Page 88 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

Marge beamed. “Wait until you see the new walk-in cooler. Your hydrangeas are going to think they’ve died and gone to floral heaven.”

I smiled, but it felt… distant. Off somehow. Like I was trying to slide into a dress that no longer fit the same way.

“You okay, hon?” Eleanor asked softly. “You look like someone dropped a petunia in your coffee.”

“I’m fine,” I said, too quickly. “Just… adjusting.”

She patted my shoulder. “We’ll give you a minute.”

Once they disappeared into the back, I let out a breath and sat on the edge of a planter box, elbows on my knees.

The space was everything I’d envisioned for the future of Hearts in Bloom. A place for weddings, seasonal classes, floral retreats. A hub for creativity, color, and community.

So why did I feel like I was visiting someone else’s life?

Hazel found me twenty minutes later in the garden behind the shop. She didn’t say anything at first—just handed me a cup of chai and plopped down beside me on the bench, legs stretched out, hair pulled into a messy knot.

“You’ve got that look,” she said, sipping. “The one you get when you’ve made the perfect bouquet but still feel like something’s missing.”

I took a long drink before answering.

“I just walked through the new space,” I said quietly. “It’s gorgeous. Everything I wanted. Everything I planned for.”

“But?” she prompted.

“But now that I’m back… I don’t know.” I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. “It feels like I’ve grown into someone I don’t quite recognize. Like the dream didn’t shrink—it grew. And I’m not sure I belong in the same version of it anymore.”

Hazel was quiet for a beat, then said, “That sounds an awful lot like growth.”

I gave her a look. “Isn’t growth supposed to feel… good?”

“Sometimes it feels like vertigo,” she said with a shrug. “Especially when the ground underneath you starts shifting to match who you’ve become.”

I let her words settle. The wind stirred the tall grasses nearby. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked lazily. Cedar Springs continued on like it always had—steady, sweet, and small.

And I… wasn’t sure if I still fit inside it.

“I keep wondering,” I said, “what if I’m becoming someone who doesn’t fit this life anymore? What if I left for the competition and came back too… different?”

Hazel tilted her head. “Or maybe your life is just catching up to who you were always meant to be.”

I blinked.

She smiled softly. “You’ve always had this way of bringing people together, Ruby. Whether it’s flowers or fundraisers orfriendship—your chaos makes people feel like they belong. Maybe this new version of your life is finally big enough to hold all the pieces of you.”

The words hit me like warm rain—gentle, cleansing, and undeniable.

I nodded slowly, emotion rising in my throat. “What if I don’t know how to do both? Be bold out there and stay rooted here?”

“Then you figure it out one petal at a time,” Hazel said. “You don’t have to bloom all at once.”

I smiled, misty-eyed.

And then I stood, stretching my arms wide toward the sky. “Okay, metaphor queen. That was actually helpful.”

She grinned. “I know. I should charge for this.”

We laughed, and for the first time since I stepped back into Cedar Springs, I felt a little less like a stranger in my own garden.

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