Tate

The scent of fresh flowers hit me as soon as I opened the door. I closed my mouth tight, inhaled a long breath through my nose, and peered through the glass doors of the case on my right. Bobbi and I had been seeing each other for two weeks, and I needed to give her some flowers to mark the occasion.

“Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

“Something that lasts forever, and smells wonderful,” I said over my shoulder.

“Nothing lasts forever,” she said. “But we can make a lasting impression.”

I chuckled and turned around. “I like that.”

She was somewhere close to sixty, had short gray hair, and was wearing an outdated yellow pants suit that didn’t seem to fit her personality. A chunky gold necklace hung from her neck like an oversized nuisance.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked.

“It’s Wednesday.”

“It sure is.” She grinned a denture-revealing smile. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“Wednesday’s the occasion?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Well, let’s see if we can find something special for this Wednesday. Do you have a preference?”

“Lasts long, smells good.”

“Oh, that’s right. Well, the Stargazer Lilies smell wonderful, and they last as long as anything else.”

“Which one is that?’

She pointed to a vase filled with pink flowers. Darker pink spots on the edges of the petals merged into a deep wine color at the center.

I looked at the arrangement and nodded. “They’re gorgeous.”

“They smell even better.”

“How durable are they?” I asked.

“In what respect?”

“In the durability respect. Are they durable?”

“I’m not sure I follow what you’re asking.”

“Do they travel well?”

“They’ll need to stay cool, out if the sun, and away from anything that might tip over on them. Is that what you mean?”

“That answers my question, yes.”

She glanced through the storefront glass and then looked at me. “You weren’t thinking about--”

“I was.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “In the little things on the back?”

“Saddlebags. They’re called saddlebags.”

“In the saddlebags?”

“That’s what I was thinking, yes.”

“Oh. No. They’d wilt in five minutes and be dead in ten.”

“What if I pack it with ice?”

“I don’t think it would matter.”

I sighed. “Damn the luck. What other options do I have?”

“Nothing will live in that little container. Maybe roses. If you did the thing with the ice. And, if you drove really carefully.”

“Rode.”

“Excuse me?”

“Rode. You said drove. It’s rode. You don’t drive a motorcycle, you ride it.”

She smiled. “You’re cute.”

“I like your necklace,” I said, although it was a blatant lie.

She reached for it. “Thank you.”

“Well, crap.” I let out a sigh. “I don’t ride carefully. Not in this traffic, anyway.”

“How far were you intending on taking them?”

“Costa Mesa.”

“Los Angeles?” she gasped.

“No. Costa Mesa.”

“Isn’t that Los Angeles?”

“No. It’s Costa Mesa. It’s south of Los Angeles. Maybe an hour from here.”

“Los Angeles is two hours in traffic.”

“It’s not Los Angeles, it’s Costa Mesa.”

“They’ll never make it.”

I looked at the flowers and then at her. “How’d they get here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you grow them here? In the back?”

“Oh.” She chuckled. “Heavens no. We purchase them, and have them delivered, fresh.”

“How do they get them here?”

“On an airplane, and then in a van. An air-conditioned van.”

“Where do they come from?”

“Well, the roses come from Columbia and Ecuador. Tulips come from Holland. We get several varieties from Canada, including the--”

“Doesn’t sound like Costa Mesa is a stretch.”

She gave my bike a glare. “Driving that?”

“Riding. And, no. I asked what other options we had. I was wondering about having them delivered.”

“Oh,” she said with a long laugh. “We can deliver them just fine.”

“Any of them?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hell, there for a minute, I was scared. You’ve got to excuse me, I’m a flower virgin.”

“You’ve never purchased flowers?”

“No ma’am.”

“Not for prom, or Mother’s Day?”

I shook my head.

“Valentine’s Day?”

“No, ma’am. A complete virgin.”

“That’s sad. Well, hopefully this will change your mind about the future.”

I laughed. “So far, it’s been pretty exhausting to tell you the truth.”

“You’re rather witty.”

“You’re not bad yourself.”

Her pale skin blushed. “Thank you.”

I looked over the various flowers in the display case. “Are these for sale? The display arrangements?”

“They are, but we can make you a fresh one. Cindy isn’t busy right now, and she can cut them fresh.”

“They came from Ecuador and Holland, right?”

She nodded. “And various other places.”

“They’re not fresh.”

“We call them fresh.”

“It’s a little misleading, isn’t it?”

Her eyebrows raised. “Maybe a little. Have you decided what you’d like?”

“Give me a dozen of those pink ones, a dozen red roses, and something bright yellow. And blue. Or purple. One or the other. Then, we’ll have red, yellow, and blue.”

“Oh my. It might take a little longer than fifteen minutes.”

“That’s fine. As long as it’s before noon. Is that possible?”

She looked at the clock. “A quarter of ten now.” She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“If I give you the address you’ll deliver them?”

“We sure will.”

“Can you call me immediately prior to doing so?”

“How immediate?”

“The immediate kind of immediate. Right before you ring the doorbell.”

“Sure.”

“I’d like to be there right after she gets them.”

“That’s a lot of flowers for a Wednesday,” she said with a smile.

“Is there a limit?” I asked. “On Wednesdays?”

“There is not. I simply meant. Oh, never mind.”

“I know what you meant. I was being facetious.”

“You don’t talk like a--”

I coughed a laugh. “Like a tattooed biker?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” She turned as red as her roses. “It’s just…”

“I know what you meant.” I turned away from the case. “If you’d like to ring them up, I’ll pay for them.”

She walked behind the counter, donned her reading glasses, and looked at a price list. After a moment, she pecked at the register with her index finger.

“Two hundred eighty-three fifty, and fifty-six cents.”

I handed her my debit card. She looked at it, and then at me. “Do you have ID?”

“I do.”

She studied my ID, and then handed it back to me. “That’s funny.”

“My picture? I was tired. I’d just ridden from Phoenix, and was close to heat exhaustion.”

“No. Your name. It’s Tate Desmond Reynolds. Your initials are TD. You could be TD Reynolds.”

I was shocked that she knew who I was. “Who?”

“TD Reynolds. He’s an author. He wrote this book called The Jeweler. It made me cry like a baby.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I’d tell you to read it, but…”

“I can read,” I said. “Road signs and stuff.”

“I didn’t mean...”

“I was joking,” I said.

She handed me my card and smiled. “The Jeweler is better than wonderful. I’m on my third read of it now.”

“You know, they say that’s the sign of a great book. If people read it more than once.”

“This one is remarkable.” She looked to her left, the right, and then at me. “You want to hear something funny?”

“Funnier than me reading a book?” I asked, my tone flat.

She sighed, and then gave me a cross look. “His book is number one on the New York Times and everywhere else. It has been for a month. And guess what?”

“What?”

“There’s nothing about him on the internet. Nothing at all. I think it’s a ruse. I think he’s Nora Roberts.”

I put my card and the ID in my wallet. “Maybe he’s that Sparks guy. Nicholas Sparks.”

“Oh!” she gasped. “He might be.”

“Where do I write down the delivery address?” I asked.

She handed me a sheet of paper. “On this form.”

As I filled it out, she handed me a card. “And, if you want to give her a special note, you can write it on here.”

I filled out the form, handed it to her, and then wrote a note on the card. I hesiTated to give it to her, but realized I didn’t have another choice.

I handed her the card with the written side down. “Is that it?”

“Your phone number is on the form?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s all we need.”

“Have a nice day,” I said with a smile.

She looked at the card and then turned it over.

I pushed the door open.

“TD?” she shouted. “TD Reynolds?”

I turned around. “In the flesh and blood.”

She stood behind the counter holding the card with a shaking hand.

I’d written the last line of the book on the card, and signed it TD Reynolds. I’d hoped to get away before she read it.

She raised her free hand and waved. “She’s a lucky lady.”

“No,” I said with a quick grin. “I’m a lucky man.”