Chapter 10 - The Shop With Her Name
“Yes.”
The word came out before I could stop it.
Vincent looked at me.
“You're sure?”
I stared at the brass key.
“I want Rebecca's flower shop back.”
Then I looked up.
“But I need to do it myself.”
He smiled slightly.
“I thought you might say that.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
I picked up the key.
“I don't want you buying me a business because you feel sorry for me.”
“I don't feel sorry for you, Emma.”
I looked at him.
“I feel sorry about what happened to your sister,” he continued. “And I'm glad you survived what Daniel put you through. But I've watched you stand up for yourself through things that would've broken most people.”
I swallowed.
“You deserve to decide what happens next.”
For once, I didn't argue.
The shop wasn't ready to open.
Not even close.
The flower refrigerators were gone.
Half the shelves had been removed.
The back room smelled like old cardboard.
And someone had painted over the pale green walls Rebecca loved.
Mae stood beside me, staring at the empty counter.
“Well,” she said, “we've got our work cut out for us.”
I laughed.
“That's one way to put it.”
We spent the next week putting together a budget.
Rent.
Insurance.
Supplies.
A working cooler.
Business licenses.
Everything cost more than I remembered.
At one point, I sat on the floor surrounded by receipts and wondered whether I'd made a terrible mistake.
Mae lowered herself onto a stool.
“You know, your sister nearly quit after her first month.”
I looked up.
“Rebecca?”
“Couldn't pay the electric bill. Had three wedding customers cancel in one week.”
“She never told me.”
“She didn't want you worrying.”
I smiled sadly.
“That sounds like her.”
Mae leaned forward.
“You've got one thing she didn't have when she started.”
“What?”
“Experience watching somebody build a flower shop.”
I laughed.
“I was usually eating the cookies behind the counter.”
“Then you know where to hide the good snacks.”
For the first time in a long time, the laughter didn't hurt.
We found a way to begin modestly.
Mae agreed to become my business partner, contributing some of her savings and working part-time.
I used money I'd saved from the hotel.
We secured a small business loan with payments I could realistically afford.
Vincent reviewed nothing.
Signed nothing.
Owned nothing.
He offered advice when I asked, and kept quiet when I didn't.
That mattered more than he understood.
One afternoon, he arrived wearing his familiar black suit, his neck tattoos visible above the open collar.
Two security vehicles stopped behind him.
I watched customers on the sidewalk move around them.
Then I walked outside.
“Vincent.”
He turned.
“Everything all right?”
“Your cars are blocking the entrance.”
He glanced toward the vehicles.
“Sorry.”
“And people are staring.”
He smiled faintly.
“They do that.”
“Not in my shop.”
His smile disappeared.
I suddenly worried I'd offended him.
Then he nodded.
“Fair enough.”
He motioned to Marco.
The vehicles moved.
No argument.
No reminder of everything he'd done for me.
Just respect.
Later, I asked whether I'd embarrassed him.
He shook his head.
“You told me what you needed.”
“And?”
“And I listened.”
It shouldn't have felt extraordinary.
But after Daniel, Margaret, and eighteen months of being told what was best for me, it did.
The sewing box came back to me that Friday.
Margaret had kept it safe after retrieving it from Daniel.
Marco delivered it in a plain paper bag.
I took it home.
Sat on my bed.
And opened it.
The faded measuring tape was there.
The needles.
The wooden thread spools.
And the brass thimble.
Wrapped around it was the yellow handkerchief.
I unfolded the cloth.
Two little white stitches marked one corner.
Such a small thing.
Just a piece of fabric.
But it had traveled through eleven years of secrets, mistakes, and grief.
I'd once thought Rebecca kept it because she liked old-fashioned things.
Now I understood.
It was a reminder that frightened people deserved somewhere safe to turn.
I held the thimble between my fingers.
Rebecca had used it to mend my clothes when we were children.
She'd sat beside our mother learning how to sew crooked seams.
Later, she fixed every loose button on Daniel's expensive shirts.
That memory hurt.
But it also reminded me that her life had been more than the way she died.
I put the sewing box on the shelf.
For the first time, I didn't hide it beneath my bed.
Three weeks later, we were almost ready.
Fresh paint covered the walls.
The cooler hummed.
Mae had found the old wooden cutting table she'd bought years ago and kept in storage.
And above the front window, the sign was back.
Rebecca's Flowers.
I stood across the street and looked at it.
For months, I'd imagined Daniel taking that name away.
Now I knew something important.
A name could be painted over.
A business could close.
But the kindness Rebecca had given people didn't vanish because somebody wanted it forgotten.
Vincent joined me on the sidewalk.
“What do you think?”
I wiped my eyes.
“I think she'd complain about the lettering.”
He laughed.
“Really?”
“She always said the capital R looked too fancy.”
“Do you want to change it?”
“No.”
I smiled.
“It's perfect.”
He looked at me for a moment.
Then he reached for my hand.
Not quickly.
Not assuming.
I slipped my fingers into his.
It felt different from the elevator.
Back then, I'd grabbed him because I was terrified.
Now I reached back because I wanted to.
We stood quietly until the afternoon light began fading.
Then someone approached the shop.
A woman in a plain brown coat.
Silver-blonde hair.
No jewelry.
Margaret.
Or Vivian.
I still wasn't sure what to call her.
She stopped when she saw me.
“I heard you were reopening.”
I nodded.
Her eyes moved toward the sign.
“Rebecca would be proud.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“You don't get to decide that.”
Vivian lowered her head.
“You're right.”
She looked toward the shop.
Then she pulled the yellow handkerchief's matching piece of fabric from her pocket, worn thin from years of folding.
“I don't expect you to forgive me.”
Her voice trembled.
“But I spent eleven years hiding from what I did wrong.”
I waited.
May you like
She looked directly at me.
“Emma, will you let me do the work Rebecca died trying to finish?”
