Pepper dragged her back to the spotlight, calling out to the photographers that she was the writer ofThe Bellflower Girls.She and Seraphina wrapped their arms around each other, smiling for the camera.
Her husband joined Tyler and me, the three of us watching Seraphina and Pepper.
“Stone Hickman.” He held out his hand for each of us to shake. “Pepper’s my wife. She loves all this. As you can tell.”
I nodded, chuckling. “Seraphina doesnotlove all this, but she’s hanging in there.”
A few people near the barrier held up paperback copies ofThe Bellflower Girls. Pepper noticed before Seraphina did.
“Oh, stop for a second,” Pepper said to the handler. “Seraphina needs to sign their books.”
Seraphina broke away to the barrier, signing books with a still-shaking hand, thanking people who told her how much her stories meant to them.
“This book got me through chemo treatments,” one woman said.
“Two miscarriages for me,” her friend said.
“Thank you for writing books about women like us,” another said.
Seraphina’s expression had changed. She no longer looked frightened. Instead, she seemed deeply touched by their comments.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” Seraphina said, her eyes shimmering. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
“We’ve been out of our minds with excitement,” the first woman said. “We weren’t sure if you’d be here.”
“You look beautiful,” one said.
A reporter with a microphone stepped into our path. “Ms. Sinclair, how does it feel to see your book on the big screen?”
“Surreal,” Seraphina said, smiling. “Absolutely surreal. It’s a dream come true.”
Our friends had already gone inside the theatre to find our section of seats. After Seraphina had signed all the books, we escaped into the lobby. Seraphina let out a breath. “That was unbelievable. My heart’s pounding. Did I say anything dumb? I think I blacked out.”
“You did great,” I said.
“Mom, those women loved your book enough to come here. That’s pretty amazing.” Tyler hugged his mother. “I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you,” she said.
“I’m proud of both of you,” I said.
We were escorted to our seats, where our friends were waiting.
I sat on one side of Seraphina, with Tyler on her other. She reached for my hand as the lights dimmed. Her pulse thumped against my palm.
“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Seraphina said.
The Netflix logo appeared. Then the title card:The Bellflower Girls.
And for the next two hours, I watched Seraphina’s creation play before us.
The story followed the five Bellflower sisters in a small Alabama town called Honeysuckle Creek. Pepper played Rose, the second oldest, who managed the flower shop and was raising two children on her own after a divorce. She was sunny, warm—the emotional heart of the family—but beneath the brightness was a deep loneliness. Eliza was the oldest, a writer, raising a teenage son alone. She narrated the story, watching her sisters stumble toward happiness while convinced it wasn’t in the cards for her. Violet was a former dancer whose career had ended when she’d had to adopt her deceased best friend’s baby. Lily was the quietest sister. She’d found her husband cheating on her with a much younger woman. Starting over, with her young daughter, she opened an interior design studio.
And then there was Dahlia. Sharp-tongued, fiercely independent, who ran an art gallery in town. Her husband had died, leaving her to raise her daughter without a father. She delivered lines that made the audience laugh—cutting observations, perfectly timed wit.
In the five-book series, the sisters had each had their own love story. But the film script was not a romance. It was about family and sisterhood and powerful women. Seraphina had mentioned that Netflix intended on making more films featuring each sister’s romance. If the first one did well, that is.
The settings in the film were eerily familiar. A neighborhood bar called The Boar; a small bookstore; one of the character’s garden bursting with flowers. And, obviously, the flower shop.
