Sophie!” a cheerful voice called out.

I turned in my seat to see Janet Eller approaching our table. She had a petite frame and big messy curls. She’d lived down the street from us since forever.

“Janet!” I said, cheering up. “Hi. How are you? Getting ready for the big day next month?”

“Janet’s getting married next month,” Mom said to Andrew.

“Congratulations,” Andrew said.

“Thank you,” Janet said, running a hand through her curls. “And no, I’m not ready. I feel like a chicken with her head cut off. I’m running around with no direction.”

“It will all come together,” I said.

“I was hoping you would do my bouquet.”

“Isn’t Caroline doing the flowers?”

“Yes, but I want you specifically for my bouquet.”

“Me? Why would you want me?” I didn’t design flowers. Well, I did in the shop, but only because I had to.

“I’ve seen some of the arrangements you’ve done for the store,” Janet explained, her eyes wide. “They’re so good. You think you could draw up some samples for me to pick from?”

I shifted in my chair. “Oh. I really think you should stick with an experienced florist for an event as big as your wedding.”

“Sophie,” Mom said. “The girl is asking for you. Have some confidence, child.”

Janet put her hand on my arm. “Listen to your mother.”

My mother had just proven in writing that she knew nothing about me. I wasn’t sure she was the right person to listen to. Plus, I didn’t have a lot of extra time; I had my own designs to work on, and putting energy into designing a bouquet could zap my creativity. But Janet’s face looked so hopeful that I found myself saying, “Do you have any idea what you’d like?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking you. I want you to design it the way you think would look best.”

“What does your dress look like?”

“It’s traditional. Fitted bodice and full skirt.”

“White?”

“Of course. Do you want my mother to murder me before I can even walk down the aisle?”

I smiled. “Okay, I’ll draw you some samples.”

She pulled out the chair next to me and sat down.

“I meant … later,” I clarified.

“Can you just quickly do some rough sketches now?” She opened her purse and produced a notebook and a pencil for me.

“Now?”

“Please. I feel this heavy weight hanging over me, and I just want this off my plate.”

“Okay, I guess I can try …” I took the notebook and flipped through page after page of wedding notes until I found a blank one. I stared at the white paper. This wasn’t how inspiration worked for me, with three people staring at me expectantly. “You said it was a traditional dress?” I asked.

She nodded.

I sketched an outline of a dress. “Kind of like this?”

“Yes,” Janet said. “That’s the right shape.”

What flower shape would look good with this dress shape? My eyes took in the lines, and I thought about the symmetry. “I think you should go with a globe-style bouquet. I would do blush roses, tightly placed. Then maybe some ribbon wrapped around the holder and some pearl accents tucked into the flowers.” I drew as I talked, then stopped to look at the design. I flipped the page as another shape came to me. “Or you could have a more elongated shape by leaving on the stems and gathering the roses into a bunch. The stems could be wrapped with a string of pearls or a sheer ribbon.” When I was done, I showed her the sketches. “I need a little more time to fully develop the ideas but it’s a start.”

Janet’s face was all aglow. “How did you do that?” she asked. “Those are great.”

“Yeah?” I felt a warm glow myself. “I can think of another design.”

“No, really. These are beautiful. I love them.”

“Which one are you leaning toward?”

“The ball one.”

“Okay. I’ll work on it.”

“You will?”

“Um … yes.”

Janet gave me a hug and then headed straight for Caroline, as if she was going to inform her that moment of these plans.

“Look at you,” Mom said, standing. “Drawing and everything.”

If my mom was at all observant, she would’ve seen the design journal I toted around everywhere. How had she not seen it? I tried not to be hurt over this fact, but I felt the unwanted emotions bubbling just beneath the surface.

She threw her napkin onto her plate, then wiped her hands on the back of her jeans.

“Where are you going?” I didn’t mean for that to sound so desperate, but it did, I realized.

She showed me the time on her phone. “I told Taryn I’d be back for Gunnar at noon.”

Her phone said eleven thirty. Now she was worried about punctuality?

She squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll see you at home. And Andrew, it was great meeting you.”

“You too, Ms. Evans.”

“It’s Larissa.” She took the long route to her car, talking to a few people but really meandering her way toward Jett Hart.

Andrew sighed. “Your mom is nice.”

I studied his expression. Was he ever sincere? I just nodded.

He jerked his head toward Janet. “That was impressive, Soph.”

“Don’t call me Soph. And don’t mock me.”

He shook his head a little like he was confused. “Who says I was mocking you?”

“Your face says it.”

“Those bouquets you drew? That’s what you want at your wedding?”

“See, I knew you were mocking me.”

“Just a question.”

“Of course it’s not what I want at my wedding.”

“Isn’t that what she asked you for, though? What you thought would look best?”

“That is what I thought would look best at her event with her dress. My tastes don’t matter.”

“Kind of like these arrangements?” He plucked a petal off one of the sunflowers and let it drop onto the white tablecloth. “I’m sure you gave zero opinions about them as well.”

“What’s your point?”

“You want to be a designer, right?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.” Micah must’ve told him. I was going to kill her later. “A clothing designer, not a florist.”

“A real designer puts a piece of him- or herself in everything,” Andrew said thoughtfully. “So that when people see it, they say, that is a Sophie Evans design. You’re going to have to stop holding on so tightly to all those pieces.”

I couldn’t believe it. “You think because you throw a few pictures up on your computer that you are the expert on design and style?” I asked. “Right now, I don’t have a name for myself. People want something that fits who they are. That’s what they’re asking me for. And I’m really good at figuring out who people are and what they want. Really good.” I stood up and walked away.

I marched straight up to Micah, who was chatting with Lance by the food table. When she saw me, she stepped closer to me, a look of concern on her face.

I shook out my hands and then my whole body. “Ugh.”

“Is someone bothering you again?” She peered over at Andrew with a small smirk. “It’s like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. I need to ask him for pointers.”

“Funny.” My eyes locked onto my mom, who was still talking to Jett. She had one hand on his arm and was leaning toward him, saying something. “Seriously?”

“What?” Micah asked.

“My mother. I’m going to die of embarrassment. Jett’s now met most of my family and he’ll never take me seriously.”

“Your mom is not you,” Micah said.

“She may not be me but we are a reflection of each other, right? Good or bad, Micah, our family defines us.”