Page 132 of Defensive Desire

Now I just see love.

"Mom's finally living her best life," I say, touching a velvety petal. "Who knew Carter Family Flowers would become Iron Ridge's go-to florist?"

Yes, that's right.

My mother, who spent decades telling me to be practical, finally pursued her own dream three years ago. Now she supplies all five Chapter & Grind locations with weekly arrangements that make Instagram influencers swoon with the bold colors and unique arrangements.

And Clara's old Summit Café location?

It now houses Mom's flagship store, its windows filled with cascading greenery and rainbow displays of blooms that Clara would hardly recognize.

"Oh!" Georgie remembers, pulling a postcard from her bag. "This came for you."

The image shows London in springtime, Westminster Abbey framed by cherry blossoms. I flip it over to see Clara's familiar handwriting:

Emma, the teahouse is thriving! Hope you're still planning to visit in May. P.S. That footballer, or should I say,soccerplayer I mentioned? He proposed last week!

I tuck the card into my drawer, making a mental note to send her a congratulatory blend later today.

"I should get going," I say, checking my watch. "I promised Mom I'd help pick out the specialty arrangements for the anniversary celebration."

Georgie whisks me out the door, and soon, the bell above Carter Family Flowers chimes as I push open the door. The scent hits me immediately. Earthy, sweet, and fresh. Like spring captured in a bottle.

"Emma!"

Mom appears from behind a display of potted orchids, her once-perfect bob now styled in a more relaxed cut that frames her face. She's wearing a linen apron over what would have once been her "casual gardening clothes" but now appears to be her everyday wear. Pearls have been replaced by a simple pendant of pressed flowers in resin.

"These just came in," she says, gesturing to a workbench covered in blooms of every color. "I'm thinking these purple tulips with coffee-colored dahlias for the main pieces. What do you think?"

I run my fingers over the petals. "They're perfect."

"Melanie's Maddie is coming by later to help arrange them," Mom says, pride evident in her voice. "That girl has an eye for composition. And Ben's already asking if he can work at Chapter & Grind when he turns sixteen."

I laugh. "Following in his aunt's footsteps, huh?"

"Speaking of following footsteps," Mom says, her expression softening. "Your father and I stopped by to watch Grandpa Walt with the kids yesterday."

Grandpa Walt, now eighty-seven and moving slower but still sharp as a tack, runs the "Junior Barista" program at our arena location every Wednesday.

It's mostly him telling outrageous stories about "the old days" while children decorate cookies and pretend to brew coffee in play cups.

"Oh dear. Was he telling the bear story again?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Complete with sound effects," Mom confirms. "The children were enraptured. Just like they always are with Logan."

The mention of his name still makes my heart do that ridiculous flutter. Five years, and I'm still not immune.

"I should get going," I say, checking my watch. "Logan's team has their end-of-season celebration at the arena today."

Mom nods, but catches my arm gently before I can leave. "I'm proud of you, Emma. I should have said it more, sooner. But I am."

My throat tightens. "Thanks, Mom. I'm proud of you too."

The familiar bustle of Icehawk Arena greets me as I push through the doors.

The off-season has begun, but the place still hums with activity. Day camps, hockey clinics, and, most importantly, Logan's kids clinic that runs three days a week.

I slip into the stands, watching as tiny players in oversized gear wobble across the ice, each one trailing after Logan like ducklings following their mother.

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