Page 143 of Finders Keepers

“Bailey, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her voice trembles slightly as she pulls back, hands gripping my shoulders. “When I heard what happened…” She shakes her head, eyes glistening. “We were all so worried.”

“I’m okay.” I reach up and squeeze her hand, grateful for her concern. “Really. Thanks to everyone here.”

“Well, you’re stuck with us now.” She grins, then turns to Gavin. “Hey, Will needs your opinion on something about that new rescue horse.”

“Do you mind?” Gavin asks me.

“Go ahead,” I say.

As Gavin heads off with Molly, Mary Beth approaches, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. She’s wearing a flowing floral dress that matches the cheerful arrangements dotting the room.

“Those centerpieces are gorgeous.” I gesture to the nearest table. “The ribbon detail is perfect.”

“Oh, those were your designs, honey. I just followed your sketches.” She links her arm through mine, leading me toward a quieter corner. “Which is actually something I wanted to discuss with you.”

My heart skips. “Oh?”

“I’ve been running Magnolia Blooms for thirty-five years now.” She pats my hand. “And lately, I’ve been thinking about slowing down, maybe spending more time with my grandkids in Austin.”

“But the shop-” I start.

“Is exactly why I wanted to talk to you.” She turns to face me fully. “You’ve got a natural talent, Bailey. The way you connect with customers, your eye for design… I’d love to discuss the possibility of you taking over when I retire.”

The room seems to tilt slightly. “Me? But I’ve only been working there a few months, if that.”

“Sometimes a few months is all it takes to know.” She gives me a warm smile. “No pressure, just think about it. We can talk about the details later.”

Before I can formulate a response, Mr. Locke and Mr. Henry approach, both dressed in their Sunday best despite it being a Thursday evening.

“There’s our newest resident!” Mr. Locke’s voice booms warmly. “How are you settling in?”

“Everything’s wonderful.” I manage to find my voice. “I can’t believe you all did this.”

“Small towns take care of their own.” Mr. Henry adjusts his bowtie. “And you and that precious little girl of yours, well, you’re one of us now.”

Mr. Henry launches into a story about his first days in Pine Grove, his hands gesturing animatedly. “You should’ve seen this place forty years ago. Main Street was just a dirt road, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, here we go again.” Mr. Locke rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t get him started on the great sidewalk debate of ‘83.”

“That was a legitimate concern!” Mr. Henry protests. “Some folks wanted those fancy stamped concrete patterns, but I said-”

“Plain concrete would last longer,” Mr. Locke finishes with him, clearly having heard this tale many times before.

I can’t help but laugh at their friendly bickering. My eyes drift across the room, landing on the ice cream station where Sophie sits perched on a chair next to Tommy. They’re both concentrating intensely on decorating their ice cream sundaes with sprinkles. Gavin stands behind them as he chats with Ms. Lucy. She’s showing Sophie how to drizzle chocolate sauce in a perfect zig zag pattern.

“And you know what?” Mr. Henry’s voice draws my attention back. “Those sidewalks are still holding up just fine.”

“Unlike your memory,” Mr. Locke quips. “It was ‘82, not ’83.”

“Now listen here…” Mr. Henry wags his finger, but his eyes twinkle with mischief.

The warmth of their conversation wraps around me. It’s so different from the tense, walking-on-eggshells atmosphere I’d grown accustomed to. Here, people joke and tease with genuine affection. They argue about silly things like sidewalk installations from forty years ago instead of…I push away the darker memories, focusing instead on Sophie’s smile as she begins eating her sundae.

“Bailey, dear,” Mr. Locke says, “you simply must tell Henry here about those lovely window displays you’ve been doing at the flower shop. Maybe it’ll finally inspire him to spruce up that hardware store window of his.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my displays,” Mr. Henry huffs. “Tools are practical things. They don’t need fancy arrangements.”

I laugh, feeling more at ease with their playful banter. “Mr. Henry, I could stop by sometime and add a few low-maintenance plants to your window display. Maybe some succulents? They’re practically indestructible, even for someone with an, um, practical mindset.”

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