Bonus Scene

​

Lottie

​

The shop still smelled like fresh paint with a mix of vanilla and lavender.

I stood barefoot in the center of the boutique, arms crossed, while eyeing the folded sweater I’d just placed on the display table. For the fourth time. Maybe fifth. I’d lost count. It didn’t look right. Or maybe it looked too perfect. I couldn’t decide.

I reached to adjust it again.

The bell over the door jingled behind me.

“If you move that sweater one more time, it’s going to file a formal complaint.”

I smiled before I even turned around. “How long have you been spying on me?”

“Not long. And I wasn’t spying, I was admiring.”

Tucker stood in the doorway holding a grease stained paper sack in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. His dark gray T-shirt was slightly wrinkled, like he’d pulled it straight from the dryer. Or the floor. Probably the floor.

“I brought dinner,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world to show up unannounced with takeout and sarcasm.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, walking toward him with a huge smile on my face. God, I loved this man.

“You were supposed to be home two hours ago,” he replied. “Figured you were too busy obsessing to eat.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart did that thing where it flipped once, then settled low and warm in my chest.

“Come on,” he said, already heading to the counter near the register. “Sit. Eat.” He nodded at a bare spot on the floor surrounded by boxes.

I followed him, unwrapping my greasy burger from Kathy’s while he sorted fries into two neat piles. The store was quiet except for the soft hum of the AC and some indie playlist still looping in the background. Normally I loved the silence. Tonight, it felt loud.

He must’ve noticed.

“Nervous?”

I shrugged, peeling a small piece off my burger like the bun might reveal answers underneath. “A little… Okay, maybe a lot.”

He gave me that patient look of his, the one that said he already knew where my brain was going.

“It’s just the soft opening,” I said. “But it still feels… huge. Like this is my one shot to prove something. To myself. To everyone who thinks I’m just like my dad and will run again.”

“You’re not,” he said simply.

“But if it fails—”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” he agreed and met my eyes. “But I know you.”

My throat tightened. I hated how easily he cut through my chaos with a few words.

Tucker reached for one of the boxes I hadn’t unpacked yet and pulled out a small frame wrapped in brown kraft paper. “What’s this?”

“Oh.” I took it from him, unwrapping the corners carefully. “It’s a print I ordered for the back office. Forgot I even bought it.”

I turned it around, reading the handwritten script.

You’re allowed to begin again.

His eyes flicked to mine, and in that quiet second, I felt everything I’d been holding in press against my chest.

He didn’t say anything. Just took it from me and walked over to the wall behind the counter and hung it up like it belonged there. No asking. No fuss.

I watched him, something in me softening like a knot finally loosened.

He came back, dropping down beside me on the floor. We sat there, shoulder to shoulder, backs resting against the cabinet base, legs stretched out in front of us like we had nowhere else to be.

I nudged him gently with my elbow. “You’re really okay with this? Me being here? Doing this?”

“You mean being a badass business owner and making this town a hell of a lot better dressed?”
 

I laughed, leaning my head on his shoulder.
 

“I mean it,” I said quietly. “Thank you. For showing up. For not letting me overthink this into the ground. For dinner.”
 

“Don’t forget the wine,” he teased.

I smiled. “For all of it.”

Tucker was silent for a long beat. Then he turned his head just enough to press a kiss to my hair.

“You didn’t come back for me, Lottie,” he said. “You came back for you. I just got lucky you stayed and allowed me to be a part of your life again.”

My heart squeezed.

He didn’t always say a lot. But when he did, it landed like truth.

I looked around the shop—my shop—and tried to take it all in. The imperfect display. The sun catching on the window decals. The framed reminder on the wall.

It wasn’t just a fresh start.

 

It was mine.

​