please. Nothing I did was ever good enough. Even my accomplishments were ridiculed. I’d get an entire list outlining how I could have done better.
They didn’t like the way I did my hair or makeup. They didn’t like my clothes. They didn’t like the name I’d picked for my daughter or the house we lived in or the car I drove. Everything I did or had could have been better, better, better.
The rest of my family was exactly the same, cut from the same cloth as my parents, and I couldn’t imagine ever leaning on any of them, let alone during such a hard time in my life. I understood that blood was thicker than water, but sometimes you had to cut out those people who made you feel bad about yourself . . . even if they were your family.
There was only one relative I’d ever felt a real connection to. Even though I hadn’t seen Aunt Sylvia in years, we were still close. We’d kept in contact with emails and phone calls. We’d bonded over being the two black sheep in our family, and that bond had stayed strong, keeping us connected no matter how long it had been since we were face-to-face.
When I called to tell her my world had basically imploded, she told me emphatically she’d been thinking of slowing down but didn’t have anyone she trusted to take over the reins of her flower shop. She went on about the timing being kismet and all but demanded I move to her “little slice of paradise.”
Hope Valley was a little less than an hour from Richmond, making it easily drivable, so Alex hadn’t given me grief when I told him I had a job opportunity there. I assumed it also helped ease things with his pregnant fiancée that the woman he’d thrown over and the kid they had together were no longer going to be living in the same city.
But I tried really hard not to dwell on that.
Another thing I’d worked hard not to think about was my night with a certain stranger I’d picked up in a bar. I had started to wonder if I made the whole thing up. He’d been too damn good to be true, it had to have been my imagination. But even days later, I’d move or shift in a certain way and feel a twinge that reminded me that night had been very, very real.
Those twinges were gone now, but the memories certainly weren’t, no matter how many times I told myself to stop thinking about it. I was never going to see Micah again, after all. I just prayed he hadn’t ruined me for all other men.
Ivy stared out the window in wonder as we passed through the town, pointing out everything that caught her eye, which was a lot. She was particularly taken with the clock tower in the center of the town square, and rattled on and on about it until the moment we pulled up in front of Sylvia’s house, an adorable bungalow overrun by so many shrubs and plants that her front yard looked like a jungle.
Her love for all things green had carried over from her flower shop. There was a trellis covered in wisteria at the side of the house, a line of rose bushes to the left of the porch. Azaleas, butterfly bushes, hydrangeas, elephant ears, and so much more. The backyard looked much the same. Her property was, hands down, my favorite place on earth. It was like stepping into a whole new world. I’d spent hours and hours in her yard, weeding and turning soil or curling up on one of the cozy chairs or loungers she had scattered throughout.
“Mommy,” Ivy said on a wondrous breath, “it’s like a secret garden.” I threw the car in park and glanced over my shoulder, seeing my girl’s face and hands pressed against the window. “Do we get to stay here?”
“Yeah, love bug. This is our new home. You like it?”
Ivy sucked in a huge, dramatic breath before declaring in a voice so loud it nearly burst my eardrums, “I love it so much!”
“Then let’s go check it out.”
I killed the engine and pushed the car door open just as Sylvia appeared, like a brightly colored beacon amidst all the greenery.
“Yoohoo!” she called, waving an arm in the air, making her dazzling, brightly colored caftan sway in the breeze. “There they are! Welcome home, my lovelies!” She reached the edge of