CHAPTER 1
Maggie
The mirror was crooked again.
Maggie stepped back, tilted her head, then stepped forward and nudged the brass frame slightly to the left. The sunlight from the front windows caught the beveled edge and flared across the dusty floor of Found & Chosen, turning the whole room momentarily golden.
The shop looked like a curated dreamscape — part vintage showroom, part botanical lounge, part cabinet of curiosities. It smelled like old books and new soil, and looked like a flea market had made out with a greenhouse and then gone to therapy. On any given day, customers could find a Depression-era butter dish beside a hand-painted tarot deck, or a Victorian fainting couch draped with a handwoven blanket. Some customers came for the fiddle-leaf figs, some came for the feeling, as though maybe, just maybe, they were about to stumble across exactly the thing they didn’t know they needed.
Old apothecary cabinets lined one wall, filled with antique postcards, brass keys, and ceramic thimbles. Cascadingpothos and sleepy monstera plants softened the hard lines of midcentury credenzas and art deco bar carts. The scent of lemon balm and cedar hung in the air, thanks to the incense Colette insisted on burning near the register.
“Just admit defeat,” Colette called from the counter, where she was reorganizing a display of hand-thrown mugs glazed in smoky lavender. “That mirror hates you.”
Maggie stuck out her tongue. “Or maybe it’s just cursed.”
Colette raised a brow over her tortoiseshell glasses. She had the kind of effortless cool Maggie had always admired — messy bun, oversized cardigan even in the late Texas summer, dark jeans rolled at the ankle, and red lipstick that somehow never smudged. “Do you think that makes it more or less valuable?”
“Definitely more, are you kidding?” Maggie pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and crossed back toward the display table, adjusting a linen runner that had bunched. Her reflection in the shop’s curved windows caught her off guard — she looked so tired. Even her twelve-step skin care routine had lost its magic, apparently. Maybe she should start googling whatever Lindsay had done to her face.
The shop was quiet this Thursday morning, just the hum of the ceiling fans and the occasional creak from the wood-plank floors. Outside, the street traffic was sparse. A couple wandered past, hand in hand.
“Anything good come in from the estate haul?” she asked, folding a stack of vintage tea towels.
Colette perked up. “Couple of hideous lamp bases, a box of untouched wedding china, and one very eccentric swan-shaped dish that I think would be a perfect tampon holder for the bathroom.”
Maggie blinked. “A what?”
“You heard me. It’s porcelain. Very detailed. I’m naming it Tamp-swan.”
“That’s horrifying.” Maggie shook her head. “Swans are so pretentious.”
“Pretentious? They’re just so pretty.”
“Yeah, and they know it,” Maggie insisted. “The worst of the waterfowl by far.”
Colette shrugged. “It’s going in the bathroom next to the flamingo soap dish. Don’t fight me.”
Maggie gave a reluctant laugh. “There’s a ‘Don’t Flock in the Bathroom’ cross-stitch pattern in our future. My friend Danica could whip it up on her next night shift, if we need.”
Colette grinned, then her expression turned thoughtful as she continued to watch Maggie.
A customer walked in, and Maggie quickly turned away, grateful for any excuse to get away from the open invitation in her friend’s face.
Maggie shook her head, immediately knowing what that look meant. Colette was her best friend in Austin, and Maggie had begged to help at Found & Chosen when Rosie started preschool last spring. She’d been “volunteering” in her friend’s shop ever since, just to get out of the house and feel like she had a purpose again.
It had been about six months since she and Gwen said the word out loud: separated. Not in court. Not even officially. When Gwen was home, she slept in the guest room. The kids accepted it like they accepted all the small weirdnesses of adulthood — with questions that trailed off when the answers got vague. Mommy has her own room now. That was enough for them.
Gwen wasn’t home often anymore. Her travel schedule for work had instantly filled up, and Maggie felt a mixture of disappointment and relief whenever she checked their shared calendar and saw another trip booked. Their lives still ran in tandem, like parallel train tracks — close, but not touching.
Now it was late August, and school was back. Jude and Arlo, her seven-year-old twins, had started second grade,while Rosie — five, stubborn, and firmly anti-pants — marched off to kindergarten. Maggie had never been more grateful for the excuse to get out of the house for weird morning hours at the shop. She had purpose again, and that felt good.
And as for Colette being her only friend who knew about the separation… well, most of the time it was fine, but sometimes Colette started giving her those looks. The “I’m here if you need to talk because you’re clearly miserable” looks.
Those looks were part of why she told herself she hadn’t told her best friends from college yet.
Between Gwen’s endless work trips and Maggie’s well-timed excuses — bad Wi-Fi, late school pickups, feigned exhaustion — the truth had stayed neatly off-camera. The group was too busy with spreadsheets and engagement rings to notice.
She didn’t want to ruin the dynamics. Didn’t want to draw attention. Didn’t want Danica and Pete’s swiftly approaching bachelorette trip and upcoming nuptials to turn into a pity party.
