Chapter 2

I nod, but my throat feels tight. "Just hungry. It smells perfect."

He smiles then, and for a moment he looks so much like Cole that my heart skips a beat.

The corn chowder tastes exactly like Cole used to make it.

I take another spoonful and close my eyes, trying not to think about how many more meals like this I'll have. Trying not to count.

"Good?" Finn asks. He's watching me eat with that careful attention he thinks I don't notice.

"Perfect." I smile at him. "When did you get so good at cooking?"

He shrugs, but I can see he's pleased. "YouTube helps. And I found Cole's old recipe cards in his toolbox."

My heart does a little flutter. Not the scary kind. The sad kind.

"He wrote down recipes?"

"Just a few. This one, pancakes, and something called 'Ember's sick day soup.'" Finn's voice gets quieter. "He wrote notes on them. Like 'extra pepper for Ember' and 'Finn likes more corn.'"

I have to look down at my bowl so he won't see my face.

"That sounds like him," I manage.

We eat in comfortable silence after that. This is normal. This is what we do. Two people who became family by accident, sharing dinner on a Friday night.

I need to remember this feeling. Store it away for later.

When we're done, I insist on doing the dishes. Finn disappears to his room to work on college applications, and I stand at the sink thinking about how to act normal when nothing feels normal anymore.

Step one: keep the routine.

Saturday morning, I walk to the flower shop like always. Mrs. Harper is already there, arranging white roses in the front window.

"Feeling better today?" she asks when I come in.

"Much better. The iron supplements are helping."

Another lie. But Mrs. Harper smiles and hands me an apron.

"Good. We have three wedding orders to finish before noon."

I spend the morning creating centerpieces. My hands know this work so well I don't have to think about it. Pink roses with baby's breath. White lilies with eucalyptus. Simple and pretty.

I choose the heaviest arrangements to carry to the front display. The ones that would normally make me ask for help. But today I want to prove to myself that I'm still strong.

That I'm still me.

My chest feels tight by lunchtime, but I ignore it. Mrs. Harper goes to get sandwiches, and I'm alone with the flowers and the afternoon light streaming through the windows.

This shop was the first place that felt safe after Cole died. The smell of fresh flowers covered up the smoke smell that seemed to follow me everywhere. Mrs. Harper never asked too many questions. She just gave me work to do and space to heal.

I remember the day I first walked in here. Three months after the fire. I was so skinny my clothes hung on me like curtains, and I jumped every time someone came through the door.

"You look like you need something to do with your hands," Mrs. Harper had said. "Can you make a bow?"

I couldn't. But she taught me. And then she taught me about flowers, about color, about making something beautiful out of nothing.

"You have good instincts," she'd said after my first week. "This work suits you."

It was the first compliment anyone had given me since Cole died.

Mrs. Harper comes back with lunch, and we eat while she tells me about her grandson's soccer game. Normal conversation. Safe topics.

I walk home at five, stopping at the mailbox to grab the mail. Bills, mostly. The electric company. The water department. A thick envelope from the state university.

Inside, I find Finn reading at the kitchen table. He looks up when I drop the mail next to him.

"Anything interesting?" he asks.