It took him a while to get the number for the flower shop because he couldn’t remember Pretty Petals. Then when he called, Ginger didn’t answer. He assumed it was Grace and he said, “Hi. Is Ginger there, please?”

“Sure. Can I tell her who’s calling?”

The moment of truth, he thought. “It’s Matt. Matt Lacoumette.”

“Oh, hi, Matt. Hold on. She’s pulling in displays.”

He heard Grace summon Ginger, and then she came on the line. “Hi, Matt. How are you?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You tell me. Did you change your number because of me? Because you’re angry?”

“No, of course not. I changed it because it needed to be changed and no, I’m not angry. But I can’t really talk right now—we’re closing up the shop and it’s busy.”

“When can we talk?”

“Hmm, let’s see. I have plans tonight, right after I get cleaned up. I’m going out to dinner with Ray Anne and some friends. Maybe I could give you a call later, if it’s not too late.”

“Ginger, I was calling you to tell you I know I screwed up. I didn’t call when I said I would. I hardly answered your text. I ignored you. You really scared me when my call wouldn’t go through. I should explain. I was thinking about us, about whether—”

“Matt! Matt! I can’t wait to hear all about it but I really can’t talk right now. It’s a little busy here and I don’t want to keep my friends waiting. I have to sign off. We’ll catch up later.”

She disconnected.

Matt sat there in shock. All confidence was gone. The Ginger he was falling in love with just announced it to the world. She would not be taken for granted. She wasn’t going to put up with vague messages and broken promises. She’d already been there once. She was all done with that.

And like a shotgun blast he understood everything. The whole time he was getting closer to Ginger he’d been focused on Natalie and a relationship that hadn’t worked from the start. That was mistake number one. Then he’d built a barrier of self-protection, aloofness. Distance from the woman he knew better after a couple of months than he’d known his own wife in a year. Mistake number two. So, mistake number three would be sitting there like a doofus, acting confused and licking his wounds.

A little fight replaced his sudden lack of confidence.

* * *

Ginger hung up and went back outside the shop. She rolled up the awning and dragged a big pot of colorful mums into the store. She stopped dragging when she ran smack into Grace.

“It’s not as though I meant to eavesdrop,” Grace said.

“Bull. You probably wanted me to put it on speaker.”

“That would’ve been helpful. So—what did he want?”

“Apparently he wants to grovel. I wonder when he figured it out? I think about ten minutes ago. I have to say, I’m very relieved...”

“What’s his story?”

“Well, obviously I don’t have the whole story, but I think the gist is—Matt’s a little gun-shy. He married the wrong girl. I think he sort of knew it all along and married her anyway, and of course it didn’t work out. And he likes me, which I think scares him. My educated guess is he doesn’t want to screw up again. You’d have to understand his family a little better to appreciate where he’s coming from. I know you met them, but it’s entirely different when you sit down to Sunday dinner with them. They’re so enmeshed in each other’s personal lives, it’s hard to have a secret. I imagine they’ve all given multiple opinions about where Matt went wrong with his first wife. Matt pretends to be completely independent and to not really care what anyone thinks, but trust me—he doesn’t want his family to see him make another mistake.”

“And so? He didn’t call for almost a week? What was he doing?”

“Brooding,” Ginger said, going back outside to fetch a couple more displays.

“I guess you snapped him out of it,” Grace said.

“Possibly,” Ginger said. “But the important thing was to snap me out of it. There’s nothing more pathetic than a girl with a ridiculous, moody crush, singing love songs to herself, kissing her own hand and fantasizing, checking the phone every five minutes to see if he called yet. I tried just turning off the phone, but then I’d turn it back on to check for messages every fifteen minutes. You want to make out with me in the bed of a pickup truck then string me along for a week? No, not going to happen.”

Ginger went back outside, pulled in another pot of colorful summer flowers, stopped short just inside the door.

“All this happened in the bed of a pickup truck?” Grace asked. “Ginger, might you have left out some details before.”

“It was so lovely. He had a sleeping bag to spread out, a cooler of soft drinks, a couple of blankets because it gets cold when the sun goes down. He said it was how his parents used to go to the drive-in movie and it was fun. And then all the other people who had driven to the lookout to watch the sunset were gone and it was just us—talking, laughing, kissing. A trooper pulled in to make sure we were all right.” She laughed. “Good thing it hadn’t gone any further, right?”

“Will you call him tonight?”

“Sure. If it isn’t too late when I get home. I’m not playing games here. I don’t mean to punish him. I just think guidelines are important.”

“You could just give him your number,” Grace said.

“I could have, couldn’t I? When I talk to him next, I’ll give it to him if he asks.”

“You might not be playing games,” Grace said. “But you were sending a message, don’t bother to deny it. And he got it.”

“I think we’re done out here,” Ginger said, speaking of the front walk in front of the shop. “Ready for the closed sign?”

“Ready. I’m just going to clean up my office and shut down the computer, then I’m headed home. I suppose you’re going upstairs to wash off the flowers before dinner with the girls?”

“I am. By the way, have I told you how much I love it up there? It’s like a little cocoon. It’s just perfect for me. I nestle in at night, flip through the channels or listen to music, relax, read, check emails on my laptop, fall asleep in my little nest. It’s so wonderful, Grace.”