By the next morning, the entire day before felt like a dream – one that had gone from delightful to nightmare. I had mostly relegated Divina’s actions to the past, vowing to not forget them or to ignore them, but to not dwell in the darkness either.
Mart took a day off from the winery – a well-earned one since she’d signed up a record number of folks for their subscription offering during the festival the day before – and came in to help me run the shop. Marcus was right on time as usual, and Rocky came in with a plate full of muffins. “Mama says muffins are for recovery, so this is for you.” She handed me a white paper bag that was hand-decorated with beautiful drawings of hyacinths. Inside was a single muffin in a bright blue paper and a note, “You are strong, Harvey Beckett. Never forg
