Krista had stayed over last night, and she was there, in the little kitchen nook, just finishing with their drinks. She was humming under her breath, spoon clinking gently as she poured cream into her mug and added a spoonful of sugar to the cup of tea waiting for Zoe.
“Krista!” Zoe’s voice pitched too high as she bounded up the last step. “Hurry—I need your help.”
Krista glanced up, brows lifting. “What now?”
“Jackson’s here,” Zoe blurted. She tripped over the words, hands fluttering. “I can’t face him. Not yet. I don’t know what to say, or how I feel, or—God, I don’t even know what our plan is moving forward.” Her breaths came too quick, stacking one on top of the other.
Krista set her mug down, crossed the space, and caught Zoe by the shoulders. “Hey. Look at me. Breathe.”
Zoe’s eyes lifted, wide and frantic.
“I’ve got this,” Krista said firmly, her tone so steady it was almost a balm. “You stay up here.”
And then she was gone, her heels clicking smartly down the stairs, moving as if it were her shop and Jackson was her problem to solve.
Zoe lingered, heart hammering, before creeping after her, unable to stop herself. She hovered just around the corner, peeking through the gap in the staircase rail.
Jackson was at the counter, hands spread against the worn wood, his shoulders broad, his expression tight. He startled when Krista appeared instead of Zoe.
“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “Is Zoe around?”
“She had a last-minute emergency,” Krista said smoothly, her tone pitched casual, practiced. “You just missed her.” She even pointed toward the window, as if expecting to see Zoe sprinting by with a bundle of blooms. “If you hurry, you might catch her.”
Jackson glanced outside, following her gesture. “That’s alright,” he said after a pause. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”
Krista shrugged, the motion loose, unbothered. “Flower emergencies don’t exactly keep a timetable.”
There was another long beat before Jackson gave a short nod. “Alright. I’ll try later. Could you pass these flowers on to her? Thanks.”
The bell above the door jingled, far too cheerfully, as he left. Krista waited until the sound of his truck pulling away reached them before she called, “You can come out now. He’s gone.”
Zoe stepped from behind the stairwell, pressing a hand to her chest. “Gone gone? Like actually gone?”
Krista nodded. “Truck’s down the street.”
Zoe let out the breath she’d been holding, shoulders sagging. “God. That was…cowardly. I know. But I need time. Just one day to figure things out.” She shut her eyes, unwilling to replay every second beneath that willow tree, though the memory pressed in anyway. It had been perfect…until it all shattered. She’d thought she had one night to live the fantasy, like Cinderella at the ball. She hadn’t realized midnight would come so soon.
“Don’t worry. I have no problem confronting any man.” Krista winked, easing the tension.
Zoe gave her a small, grateful smile. But she knew that soon she would have to stitch her heart back together enough to look Jackson in the eye.
THIRTY-TWO
JACKSON
Saturday, March 22nd
The mid-morning air back at the farm smelled like spring, turned soil sweetened by the hint of lilacs blooming along the fence line. Out in the distance, Jackson’s dad’s tractor rumbled, turning the fields in neat rows—corn, soybeans, pumpkins to come.
Jackson had known the minute Krista came around the corner that Zoe didn’t want to see him. She’d been at the register just seconds before and now suddenly she’d run out? She was avoiding him. And could he really blame her? He probably should’ve thought it through before marching into her shop like he could fix everything with a delivery of flowers.
There were a lot of ways a man could waste a Saturday after screwing up. He could’ve drowned himself in a bottle or numbed it all with the pills gathering dust in the cabinet beside his bed. He could’ve stayed in that quiet, hollow place where regret didn’t hurt quite so much.
But instead he did the harder thing: sat with the ache he’d caused and tried, somehow, to be better.
He started with Daisy and Tinsel, brushing their coats until they gleamed, letting the rhythm of the work settle him. Then he saddled up Xavier.
“Heading out?”
