This Summer Will Be Different(49)

“I’d like that,” I told him, grinning. This was friendship, coming into bloom. New buds on old wood, like a hydrangea plant in spring. “You got to see my baby. I want to see yours, too. And I’ll need to snoop through your bookshelf. I’m sure it’s epic.”

His smile was warm. “Maybe next summer.”



* * *



? ? ?

The first packet of seeds arrived the following week in a yellow envelope. My name was on the outside, but there was no note, only a paper sleeve with a picture of dahlias on the front. I brought it to the office and pulled the book Felix bought me off the shelf. I studied the woman on the cover of Floret Farm’s Cut Flower Garden and the bouquet of orange dahlias flung over her shoulder.

After we closed that evening, I walked to the bookstore. I wandered around, not sure what I was looking for. But then I saw a beautiful clothbound edition of Wide Sargasso Sea. I mailed it to Prince Edward Island the next day. I didn’t write a note. I didn’t need to.

My gift said, I’m thinking of you, all on its own. Just as his did.





23





Now

Six Days Until Bridget’s Wedding





“What are the chances your sister has used her time alone to figure her shit out, and now she’ll tell us everything?” I ask Felix on the drive back from Green Gables.

We’ve been chatting today like we did when we spent time together in Toronto two years ago. I’m vaguely aware that I’ve been enjoying his soft chuckles and thoughtful questions a little too much. His smile, now readily available, makes my chest feel things. But he’s not the Clark I should be focusing on.

Felix hasn’t responded to my question, so I press on. “Do you think it’s possible she’s had a breakthrough? Maybe when we show up, she’ll be ready to tell us what the problem is and how she plans to fix it?”

Felix glances my way. “I really hope so.”

“If not, I’m going to have to talk to her. I need to sort out her wedding order before we watch you shuck your heart out at the competition tonight.” I don’t want to beg Bridget, but she’s getting married in six days, and there’s a time crunch. The flower auction is less than forty-eight hours from now. I have to force the issue.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Felix says. “She’s had long enough.”

When we arrive at Summer Wind and Felix shuts off the truck, he turns to me. “Once you have a chance to speak with Bridget, let me know?” He opens the door. “I need to take a nap before I shuck. Someone kept me up late, talking on the beach last night,” he says, climbing out with a smirk.

Felix retreats to the TV room pull-out sofa, and I find Bridget pacing by the fire pit, phone to her ear. I wait until she’s done, then attack.

“We need to talk.”



* * *



? ? ?

We head to the water, through the dunes, and as soon as we step onto the sand, we take off our shoes and leave them on a rock while we walk.

“It hurts that you haven’t told me what’s going on,” I say. Bridget stares at her feet. “And I can’t make you, even though, if our roles were reversed, you’d drag it out of me.”

She looks at me then, squinting. “Would I?”

The question sits there.

And then she says, “You don’t think if you were keeping something from me, I’d respect that there was a good reason, and let you tell me in your own time?”

My stomach lurches. It’s a familiar feeling, the one I get when I think about the secrets piling up between us. If Bridget ever finds out that I’ve slept with her brother, and not just once by accident, the length of time I’ve been withholding is only going to make it worse. I should have told her already.

“I think you would tempt me with Miles’s paella and wine and weasel it out of me.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.” Bridget wouldn’t let it go if she suspected I was hiding something. “I just need to know if I should order your flowers. At the minimum, tell me that.”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “Order them.”

“Okay. Good.” I study Bridget. She has none of her usual sparkle. “Right?”

Bridget links her arm through mine. “Let’s keep walking.”

We stroll in silence, and I tuck her against my side.

We used to tell each other everything, but a crack has formed between us. It felt easier to keep pieces of myself from her. The flower farm. Felix. I’d tucked away my doubts about Carter, knowing she’d pounce. I stopped sharing the minutiae of my days—a delayed floral shipment seemed too small to bother her with. But only now do I see that everything I’ve hidden has put a wedge in our relationship, robbed us of the uncomplicated intimacy we once had. I wonder whether Bridget has been squirreling bits of herself away from me, too.

I hold her tighter. “I’m here,” I tell her. “When you’re ready.”

But she doesn’t speak.

And I can’t go home until she does. Our friendship is fractured, and I need to repair it—there’s nothing more important than Bridget. Not a restaurant group contract. Not my stress. Not even flowers. Which means I can’t leave until Bridget tells me her truth. I can’t leave until I tell her mine.