“Can we go to the Eastern Shore again? I liked Ocean City.”
“Maybe,” I say, because maybe is easier than explaining that gas money is theoretical right now. As theoretical as saying Ocean City can be compared to a Greek Isle, but hey, what’s a single mom to do?
We turn the corner and our street comes into view. Flower boxes waking up. Sidewalks dusted with early petals. Our shop sits on the corner—windows full of green, the sign I hand-painted last year catching the light.
Leaf & Letter. My little slice of green heaven. My wildly optimistic decision to bet on myself right before everything else fellapart. Some days I’m not sure if it was brave or delusional opening a plant and stationery store, but here we are.
One of my favorite things about this store is how the world shifts the moment we step inside. Sunlight pours through tall windows, catching on glossy leaves and trailing vines. The building is old—original brick walls, hardwood floors that creak like they’re gossiping—but every corner is alive with green. Potted palms near the door, succulents on floating shelves, ivy spilling from hanging planters like it’s auditioning for a fairytale.
Between the plants, shelves of stationery line the walls—watercolor cards, specialty pens Theo’s definitely tried to steal, and colorful journals waiting to be filled with secrets.
Classical music drifts through the space. Vivaldi. My shop assistant, Charlie, is convinced plants grow better with the right soundtrack. Based on the way the Philodendrons have been growing, I think he may be right.
A woman in her sixties browses the succulents near the window, and there’s a couple waiting by the counter looking very official. I can’t see Charlie on the floor, so I quickly point Theo toward the back of the shop, to his homework corner, so I can approach.
“Finding everything okay?” I manage with my best smile.
She looks up, beaming. “I’m looking for something low maintenance. My daughter says I have a black thumb.”
“You’re in the right section. This jade is perfect—bright light, water every couple weeks.”
“Every couple weeks?” Her eyes light up. “I can manage that.”
I ring her up, wrap the jade carefully, send her off with care instructions on one of our custom cards. The bell chimes as she leaves.
I turn toward the couple at the counter just as Charlie appears from the back, Theo trailing behind him, his silver hair catching the late-afternoon light. Charlie has worked with me as the shop assistant since the doors opened. The poor man wasaround to witness my marriage disintegrate in the most fantastic and spectacular blowup imaginable. He came to me in need of a job, because he wanted to be kept busy, and I got a second dad I didn’t know I needed.
“Hey, Juliette,” Charlie says easily. “I’m going to get Theo to help me repot the rosemary. Sound good?”
Theo’s face lights up. “Instead of homework?”
“Thisisyour homework,” Charlie says solemnly. “Advanced horticultural studies.”
I laugh. “Go ahead. But actual homework after, okay?”
“Obviously,” Theo lies, already following Charlie.
“I want to know how that last interview was for the business grant, but…” Charlie pauses. “Apparently, you have a meeting.” He nods toward the couple, plastering a “we’ll-be-right-with-you” smile across his face. “And it’s right now.”
My stomach drops. “Now?”
“This moment.”
I turn slowly to face the couple. The woman is grinning so wide it’s almost unsettling.
“Hi,” I say carefully.
The woman surges forward, thrusting out her hand. “Oh, hello, Juliette. So wonderful to see you again!”
Again? My brain scrambles. Nothing.
“I’m Carol Mason, City Outreach Coordinator.” She beams like she’s delivering a check for ten million dollars. “I just had to come by personally to give you the good news.”
Good news. That phrase has never once delivered.
“Oh,” I say. “That sounds…fun. Who doesn’t love good news?”
“Exactly my thoughts.” She gestures to the man beside her. “This is Ian, also on the committee.”
