Page 128 of Not Until I Found You

My gaze drifts around the room, and I still can’t believe this place is mine—or maybe I should say ours because, everywhere I look, I see pieces of the people who helped me put it together. The shelves Zane made by hand. The fresh coat of sage-green paint Ashton insisted would be the perfect color for the shop. The little reading corner Mom decorated with thrifted chairs, knitted pillows, and books all about plants. Even the propagation station near the register was built by Zane and Ashton together during one long Saturday afternoon that ended with all three of us covered in potting soil.

And then there’s Marie. My gaze finds her near the front window, smiling warmly while Edna dramatically tells her she’s buying enough elderberry syrup to ’survive flu season and possibly the apocalypse.’ A year ago, this shop carried the weight of grief. The shelves were sparse, the lights a little dimmer, and Marie herself looked like she was trying to hold onto a life that no longer fit her heart.

But now, as I look at her, she’s glowing. There’s color back in her cheeks and excitement in her eyes every time someone walks through the door. In two weeks, she’ll be moving out west to be closer to her children and grandchildren, and she looks genuinely ready for what comes next in her life. When she catches me watching her, her expression softens.

“You’ve made this place beautiful, sweetheart,” she tells me for what has to be the hundredth time since opening this morning. “I’m so proud of you.”

None of this would’ve happened without her calm voice walking me through the things I didn’t even realize I needed to learn, like inventory sheets, supplier calls, and how to manage the rhythm of slow seasons versus busy ones. Marie gave me a chance long before I fully knew how to believe in myself. She offered me a deal I still don’t think anyone else would’ve made and trusted me with something she and her husband spent years building. Because of that, she helped to turn my dream into a reality.

Marie taught me how to run the business and even left her inventory behind. Between what I saved working hours at Covewood Botanicals during the days I was in Covewood, and what I was able to piece together through a business loan, we made it possible.

I smile back at her, my heart completely full. “I’m going to take good care of it,” I promise softly, and I mean every word.

You might be wondering how everything worked out with me traveling back and forth from Westbridge to Covewood. Well, for a year, my Sunday evenings to Wednesday afternoons were spent in Westbridge. I focused on college lectures, assignments, and stayed at my mom’s house so we could soak in the time together.

And my Wednesday afternoons through Sunday were spent in Covewood. Some people thought it would have become too much, living a split lifestyle like that, but it surprisingly wasn’t. Somehow, it worked, and I know a lot of that was because of God. Now, don’t get me wrong, there were times I felt unbelievably exhausted, and the days where I left Covewood behind were tough. But I learned to adjust and make it work.

“Maxie?”

Dad’s voice brings me out of my thoughts, and I turn toward him. He stands stiffly beside my mom, his shoulders drawn in, hands fidgeting at his sides. His gaze darts around the room, landing everywhere but on me. The noise and being around so many strangers is clearly overwhelming for him, but the fact that he’s here at all means everything to me.

“How are you doing?” he asks carefully, his eyes finally landing on mine.

A year ago, conversations with Dad came in broken fragments and frustrated silences. Now, the words still come slowly, but with more ease. Every time they do, I silently thank God for another piece of him restored. It’s so good to have him here. We’ve come such a long way within the past year.

“I’m okay,” I tell him before wrapping my arms around him in a hug. “Thank you for coming. I know this isn’t easy for you,” I whisper into his shoulder.

His arms come around me a second later, and he pats my back once, then again. “I want to be here. No more hiding,” he says carefully, and my eyes begin to sting with fresh tears as I pull away from our embrace.

“Oh no,” Mom says, pointing at me. “Don’t start crying again.”

“I’m not crying.”

“You cried over herb labels this morning.”

“That was because of stress.”

“You were sobbing.”

“It was one tear.”

“Five tears minimum,” Wren calls out.

I glare at all of them while laughter erupts around the room. It settles over the space, and I stand there and take it all in, my gaze landing back on my parents. Mom moved to Covewood three months ago. She sold the house back in Westbridge, quit her factory job, packed up her life, and somehow fell in love with Covewood almost as hard as I did.

I know it was sort of a miracle, but I had hoped it’d grow on her eventually. Now she spends half her time working with me in the shop and the other half helping out with Dad. They’re still working on their relationship, but it brings Ashton and me so much joy seeing them rebuilding a friendship after everything.

Zane steps through the front door, carrying another flat of plants against his chest, the sleeves of his Henley shoved up his forearms and his ball cap turned backward. As if he can sense me staring, he glances over his shoulder and gives me that shy, devastating smile that still makes my pulse stumble exactly the same way it did the first night he kissed me. He sets the plants down near the window display before walking toward me, his gaze staying locked on mine the entire time, like there aren’t twenty other people in the room.

“How’s everything going?” he asks once he reaches me.

I nod once. “Good, I think.”

“You think?”

“I mean, I might throw up from nerves. But everything is good.”

His mouth twitches into a grin.