Once and After

Chapter Three

Five days passed—a gentle blur of dawns and dusks, each one a little lighter than the last. Emery moved through them quietly, letting the rhythms of her life carry her: opening the shop in the soft blue of morning, arranging flowers with careful hands, listening to Ruth's stories, and offering comfort to customers who came seeking beauty or solace.

The ache of the returned letters still lingered, but it softened around the edges, fading from a sharp pain to a dull, persistent hum. Emery found herself breathing easier, letting in a little more sunlight each day.

On the morning of the fifth day, she woke to the sound of seagulls and the promise of early spring in the air. She stretched in bed, savoring the warmth of her cozy quilt, then swung her legs over the side and padded to the kitchen. The muffins Ruth had brought were nearly gone; she split the last one, toasted it, and paired it with a mug of coffee. At the window, she watched the town stirring awake: the baker sweeping his stoop, children skipping past on their way to school, a delivery truck rumbling down the street.

After breakfast, she tied her hair back, slipped on her apron, and descended the stairs to the shop. Bloom & Willow was still and fragrant in the morning light, buckets brimming with peonies and snapdragons, the air alive with possibility. She opened the door, propped it wide, and let the crisp breeze wander in.

As she arranged fresh bouquets for the day—delicate pink tulips, creamy narcissus, sprigs of rosemary for remembrance—Emery felt a gentle sense of peace. The world had not ended, despite her heartbreak; life went on, pulsing through the town and her own steady hands.

Customers came and went, each bringing a new story: a young woman buying irises for her grandmother, a father and son choosing daffodils for the kitchen table, Ruth dropping by for her weekly chat and a bunch of forget-me-nots. Emery listened, laughed, and found herself smiling a little more easily with each interaction.

Between customers, she glanced at the drawer where Mason's returned letters were tucked away. Today, she didn't feel the urge to open it. Today, she simply breathed in the scent of green things growing and let herself be present.

As the afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, Emery realized she was healing—not all at once, but in small, quiet ways. Her heart was still a little bruised, still hoping for answers that might never come, but she was learning to live with uncertainty. She was learning to let beauty root itself in her days, even as she carried her questions.

And as she tied the last ribbon around a bouquet for a little girl with a gap-toothed grin, Emery knew she would be okay. The world was still full of possibilities, and so was she.

The bell above the door chimed, and Emery glanced up from a spray of wildflowers she was arranging. A woman entered, her posture elegant and purposeful, a tailored navy suit draped perfectly over her frame. She paused just inside the door, surveying the shop with a practiced eye before slipping her sunglasses up onto her neatly styled hair.

A familiar warmth bloomed in Emery's chest, tinged with a flutter of nerves. "Ah! Hello, Mrs. Whitaker!" she said, setting down her scissors and wiping her hands on her apron.

Mrs. Whitaker's smile was soft but assured. "Good morning, Emery." Her voice carried the same gentle gravitas Emery remembered—Mason's mother, always dignified but never unkind. She stepped further into the shop, her heels clicking lightly on the worn wooden floor. "I was hoping you'd be open. I always loved how you arrange your window."

Emery felt both comforted and rattled by her presence, memories of shared dinners and holiday laughter mingling with the ache of recent months. "Thank you. I'm glad you're here. Can I help you find something special today?"