26

“IS BIANCA GOING TO JOIN US for lunch?” I ladled another scoop of the fragrant butternut squash soup from the Crock-Pot into my bowl.

“She was finishing up a phone call.” Kimberlee set a basket of rolls on the table in the back room.

“If she doesn’t hurry up and get back here, there may not be any soup left.”

Kimberlee laughed and placed three bottles of water on the table. “That’s your first bowl.”

“I’m just saying.” I sat at the table, selecting a roll. “You know, if you ever want to stop being a party planner, you could always open a restaurant featuring bread and rolls and soups.”

“No, thank you. I’m very happy helping other people celebrate their birthdays and weddings. I cook to relax.”

“That’s like saying you clean house to relax.” I tasted the soup. “This is just as good as it smells.”

“Thank you very much.”

“We have a delivery.” Bianca entered the room carrying a colorful bouquet of flowers.

“For Festivities?” Kimberlee clapped her hands. “From a client?”

“I don’t know who it’s from —” Bianca placed the bouquet on my desk —“but I do know it’s for Payton.”

“Me?” I almost choked on my spoonful of soup.

“Oooh. Now this is much more interesting than a client sending us flowers.” Kimberlee grinned. “Who sent you flowers?”

“I have no idea.” I ignored my lunch to get a closer view of the bouquet, which was a fragrant arrangement of white roses and purple irises.

“Nash?” Bianca came to stand beside me.

“No. Nash and I are over. He’s fine with being friends now. He wouldn’t be sending me flowers.”

No one should be sending me flowers. I was unattached and I wasn’t looking to get involved —even if the thought of Zach Gaines distracted me every once in a while.

Thinking about the guy didn’t mean I was interested in him.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” I brushed my fingertips against the soft petals of one still-unopened rose. “How am I supposed to figure out who these are from if there’s no card?”

“Yes, there is.” Bianca held up a white envelope. “The delivery guy also gave me this.”

I tapped the card against my palm. “What is this, some kind of floral riddle?”

“Come on and get some soup, Bianca.” Kimberlee tugged her toward the counter. “Let Payton read the card in peace.”

“But I want to know who —”

“And so does she. Eat your lunch.”

My name appeared on the front of the envelope, the stamped address of the florist on the back flap. I couldn’t decide if the handwriting was familiar or not. The only way to solve the mystery was to read the card.

On the front of the card was a black-and-white sketch of waves washing against the sand, tiny little sandpipers running amid the ripples. I opened the card and found the signature.

Johanna.

Johanna sent me flowers?

Payton:

I’ve read and reread your card from Christmas.

I want you to know that I appreciate your apology.

I understand now how what I did after Pepper died could seem wrong to you. My intent wasn’t to hurt you. I was thinking of Mom and Dad. Of our family —and that includes you.

I hope we can somehow put this behind us.

Johanna

I read the note once. Twice. And then I placed it on my desk.

How like my oldest sister to be straight and to the point. She sent me flowers, but there was nothing flowery about her note. Did a part of me want more?

No.

This was enough. This was a start.

I traced the outline of the waves on the front of the card. A beach scene. Did Johanna still remember our long-ago family vacation? Was it a good memory for her, too?

“So?” Kimberlee’s voice interrupted my musings.

“Believe it or not, Johanna sent me the flowers.”

Kimberlee’s eyes widened. “Your sister Johanna?”

“Yes, my sister Johanna.”

“Why would she send you flowers?”

“It’s a long story —”

“I like long stories,” Bianca chimed in, resting her chin on her upturned palm.

“Me, too.”

I returned the card to its envelope and moved the flowers to the middle of the lunch table. “It’s a long, complicated story. I’ll just say Johanna and I had a major blowup a couple months ago . . . and I apologized . . . and she accepts my apology.”

“That isn’t a story —that’s a miracle.” Kimberlee stared at me as if I’d announced the card contained a marriage proposal from a stranger.

“Can we eat lunch now?” I added fresh soup to my bowl.

“Are you going to call Johanna and thank her?”

“Right now I’m going to eat lunch if that’s okay with you.”

Should I call Johanna? My sister hadn’t called me. Of course, that didn’t devalue the significance of the flowers and the card. Or the words written inside the card, which were even more unexpected.

Navigating a new relationship with Johanna was like trying to glue together two jagged pieces of a broken vase. The pieces refused to fit . . . to align . . . and then, with a little patience and a little shifting, they came together. The vase was no longer perfect . . . but it could still be beautiful from certain angles.

Maybe my relationship with Johanna wasn’t set in stone after all.