Page 119 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

“Like specific ones with names I’ve never even heard of. He was talking about bloom cycles and soil depth like he was prepping for some floral SATs. I swear, he’s either planning a total career change, or he's missed you so much he lost his damn mind.”

That tugged a smile out of me that I didn’t entirely feel.

“Oh, it gets better,” Sasha added, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “He’s basically a professional decorator now. Apparently, he sprayed the paint on the walls instead of rolling it.”

Malcolm perked up in the passenger seat and nodded like they were talking about some miracle invention. “That machine is awesome. I’m borrowing it next week.”

All of us stared at him. Malcolm? Decorating? On purpose?

He caught our looks and snapped, “Don’t give me that face. If you saw what that thing could do, you’d be painting every wall in the tri-county area. It just sprays and covers. No drips, no roller lines, no trays. Just—poof—paint. Whole damn wall in ten minutes.”

Sasha had stopped at a red light and slowly turned her head to look at him. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

The light turned green, and as she hit the gas, she hummed. “Maybe Jackson and I need to redecorate.”

They launched into a full discussion about color palettes and feature walls as if they were HGTV’s new power couple. I satthere smiling faintly, nodding when they looked back at me, but my thoughts were drifting somewhere else entirely.

They were talking about flowers, machines, and paint...and I still didn’t know anything. Where was Webb? Did he even want to see me?

I stayed quiet for the rest of the ride, letting the rhythm of their chatter wash over me while I watched the houses pass by out the window. The neighborhoods blurred together—bright doors, flower boxes, dogs on porches. All so normal. After months of being hidden, locked away in apartments under names that weren’t mine, that kind of normality felt like something both fragile and impossible.

I just hoped I’d walk into that party and see the only thing that’d kept me steady through it all. And maybe have some damn cake too.

Sasha had barely putthe SUV in park when the front door flew open, and someone shouted my name.The moment I stepped out, the crowd erupted—laughter, hugs, claps on the back. It was overwhelming in the best possible way. Warm and familiar, like stepping into sunlight after a long, cold winter.

People I hadn’t seen in months circled around, congratulating me, telling me how brave I was and how relieved they were that I was okay. Someone shoved a red cup into my hand, and another person tossed a lei of fake flowers around my neck while shouting, “Welcome back to the land of the living, Gabby!”

I laughed, a real belly-deep laugh that felt like it cleared cobwebs from my lungs. Every part of this felt surreal. After being hidden away for months, being locked behind closed doors, and escorted down anonymous hallways, this party—with its music and open windows and a backyard full of happy chaos—was a riot of life.

“Gabriella!” That bellow could only belong to one person.

I turned just in time to be tackled into a hug that smelled of aftershave and gunpowder. Ira, of course, was grinning like he’d just won the lottery. Right behind him was Gladys, wearing a lemon-yellow sundress and heels that made her at least two inches taller than him.

“Don’t suffocate her, Ira,” she huffed, prying him off me and pulling me into her own warm embrace. “Let the girl breathe.”

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Ira told me as he rubbed my back. “We’re getting married!”

I blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Yep,” he confirmed proudly, slinging an arm around Gladys. “We're tying the knot, baby. She's finally making an honest man out of me.”

“And,” Gladys added with a dramatic lift of her eyebrows, “we’re moving into that ridiculous house where he makes all his stupid ammunition.”

“It’s not that stupid,” Ira muttered under his breath.

She shot him a glare. “There will be no more ammunition making and no more shenanigans of that type. Ira's going to be a well-behaved, sensible, law-abiding husband. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

He was standing behind her now, and as she looked at me with all the seriousness of a school principal laying down the law, Ira caught my eye, shook his head dramatically, and mouthed, "Like hell!"

Then he stepped forward and sipped his beer with a completely straight face. “Yes, dear.”

I burst out laughing so hard I nearly dropped my cup.

Gladys just rolled her eyes and said to me, “Anyway, it’s so nice to have you back, sugar. We need to start doing lunch, going on shopping trips—you know, girl time. I don’t care what your schedule looks like, you’re mine now.”

Something in my chest ached—but it wasn’t pain, not really. It was warmth. That woman had held me when I was falling apart, had fought for me when I couldn’t lift my own fists and had cared for me like I was her own. And maybe that’s what I’d become—a daughter to a mother who’d lost hers. There was no way I could ever say no to her.

---