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  Who did this punk kid think he was? Grady didn’t hold back as he hauled off and punched Jimmy square in the jaw. Jimmy’s body shot backward into a wall of framed photos, which shattered when they hit the floor.

  Grady stepped back to catch his breath when out of nowhere, Jimmy lunged toward him, catching him off guard and ramming Grady’s body into the long counter on the other side of the diner. He was scrappy, Grady would give him that, but this kid didn’t have nearly the fighting experience Grady did. He’d grown up fighting. He practically enjoyed it. He knew how to handle himself.

  Grady wrestled him to the ground, his only focus to keep him there. Jimmy yanked himself from Grady’s grasp and landed a punch across his left eye. Anger welled up inside him as the sting of pain zipped through his body. Grady’s mind spun; long-buried grief demanded to be felt. He had Jimmy’s comments to thank for that.

  Washed-up at thirty.

  Injuries beyond repair.

  Sloppy technique.

  Embarrassed. Frustrated. Ashamed.

  Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him off Jimmy. Only then did Grady realize he’d unleashed the full force of his rage on the man, who now lay beneath him, bloody and moaning.

  He shrugged from the grasp of the person who’d pulled him away and wiped his face on his sleeve. He scanned the diner and found pairs of eyes darting away from him. All but one. The blonde’s. She stood off to the side, unmoving, watching him.

  He looked away.

  He didn’t need to be judged by Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes.

  Jimmy’s friends pulled him to his feet as two officers in uniform yanked the front door open. Grady glanced at Betsy, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. He should apologize. He’d made a huge mess of the place. Tables were overturned, at least one of them broken. The glass from the shattered picture frames crunched underneath his feet, and there was at least one place where they’d put a hole in the wall. Oh no, make it two.

  He didn’t even remember doing that.

  Before he could say anything to the wild-haired waitress (or anyone else), one of the cops—an older man with a wrinkled face—grabbed him by the arm. “You’ll have to come with me, son.”

  The other officer did the same to Jimmy, who immediately launched into his side of the story, spouting about how Grady “freaked out for no reason” and “I’m the victim here, man.”

  Grady let the older cop lead him through the small crowd, avoiding the stares of the people who’d just witnessed yet another of his colossal mistakes. The blonde stood near the door, arms crossed over her chest. She said nothing, but her eyes never left his as the officer pushed him through the door and into the street.

  “Do I need to cuff you, or have you calmed down?” the cop asked.

  “You don’t need to cuff me,” Grady said, wishing he’d never stopped in this ridiculous town in the first place. What was it that made him pull off at the Harbor Pointe exit? He wasn’t particularly hungry—he was just tired of driving. He should’ve kept going. If only he could rewind the last hour.

  Who was he kidding? He’d have to rewind a lot further back than that to undo the mess he’d made.

  The second officer was shoving Jimmy into the back of a squad car parked at the curb.

  “Look, Officer—” Grady turned toward the older man—“I’m sorry I lost my temper back there. I’ll pay for the damages to the diner.”

  “I’m sure you will.” He opened the other back door of the car and motioned for Grady to get in.

  “There’s really no need for this,” Grady said. “I screwed up. I get it. But I’m fine now, and I’ll make it right.”

  “Well, your version of ‘making it right’ might not be the judge’s version of ‘making it right.’” He eyed Grady. “There’s still time for the cuffs.”

  Grady let out a stream of hot air, anger prickling the back of his neck as he leaned down and got into the car. Jimmy sat on the opposite side, sulking. At least he’d shut up. For now, anyway.

  Through the windows of Hazel’s Kitchen, Grady saw the people who’d witnessed the fight picking up overturned tables and chairs and sweeping broken plates into a dustpan. What a mess he’d made.

  The main stretch of Harbor Pointe was made up of cotton candy–colored buildings neatly stacked together on either side of the street. As they drove, he saw a bakery, a flower shop, a couple more diners, antique stores. Old-fashioned lampposts shone on alternating sides of the street, casting a warm yellow hue over the brick road in front of them.

  They drove in silence for several seconds until finally the older officer turned around and looked at Grady.

  “I know you’re not from here. What kind of beef could you possibly have with Jimmy?”

  “He’s crazy,” Jimmy said.

  “I’m not talking to you,” the cop said.

  “No beef. Just don’t like people with smart mouths.”

  The cop laughed. “That I understand.”

  “It’s not funny, Sheriff,” Jimmy protested. “I’m pressing charges. Assault and battery. And I want a lawyer because I didn’t do anything here.” Jimmy was still riled up, and normally Grady would be too, but he’d been here before. He knew exactly what would happen next. He’d be arrested. Booked. Pay a fine and be on his way.

  Though, sadly, this time, he wasn’t even sure where he was on his way to.

  CHAPTER

  2

  “WELL, THAT WAS . . . EXCITING.” Quinn Collins picked up an overturned chair and put it back on its feet. She straightened the table and surveyed the rest of the damage.

  Betsy Tanner, the owner of Hazel’s Kitchen, let out a substantial sigh. “What am I gonna do?”

  “You’re going to make that guy pay for the mess he caused,” someone said from the other side of the restaurant.

  Nate Kelley appeared in the doorway, and Betsy’s whole demeanor changed. “Nate.”

  “What happened?” He walked toward her. “Got a text saying a fight broke out?”

  “It’ll be okay,” Betsy said. “Maybe Lane can help me redecorate. Maybe it was time for a face-lift.” Never mind that the current decor wasn’t all that old. Quinn knew Betsy was trying to make herself feel better.

  Quinn picked up a few more castoffs from the fight as the crowd continued to recount what they’d just seen—two grown men acting like imbeciles and ruining poor Betsy’s business.

  Quinn had admired Betsy for a long time. She’d taken Hazel’s and turned it into something even better than it had been before. Her pies put the place on the map, and she’d even been profiled in national magazines. Someone said they were going to get that spiky-haired blond guy to come out and feature her on the Food Network. After all, this place was a local favorite and definitely deserved the recognition.

  What Betsy had done with Hazel’s was exactly what Quinn had been longing to do with the Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop for years. Her hand slid to her back pocket, where she felt the keys, still safe where she put them after her closing just an hour before.

  She was officially a business owner.

  Somehow seeing Betsy in this state of disarray did nothing to squelch her excitement. This was what Quinn had been praying for, dreaming of. Even knowing there would be difficult times like the one Betsy was going through at that moment didn’t dissuade her.

  She was ready.

  Finally, her life could begin.

  She walked out of Hazel’s Kitchen and into the cold evening air. Harbor Pointe was smack in the middle of winter, and the evenings were brisk and cold. She pulled her jacket a little tighter around her.

  Lane Kelley. Lane had moved back here not too long ago to start her own interior design business. Quinn hadn’t thought of calling in a professional, but if she could fit it in her budget, it might be worth it. After all, she wanted to completely overhaul the flower shop. Mimi Hudson had wonderful taste twenty years ago, but nothing much had changed since. Quinn knew because she’d tried, more than once, to update the displays, to p
aint the walls, to bring Forget-Me-Not into this century. But Mimi was a creature of habit.

  And she was cheap.

  Quinn walked a few doors down to Forget-Me-Not, and a swell of memories rushed through her. How many times had she come here after school, setting up her own little station for creating adorable bouquets from the cuttings her mother couldn’t use?

  It still amazed her how easily her mind transported her back. She’d done her best to box up all the feelings (and there was a mix of them) and stuff them away, but sometimes, when she wasn’t careful, one would sneak through, like light underneath a door in a dark room.

  She was seconds from inserting her key when a glow at the back of the shop caught her eye. What in the world . . . ?

  When she tugged the door, it opened, and the big bell Mimi had installed overhead jangled. Loudly.

  Shoot. What if it was a thief?

  Well, that was a ridiculous thought. What kind of thief would rob a flower shop?

  No sense pretending she wasn’t standing here now. “Hello?”

  After a few seconds, she heard a noise in the back room. A moment later, Mimi’s face, wearing a sheepish expression, appeared in the doorway.

  “Mimi, you scared me to death,” Quinn said.

  “I’m sorry, hon,” Mimi said. “I was just coming to say good-bye.” She was smiling, but there was sadness in her eyes.

  Quinn shifted her purse from one shoulder to the other. “Don’t tell me you’re regretting your decision to travel the world with Barry.”

  “Of course not,” Mimi said. “I’m thrilled we get to go on these adventures while we’re still young and limber enough to enjoy them.” She stilled. “But this place was my whole world for so many years.”

  Quinn nodded. Hers too. For as long as she could remember, the Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop had been a part of her life. And she’d been waiting for the day she could officially call it hers.

  Not that she didn’t love Mimi. After all, the older woman had done so much for her—treated her, in many ways, like a daughter when Quinn so desperately needed a mother. Mimi had made her the most beautiful corsage for her senior prom and explained to her how important it was to protect her purity even though boys were often very persistent. Mimi had hugged her through several low, low days, the kind of days Quinn hoped were behind her now.

  But in the back of her mind, Quinn had never viewed the flower shop as Mimi’s. It was as if Mimi were just taking care of it until Quinn was ready.

  As caretakers went, Mimi was certainly a good one. The best. But Forget-Me-Not was a Collins legacy, and Quinn was ready to take the lead.

  “You’re going to do a fantastic job, Quinn,” Mimi said.

  Quinn smiled. “I hope so. I want to make you proud.”

  I want to make my mother proud.

  Mimi stepped out of the back room and into the shop. She stood behind the counter, where Quinn was accustomed to seeing her. “You’ve already made me proud, hon.” She smiled and slung her large purse over her shoulder. “Now, one little piece of advice from an old bird who learned the hard way?”

  “Of course.” Quinn took a few steps closer, the faint light from the back room and the streetlamps outside filling the shop just enough that Quinn could make out the older woman’s familiar features. Mimi’s red hair framed her face and offset her bright-green eyes. She’d looked that way as long as Quinn could remember—further proof the older woman resisted change.

  Still, Quinn knew there was much to learn from her. Mimi was whip-smart and kind to boot. It made for good business in their small town, especially once tourist season was over. This business depended on the locals, not the passersby.

  Mimi reached across the counter for Quinn’s hands. “Do your work. Be good at it. But don’t let it consume you.”

  “I won’t,” Quinn said.

  “No, really.” Mimi squeezed her hands. “It’s so easy when you run your own business, especially one that means so much to you, to get lost in it all. To forget that there’s more to life than just this place. I worry about you, Quinn. You work here. You live upstairs. You never go anywhere else.”

  Quinn pressed her lips together. What was she supposed to say? It was true—by design. Didn’t Mimi understand why she couldn’t leave Harbor Pointe?

  “I’ll do better, Mimi,” Quinn said. “I promise.”

  “Book a vacation,” Mimi said. “Do it tonight. Come visit Barry and me in Italy this summer.”

  Quinn laughed. “I think I might need to start a little smaller than Italy.”

  Mimi waved her off. “Go big or go home, sweetheart.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Quinn said, knowing it was a lie.

  Mimi knew it too, but she didn’t say so. She just studied Quinn for several seconds, then finally let go of her hands and joined her in front of the counter. “I don’t want to see you get your hopes up, Quinn.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that it’s been twenty years. I want you to move on. Make this a fresh start—maybe accept the fact that she’s not coming back.”

  Quinn knew it was true; why did the words still sting after all these years?

  Mimi pulled her into a tight hug, patted her twice on the back, then let her go. “I’m going to be praying for you every single day. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know, Mimi.”

  “Ask him to take that pain away, honey.” Mimi’s smile was warm. Maternal. “He’s the only one who can.”

  Quinn shook her head. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I promise.”

  “Well, that’s no comfort. I’m going to be worrying about you till the day I die.” She stepped away. “That’s what I do.”

  “And I’m grateful for it,” Quinn said. “How about instead of worrying, you just send me postcards from all the places you see on your crazy European adventure.”

  Mimi giggled. “I will. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I don’t know what we’re going to see over there—Stella Jones told me they have topless beaches. I sure hope we don’t stumble onto one of those.”

  Quinn laughed. “I hope not either. I’d hate to see Barry topless.”

  Mimi swatted her arm. “I sure am going to miss you.”

  “Me too.” Quinn reached out for one more hug, blinked back fresh tears, and watched as Mimi turned around and walked out the door.

  Maybe for the last time.

  Standing there, in the middle of the flower shop, surrounded by the old displays, she was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

  This was it. She was on her own. No more Mimi to take care of her or make sure she was okay. Sure, she still had her dad and his friends, but business-wise, Forget-Me-Not was her responsibility.

  And she was determined not to mess that up.

  She pulled her notebook from her purse and sat down on the floor in the center of the space. The flower shop was old and run-down, so she’d been collecting ideas on how to improve it for years. She scooted the elastic band holding the book together off to the side and opened the pages. Even in the near dark, she knew what the sketches and scraps of magazine clippings were. She remembered every idea, every plan as if she’d just saved them yesterday.

  She was excited, but she knew that as much fun as she’d had collecting ideas, it was going to take a lot of work and money to whip this place into shape. That thought overwhelmed her.

  The floors needed to be refinished and the walls needed to be painted. There was a whole shelving system in the back room that still had to be put together. The signs outside hadn’t been replaced since the year Mimi bought the shop, and the window displays needed to be rebuilt. She wanted to add some small gift items to their inventory, but she had to get the display shelves put in place, and then, of course, there was the office where Quinn would meet with brides, plan festival displays, place orders, and work on the designs she’d enter into the Michigan Floral Expo, just a few short months away.

  Florists
from all over the state could enter the Michigan Floral Expo with displays they created for any event—festivals, carnivals, weddings. For Quinn, the Harbor Pointe Winter Carnival would be the locale for her entry. And that carnival was coming up quickly.

  She pulled out her phone and swiped over to the Expo website. The entry form nagged at her. She had displays she’d designed throughout the year that would be perfectly fine to enter, but none of them were perfect.

  None of them would win.

  And this year—after finally becoming the official owner of the Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop, winning was the only possible outcome.

  And the only way to get her mother’s attention after living twenty invisible years.

  CHAPTER

  3

  GRADY WOKE WITH A START. Where was he? His aching body screamed at him and there was a kink in his neck. He was definitely not in a five-star ski resort in Colorado.

  He stared up at a blank, gray ceiling. Unfamiliar.

  “You’re awake.”

  He turned and saw the bars that surrounded him and wondered if this was how animals at the zoo felt. He sat up. Groaned.

  “Wondered how long you’d sleep on that cot.” It was the old sheriff from last night.

  Grady rubbed the back of his neck, willing away the dull ache around his temples. He wasn’t accustomed to sleeping without pillows and a decent mattress, even though this wasn’t the first night he’d spent in jail.

  His mind spun back to the night before. The annoying guy who’d goaded him until he unleashed the rage of a year of disappointments. “Where’s that other guy?”

  “Made bail this morning. Pressed charges against you.”

  “Are you kidding? He’s not exactly innocent,” Grady said.

  “No, he’s not. Never is. Jimmy’s been known to pick fights around town. It’s practically a hobby for him.” The man’s bushy white mustache moved as he spoke, but that was about the most demonstrative thing on this guy. He leaned in the doorway of an office, thumbs hooked into his gun belt, chewing on a toothpick.