Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)(9)

My stomach drops, and my smile along with it, when I see the thick binder in her arms. It’s full of design ideas for Rose & Thorn’s spin-off business—a venture I dreamt up with her a few years ago.

She jumps into big sister mode as soon as she notices the look on my face. “What’s wrong?”

Everything, I want to answer, but the thought of talking to her about the condemnation notice feels impossible, and not because of the NDA.

The pressed-flower business has been on my vision board for three years, ever since I created an art piece for a client who wanted to preserve the bridal bouquet I made her, but it finally became an achievable goal once Rose & Thorn’s sweet, elderly neighbor offered to sell me her shop last month.

Now, thanks to Mayor Ludlow, there won’t be a store on Lavender Lane to buy anymore.

At least not for me.

After spending a year scouting locations around town and being outbid on multiple properties I loved, I can predict that finding a new one won’t be easy. Rental spaces are impossible to come by, and any available properties to purchase are way too expensive to justify the cost.

Hence my predicament.

I take a seat on the corner of my bed. “I’m stressed.”

“About the car?” So she did see our messages.

I nod.

She places the binder on top of my desk before leaning against it. “If you want, we can go visit some dealerships together this weekend. It could be fun to take a few out for a joyride…”

“I don’t want a new car.”

“No, but you need it.”

My gaze drops to the carpet.

She talks when I don’t. “If it’s about money—”

“It’s not, and even if it was, it’s your money, not mine.” I make a good salary managing Rose & Thorn, and I live at my mom’s house, where I only need to chip in for groceries and utilities, so I save most of my income.

“I want to help you.”

“I appreciate it, really, but I love my car.”

She grimaces. “But you know Dad would want you to have a new one if he was still here.”

But he’s not, I want to say.

Similar to Rose & Thorn, the car he bought Dahlia and me is one of the last memories I have of him, so replacing it isn’t an option, even if it’s firing on its last cylinder.

She shakes her head. “Getting a new car doesn’t erase his memory.”

Her comment hits way too close to home, and I look away because I don’t trust myself not to cry.

My sister stands and pulls me into a hug. She’s slightly shorter than me, so her dark hair tickles my nose.

Her arms tighten around me. “I only bring it up because you deserve a car you can rely on.”

“But they don’t make them like they used to anymore.”

“Are you twenty-eight or eighty-two?”

I push her away with a laugh. “Now enough about my car.”

“Fine.” Dahlia heads back to the desk to grab the binder. “Let’s talk about the Pressed Petal.”

“I never agreed on an official name.”

“We’ll keep workshopping it.” She flips the binder open to the first page.

My eyes mist as I check out the mock-ups she created of a showroom full of pressed-flower art pieces. Her design brings the gallery idea I had to another level, telling a visual story of how I turn wedding bouquets I design into works of art for newlyweds.

“It’s…wow.” I clear my tight throat and flip to see the next page, which is a mock-up of the hidden work studio located on the other side of the sales floor-slash-gallery.

Dahlia’s voice cuts through my fantasy turned unachievable dream.

“I still need to figure out what floor and paint samples you like best and what kind of wood species Julian will use for all the custom frames he’ll make, but it’s starting to all come together.” She smiles, and I match it with a much weaker one.

It’s hard not to feel guilty about the entire project given how invested my family is in making it happen. I try to brush the feeling off, but doubt lingers in the darkest shadows of my mind, never letting me fully enjoy my sister’s hard work.

Tomorrow you’ll figure it out, I tell myself.

But today… Today, I can’t.




Julian shows up and invites Dahlia to tag along with us as we head to the Historic District. It’s not a long drive, but it quickly becomes an annoying one when I can’t go more than thirty seconds without being reminded of the mayoral race.

Many lawns are adorned with signs supporting either Lorenzo or Trevor Ludlow. Trevor’s signs outnumber Lorenzo’s, and he probably used his dad’s connections to hang a particularly large banner across the most popular street in the Historic District.

To be honest, I don’t like either candidate for different reasons, although Lorenzo has a lead over Trevor since the former isn’t trying to tear down my shop and all the history that comes with it.

After seeing one too many Vote Vittori signs, I decide to shut my eyes until Julian pulls to a stop.

“Did you forget where you parked?” Dahlia asks.

I sit up and look out the window. “No?”

I’m confused by the vacant spot where my car was parked earlier this afternoon.