Page 1 of Spring Fling

Chapter One

Daisy

I drove into Wintervale at first light, the sun’s early rays flickering across the mountains in peach and lavender hues. Every roadside planter brimmed with color: daisies, tiny daffodils, tulips in soft pinks and bold reds. A breeze through my open window carried a faint hint of new blossoms and damp earth, the quintessential smell of spring waking from winter’s hush. Spotting the roadside banners proclaimingWintervale Flower & Garden Market —April 10–15, I felt a surge of excitement course through me. This festival was my golden opportunity, and I intended to seize it.

The narrow main street, lined with quaint shops, was already lively despite the early hour. Vendors unloaded boxes of budding plants, passersby bustled with coffee cups, and the occasional dog trotted alongside its owner, sniffing at the fresh mulched beds. Window displays overflowed with handcrafted signs welcoming festival-goers. I spotted a local eatery advertising “Springtime Scones” and promised myself a visit, once I’d settled in.No time for pastries yet, Daisy—focus on the big prize.My business,Bloom & Grow, thrived onthese events, traveling region to region to craft floral magic. If I could capture the eye of the rumored magazine scouts here, that single mention could catapult me from beloved local florist to recognized name in the wedding-and-events circuit.

A mild incline led me onto a more residential street, and the scenery shifted—fewer shops, more blooming fruit trees shedding delicate petals like confetti across sidewalks. After a short bend, my destination materialized:Evergreen Inn. At a glance, it looked plucked from a postcard. The restored Victorian house stood proud, its wraparound porch lined with pots of pansies and newly sprouting vines. Sage-green shutters framed tall windows, and above the front steps hung a sign reading “Welcome to Evergreen Inn, est. 18—renovated 2020,” a playful nod to its storied past. My heart warmed at the idea of staying somewhere with a dash of both modern comfort and old-world charm.

I parked near a gravel patch beside the Inn, grateful that the trip had been smooth. My honey-brown hair fell forward as I rummaged in the trunk for an overnight bag. The rest of the vehicle was jam-packed: crates of vases and ribbons, elaborate stands for my showpiece arrangements, and boxes upon boxes of fresh flowers. The sweet perfume of stored lilies drifted out the moment I popped the rear hatch, a reminder that time was precious—these blooms needed proper hydration soon. But first, check-in.

Clutching a small suitcase, I stepped onto the Inn’s front path, noticing dew droplets that caught the morning sunlight like tiny crystals. A soft breeze rustled overhead, and the porch swing swayed as if beckoning me to pause. The old wood planks under my feet had been polished to a gentle gleam, and baskets of pastel blossoms hung from each eave. In that instant, I felt pure contentment. Wintervale had always been described to meas a town that took pride in seasonal celebrations; seeing it up close, every detail radiated that exuberant sense of possibility.

A small black terrier lay sprawled in a patch of golden light near the steps, a well-gnawed bone wedged between his paws. He glanced up at me, tail giving a slow wag, and then trotted over. I knelt down, offering my fingers. He sniffed them briefly, then gave my hand an affectionate lick, as though officially welcoming me to his domain. I laughed softly and patted his head, feeling my earlier travel fatigue slip away in the face of such an endearing greeting.

“He’s a sweetheart,” came a warm voice behind me. “His name’s Bramble.”

I glanced up to see a woman step onto the porch from inside, wearing jeans and a simple sweater. She had dark-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and an air of bright efficiency. “I’m Rory Lancaster, proprietor,” she said, smiling wide. “Let me guess—Daisy Parker?”

“That’s me,” I answered, returning her smile as I stood. “I’m hoping it’s not too early to check in?”

Her gaze dipped to the large overnight bag at my side and then flicked toward my overloaded car. “Not at all. Come on in. I’ll get you sorted.”

I followed Rory through the front doors into a foyer that took my breath away. High ceilings, original crown molding, polished wood floors softened by tastefully patterned rugs. A faint aroma of lemon polish merged with the sweet undertones of fresh blossoms arranged in a tall vase near a stained-glass window. Colorful prisms of light danced across the walls, creating a dreamy effect. It was the perfect blend of quaint charm and a modern, inviting vibe.

“I’m so glad you still had a room,” I said, my excitement escaping me as a slight laugh. “This place is beautiful—beyond anything I expected.”

“Thank you so much,” Rory said, leading me toward a modest check-in desk. As we walked in, Bramble—the terrier—ambled back inside behind us, then flopped onto a cozy rug in the foyer, evidently content now that he’d delivered his official greeting.

“My partner Cass is a contractor,” Rory continued. “He specializes in restoring historic buildings,” Rory continued, “I just happen to love Victorian architecture. Between us, we’ve breathed new life into the place. We’re happy you decided to stay here for Wintervale’s Spring festival. We were lucky we were able to get all the renovations completed in time to welcome visitors.”

“Oh, I can already tell I’m going to love it.” I reached into my purse for my wallet, noticing a chalkboard sign on the desk:Welcome Flower & Garden Market Participantsscrawled in decorative chalk lettering.

My phone buzzed with a reminder about the festival’s orientation meeting set for this afternoon, and a burst of nerves tingled up my spine.Focus. Breathe.I forced myself to remain calm. “I’m a floral designer,” I explained, feeling the need to fill the quiet. “I’ll have a booth at the market showcasing, well… everything I can fit in that poor car. Trying to get a shot at the'Best in Bloom'award. I hear it comes with big bragging rights and maybe a magazine feature?”

Rory nodded encouragingly. “Yep, that’s what folks say. Apparently, florists in the past have landed some pretty huge gigs because of exposure here, so the event is very popular. I hope it all goes perfectly for you.”

I handed her my credit card to handle the formalities. “Thank you. Me too. I’ve been working months on these new arrangement concepts. If I can catch the right sponsor’s eye, it might open some big doors.” My voice caught with a mix of determination and anxiety, but she gave me a sympathetic smile that eased my worries.

Just then, a tall man with rolled-up shirt sleeves and strong forearms walked in carrying a toolbox. He spotted Rory, parted his lips as if to ask a question, then paused to look at me. “You must be Daisy?”

I nodded, returning the easy grin. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Cass,” he said. “Need any help unloading your vehicle?”

“You read my mind,” I teased, relief flooding me. “I’d be so grateful. I have a ton of floral stands and supplies to store. I’m not sure I can get them all up the stairs by myself.”

“Don’t worry,” Cass chuckled. “We’ll manage. Come on, I’ll grab a dolly from the side room. Unless you want to do bicep curls with heavy boxes?”

I laughed. “I think I’ll pass on that workout.”

Rory handed me a key labeled “205” after finishing the check-in process. “Your room’s on the second floor, left side, near the end of the hall. Once you settle in, let us know if you need anything else. You can store big items in the side storage if you’d prefer not to trip over them all week.”

“Great, thanks.” I turned to Cass, feeling a second wave of gratitude for their thoroughness. “Okay, let’s do this. My SUV is out front. Prepare to see a floral explosion.”

Cass winked, leading me outside while Rory answered a phone call at the desk. The mild weather had turned slightly warmer, and the sunshine felt more pronounced, glinting off therecently melted frost. We navigated to my car, and Cass grabbed a folding dolly from a utility closet. In record time, we began stacking boxes, vases, and stands. I cringed at how many crates I’d crammed in, but Cass took it in stride, murmuring easy jokes about how the rest of the festival folks would “eat their hearts out” seeing my inventory.

We hauled the first load back inside, heading down a narrow hallway to a storage room. On the way, I admired glimpses of the Inn’s décor—carefully chosen wallpaper with a subtle floral motif, old light fixtures updated with eco-friendly bulbs. The sense that Cass and Rory cared about preserving history while meeting modern needs kept resonating in my mind and increased my admiration for the work they had done.

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