Back on Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

laughed. “Kids can do that.”

      Margaret responded to the comment with a dismissive nod, barely acknowledging Colette.

      Colette’s eyes momentarily met mine. “I’ll catch up with you later, Lydia,” she said and headed back upstairs.

      Margaret’s gaze followed Colette. “You like her, don’t you?”

      “She’s great.” I wished my sister would give Colette a chance. Hoping the sympathy factor might work, I added, “Today’s her dead husband’s birthday. She’d started telling me about it when you arrived.”

      Margaret had the grace to look ashamed. “That’s tough,” she said, her own eyes returning to the stairs. The door had been left open and Whiskers wandered down.

      “I know the rental income’s a plus, but frankly I don’t trust her,” Margaret said.

      I sighed; I’d heard this far too often and it still made no sense to me.

      “Why not?” I asked defensively.

      “Think about it,” Margaret said. “Colette’s obviously far more capable than she’s letting on. Why is she working in a flower shop? She could get a job anywhere.”

      “She just lost her husband,” I muttered.

      “A year ago. Okay, that’s tragic and I’m sorry, but it doesn’t mean she has to go into hiding, does it?”

      “She isn’t hiding.” I didn’t know that for sure. But I argued with Margaret because I sincerely liked Colette; my sister was overreacting and it troubled me that she went through life seeing everyone as suspect.

      “Then why’s she working next door for minimum wage?” Margaret pressed. “There’s more to her than meets the eye and until we find out what it is, I don’t think it’s wise to be so chummy.”

      “Everyone handles grief differently,” I went on to explain, although I didn’t have the answers Margaret wanted. It was true that Colette had made a lot of major changes in a short time. Equally true that I didn’t know much about her circumstances.

      “I doubt any of this has to do with her husband, anyway,” Margaret said, still looking in the direction of the stairs. “Mark my words, Colette’s hiding something.”

      My sister sometimes shocked me with the things she said. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, that’s ridiculous!”

      Margaret raised one shoulder. “Maybe, but I doubt it. Something about her doesn’t sit right with me. I know you like her and apparently Susannah does, too, but I’m reserving judgment until we learn more about her.”

      I shook my head stubbornly. My instincts told me Colette was a good person.

      Margaret frowned at my wordless response. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

      Careful? She made Colette sound like a fugitive. “You’ve been reading too many detective novels,” I teased, knowing how much my sister enjoyed reading suspense fiction. She kept a paperback tucked inside her purse and enjoyed discussing the plots with me. I tend to listen to audio books; that way, I can “read” and knit at the same time. That’s my idea of multitasking.

      “Has Colette ever mentioned where she used to work before Susannah’s Garden?” Margaret asked.

      “No … but why should she?”

      Margaret cast me one of the looks that suggested I was far too trusting.

      Clearly Margaret had a more vivid imagination than I did. “I don’t think she’s in the witness protection program, if that’s what you’re implying.” I walked to the front of the shop, rolled up the shade on the door and turned the Closed sign to Open. I saw that the rain had intensified in the last while. Whiskers immediately leaped into the window and curled up, purring softly.

      “I wanted to discuss another knitting class,” I said, remembering my thoughts of earlier that morning. I flipped the light switch and through the steamy windows of the French Café across the street, I saw my friend Alix Townsend, who worked there as a baker. The rain came down in a torrent, falling so hard it bounced against the pavement and ran in the gutters. It’d been nearly two weeks since Alix and I had talked and I’d missed her. I knew she had less free time these days, since she was in the middle of planning her wedding.

      Many changes had taken place since I’d come to Blossom Street. The French Café, of course, and Susannah’s Garden. There was a new bookstore three doors down from me now, and directly across from that was the old bank building, which had been turned into ultra-expensive condos. They sold so fast, even the real estate people were shocked. A few of the residents had taken my knitting classes and I was beginning to know them.

      “Maybe I’ll go and see Alix this morning,” I said casually. I rarely ate breakfast but I was in the mood for something sweet. If I timed it right, maybe Alix would be able to join me for a muffin and a cup of coffee.

      “You’re changing the subject again,” Margaret said from behind me.

      “I am?” I tried to recall what we’d been discussing. “I didn’t mean to. I was just thinking about everything that’s happened on Blossom Street.”

      Margaret glanced at me. “It all started with you and A Good Yarn,” my sister said. “You set the tone for this neighborhood. People like it here.”

      Praise from Margaret was rare indeed and I felt a surge of pleasure at her words.

      Despite the rain and despite our disagreement about Colette, I knew we were going to have a good day.

      CHAPTER

      2

       Alix Townsend

      It was raining—again. Alix Townsend dashed across the street, already drenched by the rain that had been coming down steadily since the Thursday before. She needed a cigarette. Bad. After more than two years without one, she could hardly believe how intense the craving was. She felt blindsided by it. The damn wedding—that was the problem. A whole vocabulary of swearwords raced through her mind. In less than four months, on June second, she would become Reverend Jordan Turner’s wife, and frankly, that terrified her.

      Alix Townsend a pastor’s wife! It was almost laughable. Although few people knew it, her mother was in prison for a variety of crimes, including forgery, passing bad checks and attempted murder. This wasn’t her first stint in jail, either. Tom, Alix’s only brother, was dead of a drug overdose and she hadn’t had any contact with her father since she was twelve. As far as she knew, he’d made no effort to get in touch with her. When it came to family, Alix definitely felt cheated.

      She didn’t consider herself a fancy-church-wedding candidate, but somehow, almost without noticing it, she’d become immersed in this whole crazy mess. This … this sideshow of a wedding.

      “Alix,” Jordan shouted, running after her, his feet pounding hard as he crossed the road and splashed his way through the puddles on Blossom Street.

      Alix had visited Jordan’s office during lunch break. They hadn’t actually argued, although they’d come close. She hated what this wedding had turned into, hated having no control, hated that no one seemed willing to listen. Not even Jordan. When she realized he wasn’t hearing her, she’d rushed out of his office with a huge lump in her throat. The stinging tears surprised her as much as the craving for a cigarette.

      She ignored Jordan’s shout. With the rain and wind, it was easy to pretend she hadn’t heard him.

      “Alix!” he yelled again and a moment later caught up with her.

      She slowed her pace and he fell into step beside her. “What just happened back there?” he asked. He was obviously confused by the way she’d hightailed it out of his office.

      “What do you mean?” she asked, annoyed that