Page 97 of Finders Keepers

We tell Ms. Lucy thank you and then Molly links her arm through mine as we walk back to our cars. “Want to hear about the spring menu we’re rolling out at the shop?”

“Please. Distract me from worrying about leaving her.”

She laughs. “She’s with Ms. Lucy. That woman raised half this town, I swear.” She pulls out her phone, scrolling through photos. “Look at these cinnamon rolls we’re testing. And we’re making this amazing iced tea with fresh mint and peach.”

“Those look incredibly perfect.” My mouth waters.

Molly’s whole face lights up. “Oh! Speaking of perfect…” She leans in her car and pulls out a paper cup. “I brought you something.”

The familiar logo of her coffee shop is stamped on the side. I take a sip and close my eyes in bliss. “You remembered my order?”

“Vanilla oat milk latte with an extra shot and a tiny splash of lavender syrup.” She looks pleased with herself. “Friends remember these things.”

Friends. The word settles on my tongue. It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve had a real friend without Matt interfering.

“Thank you,” I say, hoping she understands I mean for more than just the coffee.

“Always.” She checks her watch. “I should head to the shop. Will’s probably wondering where I am.”

“And I promised Mary Beth I’d help her with the new shipment of roses.” I take another sip of my latte.”

We wave goodbye to each other and get into our cars. It feels good having someone in my corner again, someone who remembers how I like my coffee and doesn’t judge my choices. As I make my way to Mary Beth’s, I find myself smiling, energized and looking forward to today’s tasks.

I pull into the small parking lot behind Mary Beth’s shop and walk around to the building to the front door. The bell above chimes as I enter, and the familiar scent of fresh flowers wraps around me.

“There you are, Bailey!” Mary Beth emerges from behind a display of potted orchids. “I was just about to call you.”

“Morning, Mary Beth.” I hang my purse on the coat rack behind the counter. “What’s first on the agenda today?”

She pulls out her scheduling book, flipping through the pages with practiced efficiency. “The Bexley Country Club called first thing this morning. They need those centerpieces delivered and set up before eleven for an event tonight.” She glances at the clock. “We’ve got about two hours to get everything loaded and delivered.”

“I’m on it.” I say and head to the back workroom where the centerpieces are already arranged in their crystal vases—cascading white hydrangeas mixed with pale pink roses and delicate sprays of baby’s breath. “These are gorgeous.”

“Aren’t they? I finished the last ones this morning.” She starts gathering the protective wrapping. “The van’s already backed up to the door.”

We work in comfortable silence, carefully wrapping each arrangement and loading them into the specialized holders in the delivery van. Mary Beth has this down to a science, everything secured just so to prevent any shifting during transport.

“Now remember,” she says as I climb into the driver’s seat, “Mrs. Harrison is the event coordinator. She’ll be waiting for you in the main ballroom.”

“Got it.” I double-check the delivery slip. “Main ballroom, Mrs. Harrison, twenty centerpieces.”

The drive to the Country Club takes about fifteen minutes outside of town, winding through the historic district before heading up into the hills where massive houses peek through carefully manicured landscaping. The guard at the gate waves me through after checking my delivery credentials.

Mrs. Harrison turns out to be an efficient woman in her fifties who knows exactly where she wants each centerpiece placed. We work quickly, and before I know it, all twenty arrangements are perfectly positioned on the round tables that fill the ballroom.

“These are exactly what we wanted.” Mrs. Harrison signs off on the delivery slip. “Mary Beth never disappoints.”

The delivery went smoother than I expected, and I’m feeling pretty good as I pull the van back into town. But as I turn onto Main Street, heading back to the shop, something shifts. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and my hands tighten on the steering wheel.

That feeling. The one I know too well. Like eyes boring into me.

My heart rate kicks up a notch as I check the rearview mirror. Nothing unusual, just normal morning traffic. A red pickup, a blue sedan, an SUV with a mom and kids.

But the feeling persists.

The thought of Matt crashes into my mind like an unwanted intruder. Has he figured out where we are? Is he still looking? The questions I try so hard to keep locked away during the day start spilling out. Dale. I need to call Dale about the paperwork.

I park the van behind the shop in its designated spot and start walking around to the front door. A new wave of the sensation hits me, so I slow my pace, glancing down the main street. The usual morning crowd is out and about—Mrs. Patterson walking her poodle, Mr. Henry sweeping the sidewalk in front of his hardware store across the street, a few people I don’t recognize window shopping.

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