlox; the scene was stunning. But it was the look in his eyes—steady, intent—that stole her breath.
“Beautiful as always,” he murmured when she reached the bottom step. He took her hand, steady and warm, and brushed a kiss against her cheek.
