Chapter Two
Kayson
If she changed her mind one time, I would have to wring her neck. The bride’s name shouldn’t be Celeste, it should be CeMore. More roses—more baby’s breath. She said the word spray more than a Mr. Clean commercial.
The only plusses to this arrangement were that it would be over soon, and I was making a killing off her persnickety attitude.
Then again, Celeste did have impeccable taste. Even Aunt Vivian said so, which was a compliment in and of itself. Aunt Vivian didn’t approve of anyone or anything.
“She changed her mind again?” my red-haired aunt said, sitting down on the stool at my workstation, which was nothing more than a tool workbench with all my clippers and wire cutters hung just the way I liked them. My aunt’s floral shop was a modest place with a certain small-town-meets-hipster charm. It allowed me creative flexibility while doing what I loved, what Aunt Viv taught me to love right alongside her—gardening. Our favorite projects were the pitiful ones: the flowers and plants that had been dejected, ignored, and neglected. We loved to take them in and nurse them back to health. There was nothing more satisfying than saving a living thing.
“Yes. I told her this was the last time. If she picks another color, it’s too late for me to get any of these roses. And I think I’ve bought all the baby’s breath in the entire metro area. She’s trying to hint at something there.”
Aunt Vivian shrugged and set her tea down. “Nothing wrong with a little hint. Like, oh, I don’t know, buying a cradle at this fabulous antique store when you don’t have a baby to put in it and your nephew is dragging his feet finding an omega.”
“You didn’t.” I stopped shoving baby’s breath in every crevice of the arrangement to shoot her the best stink eye I was capable of, which, if I do say so myself, was vicious.
“I’m not admitting anything. You know how I love Bethesda. They have so many treasures just waiting for me to spend your uncle’s insurance money on.”
She didn’t kill my uncle or anything. If there existed such a thing as love at first sight, my aunt and uncle invented it. They met when she was just sixteen, and he waited until she turned eighteen to ask her to marry him. He took care of her as though she was the heir to the throne of Mapleville. When he died, she learned he’d intended to take care of her all of her life, even if he was gone. She received over ten million dollars in insurance money, property, and investments that grew no matter how much she spent.
I doubted she even made a profit from this florist business, but Aunt Vivian was skilled in two areas: shopping and gardening. She’d never give up on this place—or me.
“Where is it?” I asked, looking back at the order, pretending not to care if she bought a cradle or not. Fantasizing about a child seemed ridiculous, considering there was no omega in town my type or not taken. The problem wasn’t the town, it was me. Too picky, some would say. I said, just picky enough.
“As with all things antique, it needed some TLC. I dropped it off at Woody’s. It should be done soon, then…” She sighed dramatically. “It will go in the attic, I suppose.”
“You’re really bad at subtlety. Has anyone ever told you that?” I sighed, waiting on the clock to strike my break time. I needed caffeine before I keeled over.
Her soft, crepe-skinned hand folded on top of mine, and she sighed. A serious talk loomed on the horizon. I wished she would wait until I fueled up on coffee.
She wouldn’t.
“Kayson, my son, maybe you should venture out. This town isn’t big enough to find a lasting match—someone you can hold onto forever.” Her long, tangerine-colored handmade earrings, another one of her splurges, swung back and forth as she talked. They almost got lost in her red hair—almost.
Mapleville wasn’t that small. It was big enough for CeMore to find her happily ever after, I thought, placing my tools back on the magnetic board. “I’m not in a hurry for a relationship to happen, Aunt Viv. It’s not that I don’t want it, it’s just that I don’t want to rush things. I don’t want an Eric repeat.”
Eric was my last omega. He was lots of people’s omegas all at the same time. I’d fallen for his frat boy looks and green eyes that put four-leaf clovers to shame. I’d been such a fool for that one. The man could pull off a sweater vest. That’s how fine he was. Nothing he did deterred from his charms, except sleeping with four other people—that sealed the deal. I sighed and waited. Aunt Viv would go on. There was nothing else I needed to say.
“I want you to be open to the possibility, that’s all. An open heart is the recipient of all sorts of visitors.”
Someone should really put her sayings on a plaque or a Hallmark card. Aunt Viv was full of them.
“I can’t have an open heart if I’m slugging around needing coffee. There’s no energy left for love.”
I got my dramatic streak from her.
“You know, I think I’ve made a mistake.” Her tone changed, also the subject. My aunt’s other talent was awkward subject change. “She doesn’t have the good taste I thought she did. That’s an ungodly amount of baby’s breath. And what happened to the hints of coral roses?”
I shrugged, wiping down my table, ready for the next spray. I still had to make all the corsages and boutonnieres. Whoever heard of fifteen groomsmen and bridesmaids around here. No one. That’s who. They even had to have the wedding outside and the reception at city hall just to house all the people she invited.
Not quite a monster bride, but edging that way.
“That was the mother’s last-minute call. Diane is her name. She was with Celeste the last and final time they came in to change everything. Diane said coral was tacky. I thought it made the arrangement pop.”
Aunt Viv’s eyebrow popped up. “Maybe Diane was afraid the coral alluded to another pop that’s already happened.”
Dirty bird. Aunt Viv always had been.
“Wouldn’t that be red?”
“Don’t be vulgar. You know what I mean.”
“Pot. Kettle.”
“Maybe we should stick a red rose right in the middle of the sprays. Rile them up a little bit. I don’t need the money.”
This woman would do anything to rile someone up in a heartbeat, especially someone sitting a little too high on their horse.
“I need the money. I don’t have a rich husband who died and left me millions.”
She rolled her eyes and took a sip of tea only to stick her tongue out. “It’s gone cold. Anyway, I already paid you for the wedding. I figured the money was coming in anyway.”
A quick check of my bank account on my phone proved her statement.
“You paid me too much, Aunt Viv.”
“It’s a tip. Here’s another tip—give me a grandchild, or, technically, a great-niece or nephew. But great-aunt doesn’t really roll off the tongue. They can call me Honey. None of this meemaw, granny stuff. Makes me sound old.”
Her talking about being old made me yawn.
“Oh, good grief. Go get your coffee. It’s like you die a little every minute between ten and eleven a.m. Just go.”
“I’m going. Anything I can get you? A tea that’s actually hot? A cinnamon roll?”
Aunt Viv gasped as though she’d never realized the coffee shop had pastries. “You devil. Yes. All of it. Buy the whole case!” She threw her arms in the air, spun around, and twirled in a Stevie Nicks-wannabe turn, shawl and all.
Drama.