Mateo said he didn’t care what color the ribbon was as long as I stopped rearranging the display tables.
I’m standing in front of Wildflower Books on a Saturday morning in December, and the ribbon stretches across the new front door, a custom wood-and-glass installation Dean and Mateo installed last week. The windows are new too, and behind them, the shop looks better than it did before someone tried to destroy it.
Better than I ever imagined it could look.
The shelves Mateo built are wrought iron and reclaimed wood. A desert wildflower motif is worked into the brackets. He spent two weeks on them after finishing the Tucson gate commission, which, despite being late, earned him a matching fence commission and a referral to two more ranch properties. Turns out the work spoke for itself. His father would have been proud of that.
Above the door, where the old hand-painted sign used to hang, there’s a new one. Forged iron letters spelling WILDFLOWER BOOKS, with tiny metal wildflowers winding through the lettering.
He won’t tell me how long it took. When I asked, he shrugged and said, “Long enough to get it right.”
Below the shop name, in smaller iron letters, he added without asking: HOME OF SIENNA SAGUARO.
The man’s all about the details.
The crowd for the reopening is bigger than I expected. Isabel’s mural is visible here on the community center wall, two blocks down, blazing with color to match the sunset landscape. Desert wildflowers and Red Rock Cliffs and a sky that looks like it’s on fire. She finished it last week.
Ryan wasn’t at the unveiling.
Dean was.
I don’t know the full story yet. Isabel hasn’t said much. But she’s smiling more, and Dean keeps finding reasons to stop by the newest mural she’s working on.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a voicemail from Jess. She wanted to be here, but with her brother’s wedding just around the corner, she couldn’t escape.
I press play.
“Hey. It’s me. I’m so mad I’m missing the ribbon cutting. Take a video for me. And Sadie? I’m so proud of you. Like, obnoxiously proud. The kind of proud where I tell strangers on the street about you, which I’ve been doing, and they’re very confused, but also now they want to buy your book. I always let them know chapter fourteen is a real treat.” A pause. “Also, I need to talk to you about something when you have a moment. It’s good. Really good. I think. So don’t let me forget, okay? I love you. Go cut that ribbon and look gorgeous doing it. Call me later. Bye.”
I save the voicemail and smile. Whatever Jess needs to tell me will have to wait a little longer, but the way her voice sounded makes me think I already know.
“You okay?” Mateo’s voice, low and close.
I turn. He’s standing beside me in a clean Henley and jeans, looking like he stepped out of one of my books. His hand finds the small of my back, automatic now, like breathing.
“I’m good,” I say. “Really good.”
“Nervous?”
“A little.” I look at the crowd, at my shop, at the iron sign with my pen name on it. “But the good kind.”
He follows my gaze to the sign. “You know, I keep meaning to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I read your book.”
I go still. “When?”
“About a week before any of this happened. Before it went viral.” He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the sign, a half-smile on his face. “I bought it the day it came out. The dedicationgot me. ‘To S.R.’ I knew.” He pauses. “And I knew who Diego was.”
“Mateo—“
“The carpenter’s hands.” His smile widens. “You described them in chapter three. ‘Hands that could build fortresses but touched her like she was something precious.’ That was me, Sadie. You wrote me into your book and didn’t even realize it.”
I did realize it. I just wasn’t ready to admit it.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
