Page 29 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
Sophie leans in, grin sly. "Maybe he just needs a little nudge. Want me to accidentally text him a pic of your boobs?"
"NO!" I gasp, horrified. “What is wrong with you, woman?”
She shrugs. "Just throwing out options."
Emma gives me a more grounded smile. "Look, Marcus has walls… that’s totally obvious. He’s not used to letting people in. But he let you in and that’s scary for someone like him. Doesn’t mean he regrets it. Just… might need a minute to figure out what the hell he’s doing. Give him some time."
I nod slowly, her words settling somewhere deep. "Maybe."
"But if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow," Candace adds, taking a sip, "I’m calling in a SEAL team. Because no man in his right mind gives up coffee, raspberry danishes, and you in one swoop."
I laugh despite myself, the tension in my chest easing just enough for me to breathe again. “He’s an Army Ranger, not a SEAL. I think they get touchy about that kind of stuff.”
“Whatever. Tomato, tom-ato.”
My girls may be ridiculous, but they always know how to pull me back from the edge.
So, now I wait… either for him to show up… or for me to find the courage to let him go.
* * *
The bell over the bakery door chimes again, but instead of another caffeine-deprived local, or Marcus, it’s Lila Roberts from the Pelican Point Garden Club peeking her head in like she’s worried she might be interrupting a top-secret operation.
“Julie? Sweetheart, we’ve got someone over at the florist shop you’ll want to meet,” she calls, her curls bouncing as she waves me over.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, my stomach tightening. I look past her through the window and spot a small gathering forming in front of the flower shop where a few bouquets are now propped up like a soft tribute to Mrs. Waverly.
Lila nods gently. “The attorney from her estate just showed up. He’s asking for you.”
I glance toward the back where the espresso machine is still hissing and Joselyn’s helping herself to another scone like it’s her last meal. “Can you guys hold down the fort for five minutes?”
Emma waves me off. “We’ve got it. Go see what the lawyer wants. I’ll make sure Joselyn doesn’t put bourbon in the vanilla extract again.”
“That was one time!” Joselyn protests through a mouthful of pastry.
Candace grins and pulls out her phone. “And it made the best sugar cookies I’ve ever had. Just saying.”
I toss my apron on the counter and follow Lila out into the morning light, the scent of flour and cinnamon giving way to the sharper perfume of roses and earth. The florist shop looks… different. The blinds are pulled halfway up, the door propped open, and the interior is already filled with the flurry of volunteers in wide-brimmed hats and floral gloves. It’s equal parts adorable and chaos.
Inside, four of the garden club ladies are bustling around like they’ve been running a flower empire their whole lives. Trays of begonias sit beside stacks of new orders, and someone is humming an off-key version of “You Are My Sunshine” from the back room.
“Julie!” Ruth Bennett, one of the garden club members, calls. “We’re just tidying up a bit! You know, until the town finds someone new to take over. Can’t have the shop sitting empty.”
Marie waves from behind the counter where she’s already reorganized the register and added a tiny sign that reads In Loving Memory. “We’re just volunteers. Temporary, of course. Unless the town needs us longer. Or indefinitely. Or forever.”
In the center of it all stands a man in a pressed navy suit and polished shoes that cost more than my espresso machine. He’s flipping through a leather-bound folder when I walk in.
He turns and offers a polite smile. “Are you Julie Harper?”
“Yes,” I say cautiously. “That’s me.”
“I’m David Langston, attorney for the estate of Violet Waverly.” He extends his hand, and I shake it, though my palms are already clammy. “You’re named in her will.”
“She left me something?” I ask, suddenly nervous.
He nods and reaches into his bag, producing a wooden recipe box with delicate floral carvings etched into the lid. “Mrs. Waverly said this was to go to you directly. She referred to it as her legacy box.”
My breath catches in my throat, caught off guard by the lump forming. “Legacy?”
