One evening, a small envelope appeared at her door. No courier this time, just handwriting she didn’t recognize. Inside lay a thank-you note on thick cream paper.

Claire,

I returned the venue deposit and moved out. I’m planting a lemon tree in my mother’s yard with your bouquet pressed in a book beside me. If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.

—Isabelle

Claire tucked the note into a drawer. She didn’t know if they’d ever have that talk. The important thing was already said.