Page 1 of A Bloom in Winter

PROLOGUE

Thirty-three years ago . . .

Bloomin’ Buds Flower Shop

Connelly, New York

Every night.”

Frowning, Milly Trumble put her purse down by the cash register and rubbed her sunburned shoulder. “Every night?”

Her best friend, Judy Descartes, nodded and stepped back to inspect the bouquet of red roses she was arranging on the counter. At the age of fifty-two, the woman had a cap of gray hair, an apron with ivy appliqué on it, and the direct manner of someone who’d raised four boys in a three-bedroom house with a husband who worked for the fire department.

“Yup, he started right after you flew out. He comes five minutes before closing and buys one white flower. Other than that, everything was business as usual—”

“One flower?”

“Yup, and he pays with a ten-dollar bill and leaves the change.” Judy put her hand out. “Could you pass me the baby’s breath?”

Milly glanced around at the shelves full of windowsill plants, scented candles, and cards for all occasions. Then she checkedon the glass-fronted walk-in that was stocked with buckets of roses in different colors, as well as carnations and various other blooms. Nothing was out of place, and there were receipts overflowing the in-basket, all ready for her to go through.

“Will you stop.” Judy blew a wisp of hair out of her face. “Did you think I was gonna burn the place down in the last week?”

“Of course not.”

Judy waved a hand toward the pile of baby’s breath. “Hello?”

“Sorry.” She moved the tangle of tiny white sprays closer to her business partner. “Here.”

“Did you really come right from the airport? I figured you’d go home and get a good sleep first.”

“I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

Which was true. But this was also her first vacation since the divorce two years ago, and the idea of walking into that dark, empty house made her stomach hurt. Plus the time away hadn’t been worth it. She’d gotten a sunburn, sand in every shoe she had, and all she’d done was worry about the shop.

And of course, she’d missed Roger. Who was on a honeymoon with the new Mrs. Trumble.

“Did you miss me?” she blurted as she patted at her hair. She’d gotten it cut and dyed it blond before she’d left.

She hated the way it looked.

“Of course I did.” Judy speared the baby’s breath into the arrangement, the tiny buds like fireflies against a red night. “And before you go and start counting peonies, yes, the flowers came in for the Clancy wedding bouquets and that ridiculous planner of theirs has already been in. Twice. That event is going to be ridiculous. We didn’t do ‘planners’ in our day. I don’t know what’s wrong with these girls now. Everyone thinks they’re a Hollywood star.”

“Sometimes it’s more about the pictures and the ceremony than the guy they’re standing next to.” Milly tilted to the side andfrowned at the bouquet. “Hold up, that section on the left needs more—”

“I know, I’m working on it—”

Bing!

Judy lifted her wrist and tapped her watch. “Right on time.”

Milly turned to the shop door—and time slowed to a crawl. The man who entered her and Judy’s pastel paradise was dressed in black—was that leather? the whole outfit?—and standing tall and wide as the building itself. He was positively enormous, with shoulders that seemed to press on the walls of the shop, and a tightly shorn head of dark hair that nearly brushed the ceiling. But the holy-crap wasn’t just about his size. His face was harsh in the ways of winter, the bones showing in hard cuts as if he didn’t eat enough, his stare black as the pits of Hell, his expression harsh and aggressive.

Milly jumped as she felt a hand touch her arm.

“Relax, will ya,” Judy hissed. “And stop it. You don’t have to call the police.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

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