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“This isn’t on you.”

She looks up. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s on both of us.” I knock on the side of the truck. “I won’t be late.”

Once she disappears down the street, I release a ragged breath. She wasn’t ready; nor was I. For once, I agreed we needed space, but at what point do we stop going around in circles to remain still enough to talk everything out? It’s one emotional interaction after the other.

Most of the stores are closing as I stroll down Main Street, an old baseball cap and a pair of aviators on my head. If anyone recognizes me, they don’t let on. I know most shop owners, and they’re not interested in reporting my whereabouts to the press. They prefer the town nonsense-free.

Up the hill, I spy Morning Glory, Margot’s flower shop. Talia told me about her friend’s store, and how she doesn’t think there’s a hidden meaning behind its name, claiming it’s her favorite flower.

A bell jingles overhead as I push inside, a myriad of floral scents greeting me as I stroll past buckets of colorful flowers and arrangements. It’s a vast improvement on the old tobacco shop that was here before, and I wonder if Margot and her daughter live upstairs.

A head of black hair pokes over the counter, and I do a double take. This person has the same coloring as Margot, the same pointy nose and chin, but much younger, and in less flowery clothing.

The young girl rolls her eyes. “If you say I look like my mom, I’ll ask you to leave.”

I smother my laugh behind my hand. “Willow, I take it.”

She folds her arms across her chest, scowling at me suspiciously. “Do I know you?”

Ah. I forgot about my camouflage. Whipping off my hat and glasses, I shake out my hair. “I’m a friend of your mom’s. Or well, we just met, but I know Talia.”

Her jaw unhinges. “You’re—Holy crap!”

“Language!” a soft voice calls from the back.

“Mom! There is a literal celebrity standing in our store!” Willow hollers.

Margot’s head pops out from behind the doorway, eyes like saucers until she sees me. “Oh, it’s just Tate.” She relaxes and comes to join her daughter behind the counter, a stem of lilies and scissors in hand.

“What do you mean just?” She waves an excited hand in my direction. “He’s Tate Brooks.”

“He’s also human. Breathe.”

She ignores her mom. “Can you sign something for me? Literally anything.”

“Sure.” I chuckle, and then she zips away into the back.

“Hi, Tate,” Margot greets. I notice her fingers ticking nervously against the handle of the scissors. She comes across as a little on edge, not as forward as Parker or Harriet. Her eyes flit toward the door occasionally, but she’s friendly and I don’t think it has anything to do with me personally.

“Nice seeing you again, Margot.” I raise my hands while glancing around the small store. “This is something. You’ve really turned the place around. Last time I was here, it was filled with eighty-year-old men. I’m pretty sure there was a communal spittoon out front.”

She visibly shivers. “Yeah. It took a while to scrub the stink of tobacco off the walls, but we’re pretty proud of it. What brings you in?”

“I was out for a walk and thought I’d pop in.”

Her face brightens. “Well, welcome. We’ll be closing soon, so if you want anything, let me know.”

I contemplate my next move, worried I’m overstepping. “Can I ask you something?”

She lays down the scissors and lilies. “Uh, sure.”

Swallowing, I go to speak when Willow returns like a tornado, waving a plain T-shirt in the air. “Could you sign this?”

“Hey, that’s mine,” Margot declares.

“And you never wear it.” Willow pulls a Sharpie from the pot of pens by the register. “If I wear this to school, Holly will have to speak to me.”