Chapter 7 - The Last Photograph
Three weeks later, The Flourish opened its new Chicago flagship store in a historic brick building just off Michigan Avenue.
The morning rush was deafening. The line of customers wrapped around the corner, all eager to try the pastries that had taken Portland by storm. Behind the glass counter, Leo was shouting orders while Julian, wearing a miniature baker’s hat, proudly handed out sample cookies to anyone who walked through the door.
Mara stood by the window, adjusting a black-and-white photograph framed in simple oak wood.
It was an old photograph she had found in a vintage shop years ago—an empty roadside diner at three in the morning. Rain against the windows. Coffee mugs left upside down. Nobody inside.
A pair of warm arms wrapped around her waist from behind, resting comfortably against her stomach. A chin settled gently on her shoulder.
""You’ve been staring at that photograph for ten minutes,"" Reid murmured into her hair.
Mara leaned back against his chest, smiling. ""I’m not staring at the diner.""
""No?""
""No,"" she said, turning slightly in his arms to look up into those familiar, slate-gray eyes. ""I’m looking at the person who finally made sure that room wasn't empty anymore.""
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Reid smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached all the way to his eyes—and kissed the top of her head.
Outside, the Chicago snow began to fall, soft and thick against the glass, covering the city in a blanket of absolute white.
