Page 180 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

She notices almost immediately.

"There."

"What?"

"That's the first time you've completely relaxed since we sat down." I smile into my coffee. "I think you might be right."

She lifts her cup toward mine. "To progress."

I gently tap my mug against hers. "To progress."

Neither of us says another word for a while. We simply sit together, watching Briar Cove welcome another spring day.

***

We leave the café without discussing where we're going next.

Somehow, we always seem to end up walking through town after therapy. It has become part of the routine, as natural as coffee or Annette reminding me to stretch before bed.

The afternoon has settled comfortably over Briar Cove. Storefront windows stand open to the mild spring air, and the sidewalks are busier than they've been in months. Winter hasn't disappeared completely, but it has loosened its grip enough for people to venture outside without hurrying from one place to another.

Annette slows as we pass the florist. Buckets of tulips and daffodils line the sidewalk, filling the air with the faint scent of fresh earth and blossoms.

"I always stop here," she says. "You do?" She nods, leaning down to admire a cluster of pale pink flowers. "My grandmother loved peonies. Every spring she'd wait for the first buds like they were old friends coming home."

She gently brushes a fingertip across one of the blossoms before we continue walking. "She used to tell me flowers rewarded patient people. You plant them, take care of them, and then one morning they decide it's finally time to bloom."

"That sounds optimistic."

"It sounds like gardening."

"It also sounds like a lot of waiting."

She laughs. "It is."

"I've never really understood flowers."

"I gathered that."

"I probably couldn't identify a peony if it introduced itself."

She laughs harder this time. "No, I don't suppose you could."

We continue down the sidewalk while she tells me about helping her grandmother weed the garden every spring and carrying armfuls of flowers into the house once they finally bloomed.

I honestly have no opinion whatsoever about peonies. I honestly have no opinion whatsoever about peonies. Or gardening. Or flowers in general. But I could listen to Annette talk about them all afternoon.

A few doors farther along, we reach the bookstore. The front windows have been decorated with colorful paper kites and hand-painted storybook characters. Inside, a woman sits in a rocking chair reading to a semicircle of children who listen with complete concentration.

I stop walking without meaning to. Annette notices immediately. "You like bookstores?"

"I do."

She follows my gaze through the window. "My dad used to take me to a children’s bookstore every Saturday." "For story hour?" She nods. "I was convinced the woman who read the books knew every fairy tale ever written."

"What did your dad think?" "That he could drink coffee in peace for forty-five minutes."

I laugh. "Smart man."