Chapter 1: The Bouquet That Broke the Spell

Given a do-over, with the whole world reset, I still found myself tossing the bouquet to Caleb.

I remembered the way his eyes used to catch the glow from backyard string lights, the way laughter would bubble up from his chest, how being with him felt as easy as breathing. Part of me needed to believe that some things could stay the same, even if the world spun backward on its axis.

I thought he would catch it, just like he had in my last life.

My hands trembled just a little as I let the bouquet fly—a bundle of wild azaleas fresh from the hill by the old barn, tied with a blue ribbon I’d rescued from my grandmother’s sewing basket. The wild azaleas pricked my palms, their sweet scent mixing with the cut grass and charcoal smoke from the grill. I watched it arc through the air, sunlight glinting off the petals. For a heartbeat, it felt like fate was coming back around.

But as the bouquet arced through the air, Caleb turned ever so slightly, letting it slip right by him.

He shifted deliberately, almost like a dance step—just enough that the flowers missed his waiting hands. Time slowed to a crawl, the hush before a storm. Caleb’s jaw tensed, and for a flicker, I saw regret cross his face.

The bouquet landed in the backyard pond with a gentle splash, sending ripples across the water.

The sound was soft, but it carried—azaleas spinning on the surface, ripples catching the pale blue sky. For a moment, the whole backyard held its breath. Someone’s beer can hissed open, the sound jarring in the hush.

It was in that moment I finally understood.

Something inside me crumpled, then settled, a heavy resignation washing over me. The reality landed with a force I’d never felt before. Maybe second chances weren’t about reclaiming what you’d lost.

He, too, had been given a second chance.

I looked at Caleb—tall in his pressed white shirt and those battered jeans his mom always nagged him about. In his eyes, I saw an old grief—something unspoken, quietly endured. It hit me: sometimes a second chance means letting go.

And in this life, he no longer wanted to marry me.

The old script was gone. I couldn’t force him into the past, and maybe I didn’t want to anymore. A part of me wanted to scream, another part to laugh. This was the beginning of something neither of us could predict.

The bouquet rolled into the pond, and the whole backyard party fell silent.

You could almost hear the music from the rented speakers cut out as the laughter faded, replaced by a hush thick with awkwardness. The smell of grilled corn and barbecue sauce hung in the air, but nobody reached for their paper plates. I felt every eye on me, like I was under the Friday night lights at the high school football game, waiting to see who’d fumble next.

The girls closest to me all turned to see how I’d react, each one anxious, afraid I might lose my cool and make a scene.

Lauren’s hand hovered near mine, her red nails digging into her Solo cup. Abby chewed her lip, and Emily never looked up from her phone, thumb tapping nervously. They watched me like a friend about to step into a storm—worried, but too afraid to say anything out loud.

After all, Caleb and I had been childhood friends. Everyone assumed we’d end up together.

Our parents went to the same church potlucks, our dads played on the same softball league, and for as long as anyone could remember, it was always ‘Natalie and Caleb.’ People joked we’d been paired up since before we could spell each other’s names.

In my last life, I did marry into the Taylor family, just as I’d always hoped.

That wedding was the talk of Maple Heights—white roses, country music, a rented barn strung with fairy lights. I wore my mother’s lace veil, and Caleb grinned like he’d hit the jackpot. I’d never felt more sure of anything in my life.

Caleb treated me with unwavering devotion. He took me out on the lake in his dad’s old fishing boat, horseback riding at his uncle’s ranch, and together we enjoyed all the beautiful scenery Maple Heights had to offer.

We’d chase fireflies in the dusk, sneak off for milkshakes at the old diner, or drive out to the overlook where the town’s lights looked like spilled glitter. He’d always make me feel like the most important person in the world, whether we were hauling in bass or sharing a blanket under the stars. He’d sneak me extra hush puppies at the county fair, winking like we shared some secret.

Even during the first two years after our wedding, when I struggled to get pregnant, he still turned down the women his mother tried to introduce to him. He only said, “With Natalie alone in this house, I’m happy for life.”

His mother’s friends whispered about adoption or alternative remedies, but Caleb just shrugged it off. He’d wrap his arms around me in the kitchen, say, “We’re enough. You’re enough.” He never once made me feel like I was letting him down.

I spent more than a decade by his side. Even as illness took me in the end, his heart never wavered.

He sat by my bedside every night, holding my hand through the fevered dreams and the bad days. On my last day, he brushed the hair off my forehead and whispered, “I’d do it all again.” I left this world believing I was truly loved.

So, given another chance, I still chose to toss the bouquet to Caleb.

Maybe I was stubborn, or maybe I still believed in fairy tales. I wanted to believe that love could be rewritten, that we could find each other again. Old habits die hard, especially the ones wrapped in hope.

I thought he would catch it as he always had, but in this life, everything had changed.

It was like waking up to snow in April—beautiful, but wrong. The script had shifted. Caleb wasn’t reaching for me this time.

A sparrow chirped twice in the maple tree, pulling me from my thoughts.

The birds always loved that spot by the pond, flitting between the branches. Their chatter felt almost like gossip, as if even the sparrows were watching to see what I’d do next.

A friend beside me tried to comfort me: “Maybe Caleb just slipped—who knows…”

Emily squeezed my hand, her voice shaky. “Don’t let it get to you, Nat. Maybe he just lost his balance.” I gave her a weak smile. Even she didn’t sound convinced.

But Caleb came from a family of athletes, skilled in every sport since he could walk. His reflexes were legendary. Let alone a bouquet—he could catch a baseball flying straight at his head without blinking.

We used to joke he had Spidey-sense. I’d seen him snag a line drive at third base in Little League like it was nothing. Dropping a bouquet? Not a chance.

How could he possibly have slipped?

It didn’t add up. I felt the stares boring into me, people waiting for the mask to slip. My jaw tightened. My heart pounded against my ribs, a hot, embarrassed flush creeping up my neck.

The stares fixed on me felt as scorching as a summer sunburn. I could almost smell the Coppertone and chlorine, memories of poolside embarrassment flooding back. My cheeks burned.

I remembered being eight and falling off the jungle gym, scraping my knees raw while everyone watched. This was that kind of burn—familiar and raw, a hot knot in my chest that made my hands curl into fists.

I said nothing. I simply watched as Caleb bent to fish the bouquet out of the pond and walked toward me.

He moved quietly, careful not to splash mud on his jeans, lifting the soggy azaleas from the water. He walked with that same old steadiness, every step deliberate. The whole yard seemed to lean forward, holding its collective breath.

“I’m sorry, Natalie.”

His voice sounded strange—distant, almost like he was speaking to a stranger. He called me by my full name, not ‘Nat.’ It hit me like a slap.

A gentle breeze stirred, and the azaleas on the bouquet swayed softly.

The petals dripped onto the grass, the sweet scent of wet flowers lingering in the air. Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor’s dog barked. It all felt strangely unreal, like watching a movie of my own life.

I looked up at him.

His eyes were storm-gray, unreadable. For a heartbeat, I wanted to scream or run—anything but stand there under his impassive gaze.

Caleb was reborn—just like me, returned to his free and youthful seventeen-year-old self.

We were seventeen again—awkward and beautiful, the world sprawled ahead of us like an open highway. Our parents still believed they could steer us, but there was a wildness in both of us now. A knowledge that the past couldn’t be reclaimed so easily.

This year, the Carter and Taylor families had already privately discussed exchanging family details—a customary step before an official engagement. Just as our childhood betrothal was about to be announced, Caleb changed his mind.

The whispers had started in February. Maple Heights had its own rituals—a quiet dinner between the parents, a handshake, a photo by the fireplace, even a whispered promise over the family Bible. But all that was up in the air now.

At seventeen, Caleb was as handsome and spirited as ever, just as I remembered. But behind his lowered lashes, something fundamental had shifted.

He’d always been the golden boy, quick to laugh and slow to anger. But now, he wouldn’t look me in the eye. There was a distance, a wall he’d built, and I didn’t have the map to climb over it.

He refused to catch my bouquet, no longer called me Natalie, and wouldn’t even meet my gaze.

It was like he’d scrubbed my name from his vocabulary, replaced our whole history with cold formality. The friends who’d known us forever shifted uncomfortably, not knowing how to react.

The change was so sudden that no one knew how to react.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant hum of cicadas. I saw Mrs. Taylor’s hand trembling on her glass, and my own mother’s lips pressed in a thin, hard line. Nobody wanted to be the first to speak.

Though I was born into a family with a long military tradition, I’d been educated in poetry and literature, skilled in making tea and balancing a checkbook, adept at hosting guests, writing essays, and playing the piano. Among the girls in Maple Heights, I had always stood out.

Dad used to say I was the best of both worlds—a straight shooter at the range and a top scorer at the county spelling bee. I could charm the mayor at the Fourth of July picnic and still out-fish my cousins on the river. People noticed. They always had.

Such a Natalie Carter was never one to bow her head and cry.

That wasn’t my style. I had a stubborn streak, inherited from generations of Carters who’d never backed down from a fight. If I was going to fall apart, it wouldn’t be in front of the whole town.

The heat in my chest only burned more fiercely.

I could feel it rising—anger, embarrassment, heartbreak. All tangled together, demanding I do something, anything, to reclaim the moment.

So I strode up to Caleb. Standing close enough to touch, I snatched the bouquet from his hand.

My voice was steady, but inside, my heart was rattling around like loose change in a dryer. I saw surprise flicker in his eyes, but I didn’t care. My fingers were wet from the azaleas, but my grip was sure. I stood tall, refusing to let him see how badly I was shaking.

Without looking back, I flung it into the crowd.

I caught Lauren’s eye just before I threw it—she gave me the tiniest, supportive nod. The flowers spun through the air, landing with a muffled thud somewhere behind me.

Who it struck, I had no idea—a startled yelp rang out behind me.

Someone squeaked—Lauren, probably. A ripple of laughter and nervous whispers broke the spell, the tension finally snapping as everyone turned to see who’d been hit.

I kept my eyes fixed on Caleb’s lashes, which trembled slightly with confusion, and spoke each word with deliberate clarity:

“Caleb, you know this about me.

“I, Natalie Carter, am not one to forgive a slight. If I’m wronged, I never let it go.”

My voice rang out, sharp and clear. I wanted him—and everyone else—to know I wouldn’t be pitied. If I was going to hurt, I’d do it on my own terms.

Caleb took two steps back, lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out.

He looked lost, almost like he wanted to reach out and apologize, but couldn’t. For a moment, the memory of the old Caleb flickered across his face, then vanished.