Gretchen worked though her fingers went numb from the cold. She worked though her stomach roared at her to eat something. She worked though her head pounded and her feet ached.

She would not miss this deadline. She couldn’t afford to. While hers was the only all-local, all homegrown flower shop in town, it wasn’t the only one people had to choose from for their floral needs. If it were, perhaps she wouldn't have to worry so much. She certainly wouldn’t have been able to keep the front of the shop closed while she frantically wrapped stems and secured baby’s breath to boutonnieres.

A chime like an obnoxious doorbell made her lift her head. Her phone, which she’d propped in front of her, showed a text from Janey. Her best friend and fellow single mother, Janey was picking Dixie up from school and caring for her until Gretchen could get over there that evening.

The two women helped each other a lot, as Janey worked in Olympic National Park as a park ranger. They coordinated her days off with Gretchen’s busy times, and they’d made things work. Jess, Janey’s son, was a year older than Dixie, and the two got along great. Thankfully.

Headed over to get the kids! the text read.

Gretchen’s heart flew to the back of her throat. If Janey was already on her way to get the kids from school, Gretchen should be loaded and on her way to the reception center. Without answering the text, she put her head down and finished the last two wrist corsages and placed them delicately in the box for transport.

Taking a few precious seconds, she downed two painkillers and got her van loaded. The new tire in the front seemed to shine like black gold, and she realized Drew had not mentioned the cost of it.

This new worry ate at her, especially because she couldn’t just call or text him to find out. She didn’t have the man’s number, or know where he lived, or anything.

But she absolutely would not allow him to pay for her new tire. She knew where his mother and step-father lived, and she went out to clip flowers every morning. She’d find out how to get in touch with him from Donna.

She spun to re-enter the shop and retrieve the vases. Her vision blurred, and agony tore through her head. Instinctively, she reached out and steadied herself against the trusty, brown van. The last thing she needed was to faint in this back alley, where no one would find her for hours.

Everything settled back into its normal place, and she moved through the doorway a little slower than she’d planned. Once everything was loaded into the back of the van, she got in the driver’s seat.

Her stomach cramped, but she kept a tight grip on the steering wheel. She could eat as soon as the wedding was properly flowered.

Magleby Mansion sat on a bluff overlooking the water, on the northwest crown of Hawthorn Harbor. Anyone who was anyone got married there, and Gretchen had done more floral arrangements at the Mansion than anywhere else.

Securing the sponsored business label from them had been huge, something she’d accomplished in her first year in town. Honestly, the contract with the Maglebys had probably kept The Painted Daisy afloat all this time, and she navigated toward the back entrance of the event hall with ease.

She could do without having to deal with Mabel Magleby, who owned acres and acres of land in town and made sure everyone knew it. The Maglebys had loads of money, and were some of the original settlers in Hawthorn Harbor. Mabel’s great-great grandfather had been the first mayor in town, something she liked to point out at City Council meetings when discussions were had about things she didn’t like.

Nearing seventy herself, Mabel still hovered around every aspect of the events at the Mansion, as she lived in a back cottage and had no children, grandchildren, or pets to speak of. Her event center was literally her entire focus, and Gretchen ignored the spicy look from the elderly woman as she backed her van toward the wide French doors that were already open.

The Mansion sported white and brown rock, cut into craggly shapes and fitted together. The grounds boasted of the finest Washington Hawthorn trees, after which the harbor and town were named.

Mabel made sure there were dozens of bushes, flowering plants, and spruces in all their varieties. She had a knack for picking out interesting foliage and making the gardens unique and beautiful. Someone in her family had extremely long vision, as the shade trees had all been placed strategically, and now produced exactly what the center needed to have outdoor and indoor events.

Gretchen leapt from the van as soon as she had it parked, welcomed by the scent of sugar browning into caramel. She’d done enough weddings at the Mansion to know the menus, and it seemed like today’s lucky couple was getting the crepe buffet.

“You’re late,” Mabel said.

Gretchen gave the older woman a single nod. “I’ll be ready in time.”

Mabel had deep lines on her forehead and between her eyes. Decades of frowning could do that to a person. Her blue eyes were sharp, and she didn’t miss much. “That tire looks new.” She folded her bony arms and looked to Gretchen for an explanation.

“I got a flat,” Gretchen said as she flung the back doors of the van open. “That’s why I’m running a bit behind.”

Mabel’s expression softened, and she tucked an errant wisp of hair back up into her elegant bun. She wore a navy blue dress with pink rose buds on it—classic and chic all in one. As she lived alone, Gretchen wondered if she had someone online with whom she shared the town gossip. She’d certainly have a lot of it, dealing with events from birthday parties to weddings to anniversaries.

“I’ll get Jaime to come help you.” Mabel patted her arm as she passed.

Gretchen’s first instinct was to refuse the caretaker’s help. But something flinched inside her—could’ve been her hammering headache, or her twisting stomach, or her trembling hands—and told her to accept the help.

“I would appreciate that,” she said, gathering the box of corsages and boutonnieres into her arms.

An hour later, and not a single minute late, Gretchen adjusted the vase on the bride and groom’s table a fraction of an inch and stepped back. It was perfect.

She retreated to the back of the room, which held a dozen tables in black iron. Her funky, colored vases brought life to the stone, the wood on the floor, and the dark metal furniture. Everywhere she looked, roses looked back. Tall and short, bunches and singles, pink and white. Satisfaction and a sense of pride pulled through Gretchen.

She’d woven roses into a massive wreath and placed it on the arch leading out to the garden, where the ceremony would take place. The dinner and reception would also be held here, and everything was set.

Erica, the bride’s mother, entered the room already wearing her wrist corsage and her blue mother-of-the-bride dress. She gasped and her fingers fluttered around her mouth. “Gretchen, it’s wonderful.” Her eyes flitted around the room as she took in everything. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Thank you.” Gretchen hadn’t meant for the words to come out a whisper, but she realized her exhaustion had extended to her vocal chords.

“Let me get your check, then I need to sit down. We’re almost ready!” She bustled out of the reception room and returned a moment later.

Gretchen took the payment and said, “I’ll be back at nine to take down anything Belinda doesn’t want to keep or give away.”

Back in her trusty van, she had time to go over to the tire shop and get her spare, but she couldn’t make herself do it. She and Dixie lived in a little house between the Mansion and Larkin’s, and all Gretchen wanted to do was go home.

She pulled into the driveway and leaned her head against the seat. A few more hours, she coached herself. Janey would bring Dixie home at six, so Gretchen had a few minutes to relax, unwind, and make something to eat before her daughter got home.

Dixie loved grilled cheese sandwiches and vegetable beef soup, so Gretchen turned on the radio in her kitchen and got to work. She loved being home alone for just a few minutes, something she thought she’d never like.

In Seattle, when she was home alone, she always played music. She’d taken classes just to get out of the house. And she’d planned to volunteer in Dixie’s first grade class. But she’d never had that opportunity.

Her aches and pains and sadness melted away as bread browned and upbeat songs blasted through the house. She’d just pulled the last sandwich from the pan when the front door opened and Dixie called, “Mom?”

Gretchen rounded the corner and gave her daughter the biggest smile she could muster. “How was school?” She hated not being able to pick Dixie up at three o’clock, but life was life. Dixie didn’t seem to mind, and she’d be okay for an hour tonight too while Gretchen went back to the Mansion to clean up.

Dixie turned back and waved at Janey, whose black SUV inched out of sight after that. “School was great. I got to play the xylophone in music the whole time.”

Gretchen beamed at her daughter. “How was your piano lesson?”

She scowled at that one. “Janey wouldn’t pass off my song. She said it needs another week.”

“Well, then I’m sure it needs another week.” Gretchen watched the displeasure roll across Dixie’s face as she dumped her backpack next to the fridge.

“I guess.”

“I’ll sit with you in the morning,” Gretchen offered. “We’ll get it.” She turned back to the island. “I made sandwiches and soup.”

Dixie brightened after that, claimed to not have homework, and fell asleep in Dixie’s bed while she read a book about famous composers. Gretchen loved that Dixie enjoyed music, liked to sing and learn about the theory behind it, and read books she’d read before about Johann Sebastian Bach. Aaron had very much been into the symphony, the ballet, and had been an excellent violinist himself.

Though he hadn’t played for years, his love for classical music had obviously infected Dixie. Gretchen carefully extracted the book from her daughter’s fingers and crept from the bedroom. Her own tiredness had not been alleviated with painkillers or the few bites of sandwich she’d eaten.

Maybe she was coming down with something. Her stomach coiled like a snake about to strike, and she’d been able to eat very little though she felt hungry. She simply felt…off. But she had flowers to take down, so with every door locked at her comfy cottage, she returned to the Magleby Mansion.

A cheer erupted from the front doors at the same time she entered from the back. A smile touched her face as she remembered her own wedding day. She’d been the happiest bride, because she’d been marrying her one and only true love.

A pang of loneliness hit her right behind the heart. It seemed so unjust that she had to lose him so early. Would she ever find someone to love as much as she’d loved Aaron? She wasn’t sure that was possible, and she’d barely dated since his death anyway. Dixie only deserved the best, and Gretchen was content with providing for the two of them.

Why then, was Drew’s face floating through her mind?

Distracted, she stepped onto an uneven stone, and her ankle rolled. A hot bolt of pain shot up her leg and a cry burst from her mouth, only amplified when her knees hit the hard floor moments later. The walls spun and blurred into brown and white streaks while she tried to find a decent breath.

“Hey, you okay?” Someone touched her arms, but Gretchen couldn’t seem to find the person. Okay, okay, okay echoed in her head.

She closed her eyes. If she could just have a minute, she’d be fine. Her vision would clear and she’d stand. Get her flowers taken down. Go home. Maybe stay home tomorrow.

“Gretchen?”

She thought the voice belonged to Jaime, who’d helped her carry in the flowers earlier. Of course he’d be here. He was probably making sure everything got cleaned up after the wedding. She’d seen him at plenty of other events while cleaning up.

“I’m fine,” she managed to say, though her voice was breathy. Her hand touched stone beside her and the smell of caramel and chocolate assaulted her senses. At least things were working again.

With Jaime’s help, she got back to her feet, blinking all the while. “Thank you, Jaime.” She gave the man a smile she hoped would convey her gratitude. He was about her age, married with two daughters, and lived just down the hill for easy access to the property. His dark eyes held nothing but concern.

“Did you hit your head?” he asked.

“No, I just twisted my ankle.” She tested her weight on it, and it hurt but not so much that she couldn’t work out the kinks and walk. “I’m fine, honestly.”

He dropped her hand and gestured toward the reception room. “They’re finished, so we can go in.”

Gretchen squared her shoulders and set a time limit for herself to beat. She found if she made clean up a game, it went by faster and got done with less moodiness. She’d started it when Dixie was a toddler and used to throw tantrums about the simplest of chores. Now she’d empty the dishwasher, practice the piano, and clean up her laundry without too much of a fuss. Gretchen could certainly get the leftover flowers in a box and in the back of the van before she ran out of energy.

She had the two remaining centerpieces and all the vases in the box, thinking she was done already, when she spied the wreath on the arch. She went outside to get the ladder, avoiding the uneven parts of the floor, and found it in its customary spot off to the right, leaning against the side of a storage shed. She stepped onto the grass and tried to lift it.

Not happening.

She tried again anyway, trying to remember how she’d used it to hang the wreath that afternoon. Her mind felt soft around the edges, because she couldn’t recall. She did manage to lift the ladder a few inches off the ground—only to have gravity reclaim it.

The metal made a crunching sound against the bones in her foot, and the painful headache she’d been nursing all day exploded. Only agony existed, and she was aware of a howl tearing through the darkness before she toppled backward.

Her head whiplashed against the ground, and while it wasn’t stone, a sound like gunfire rattled through her skull. Every muscle went limp, and she gazed up into the star-filled sky, wondering how long it would take for someone to find her.

Dixie loves stars. The thought rotated slowly in her sluggish mind.

A flash of silver blocked out the pinpoints of light. Somehow, she had the wherewithal to throw her hands over her face as the ladder descended toward her. Thankfully, she lost consciousness before impact.