“So, you stayed?”
My sister, Drew, and my best friend and business partner, Micah Roman, were in the shop with me, as we pored over seed catalogs for the spring inventory and watched the clock crawl. January wasn’t a happening month for florists, as a general rule. Parties, business events, and funerals were pretty much the only bread and butter during the winter months. Now, however, after two months of excavation, aerating, fertilizing, and churning high nutrition and minerals into the new wildflower field Micah and I had started down the pond in a joint venture business called Wild Things with her family’s flower farm, even trying some winter seeding to see what would populate, we had a whole new outlook on potential profits.
Or I was trying to have a new outlook on potential profits. One mention of the group meeting I might go to that night—that I’d sort of gone to last week, however, had turned them into squirrels that would not let it go until I told them details. Especially about Hot Guy, aka Clark Kent.
I rolled my neck and stood up straight to stretch. Hazel eyes smiled at me in my head for the hundredth time, but it was completely different bringing him to life out loud. Suddenly, his voice was in my ears and those eyes had my stomach doing twitchy things. It had to just be my guilty conscience. Which was ridiculous. I owed him nothing, and it was dumb to still be giving any head space to a guy who had only pissed me off.
“Hell, no,” I said. “I was halfway down the street before he probably even realized I’d never sat down.”
“Did you take the cookies?” Drew asked.
“Of course.”
“Oh my God, it’s like you stood him up!” Micah said, standing upright.
I squinted at her. “From the cookie tray to the chair? That’s not a date.”
“But that was a blow off,” Drew said. “Damn, you’re heartless.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
They probably were, but truth be known, I’d felt like a friggin’ shrew ever since.
Why? Why? Why?
And why did I want to go back tonight? When I was driving away, I swore to never set foot in there again. To never try anything new again. What did I need new for? I had the town of Charmed and its insanity to keep me entertained for the next millennium. I didn’t have a particular need to go hear all those women wax on about their horrible exes. I had one of my own. I also didn’t feel compelled to tell the world that mine didn’t want me anymore. That he’d traded me in for a younger, less flawed model. That was never a fun fact.
Okay, maybe Cher had a small point about needing a boost.
So, what was with this crazy urge I had ever since I woke up this morning, a week later, knowing it was Thursday? I refused to think it was because of Hot Guy…aka Clark Kent…aka Superman. Because—just because. Besides, if I were him and I’d been stood up between the cookie tray and the chair, I’d never show my face in there again, so he shouldn’t even be a consideration.
“Whatever,” I said, giving a hand flip to show just how okay I was with it. And I was. Totally. I wasn’t feeling guilty anymore. “All’s good.”
“Uh-huh,” Micah said, peering back at the catalog like the snakeroot seeds were too fascinating to pass up.
“What was that, Obi-wan?” I asked.
“Just saying,” Micah said, not looking up from the intrigue that was now Texas Thistle.
“Saying what?” I asked.
She looked up at me and snickered. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m off men,” I said defensively.
“Not off sex.”
“I can’t have sex with a guy from group,” I said.
“Yeah, that would be kinda—” Drew began, making a face.
“Cliché,” I finished.
“I was about to say sad,” she said with a head tilt.
“Really? And who have you hooked up with recently?” I asked.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Drew said, reaching under the counter for a bag of Oreos.
The chick could eat her weight and mine in cookies and never gain an ounce. It wasn’t right. She got our dad’s good hair (when he had hair) and his metabolism.
“You don’t do anything and tell,” I said, grabbing a cookie out of the pack after Micah snatched two. “You didn’t even tell Mom and Dad you sold your house.”
“Wasn’t about them,” she said simply.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Micah said. “Most people want to move out of a trailer park. You went there on purpose.”
Drew could not only eat everything and have the good silky dark hair, she also had the unheard of confidence to do whatever she wanted, and follow whatever whim drifted in front of her. To a point, anyway. She’d bought a house a few years ago, decided it was too grounding for her, and sold it to live in a trailer on the other side of town. So she could pull up roots and leave, I suspected, although the shop kept us both pretty rooted.
“I didn’t need all that space,” Drew said. “It was too domestic for me. And it wasn’t a secret, I just didn’t want to hear all the drama.”
“Only you can get away with that,” I said, shaking my head.
“That’s because I’m the oldest and they gave up on expecting things from me a long time ago,” she said with a smirk. “Your life has been much more interesting.”
There was a sadness in that statement, whether she meant it or not. Drew was always the one with the most talent, and the worst choices. In life, in school, in men. She was a straight A student, and skipped her graduation. Blew off her free ride to college to hit the road with the love of her life, only to return six months later, alone and sullen, unwilling to talk about it. My gorgeous older sister was now thirty-six and never married, dated no one long enough for family to meet, and completely marched to her own drum. Things still managed to fall into place just fine for her.
I, on the other hand, did everything in the right order. College, boyfriend, husband, respectable house in a nice neighborhood, tried for family—tried to make all the right choices—and everything was crumbling around me.
“Yay, me.”
“So, you were going to bang this guy?” Micah asked, bringing us back.
“No, I said I can’t hook up with guys from group,” I said.
“And then got defensive when Drew said it was sad,” Micah said.
I closed my eyes. “Y’all make me tired.”
“Oh, what would it hurt?” Drew said. “You said yourself they use fake names, and if you never want to see him again afterwards, stop going.”
It sounded so simple. “Is that what you do, dear sister?” I asked. “Stalk unsuspecting men in organized groups and use them till you can sneak off like a spy in the night?”
Drew smirked, her hair falling forward as she pretended to study the catalog with us. She couldn’t care less about seeds, or flowers, or anything floral-related in general. It was her legacy to take on our parents’ business as the older sister, but one she wore more as a weighted chain than—well—a wreath of roses.
“If I tell my secrets, they aren’t secrets, now are they?” she said. “Hey speaking of mysteries, did you see the big commotion going on across the pond?”
“No, what?” I asked.
“Looks like something maybe around the Dartwell property,” she said, glancing my way apologetically. “Looks like they’re building something, and there’s a big-ass party boat trailered with a friggin’ semi over there.”
Awesome.
Dixie Dartwell was the aforementioned blonde and perky toddler who stole my husband with her perky hoo-hah. My ex-husband. Well, all the self-help books I’d been poring over said that no one could steal a person who wasn’t open to be taken. Still.
“Good for them,” I said. “Bart always liked a party.”
“Okay, back to you again,” Micah said with a wink.
“That wasn’t about me?”
“No, it wasn’t,” she said, nudging me. “Bart and whatever or whoever he does now has nothing to do with you. Nice diversion, but you can’t beat the master. Are you going back tonight?”
I sighed. Originally, I wasn’t planning to go back to group. I’d been prodded to go by my mother, then I’d gone and done that disappearing act, making it doubly hard to go back now, feeling all kinds of stupid that didn’t make sense. Not that anyone would probably remember me.
Of course, no one remembers the new boring-looking frumpy girl who came in with the new hot guy, and then bolted from the building like her ass was on fire. I mean, why would they?
“I don’t know,” I said, absently tapping on the ever-popular blue violets to flag for the spring order. “When I first got there, I thought it was so dumb, but I’m so tired of feeling angry about Bart and Dixie, and maybe venting about it with other angry people is the ticket. Maybe I should give it another shot. Especially since Hot Guy probably won’t be there distracting me with his backwards insults.”
“And his sexy eyes that crinkle when he laughs,” Drew said.
I jerked my head up. “Did I say that out loud?”
“You did,” Micah and Drew said in unison.
I sighed and shook my head. “Whatever. My point is I highly doubt he’ll be there.”
“Of course he won’t,” Drew said. “He’s curled up in a ball of humiliation somewhere.”
Micah laughed and gave her a fist bump.
“I’m so glad you two are enjoying this,” I said.
“Hey, I have to get my jollies someplace,” Micah said. “I’m either helping on the New Blue construction, watching TV alone while Leo’s at work, or listening to my brothers bicker or bitch about the other. Your drama is a welcome change of pace.”
Micah’s younger brother, Jackson, had shown up on big brother Thatcher’s porch, their childhood home, at two in the morning last week, unannounced and unexpected. He was still there.
“How long is Jackson staying?” I asked.
“I don’t think he knows,” Micah said.
Jackson Roman lived down in the southern part of Texas on the Gulf of Mexico, in a town called Jolly Beach. He’d gotten away from the Roman family flower farm legacy, bought a large rambling old beach house and fixed it up himself, while running an offshore fishing and boat tour business with an old friend from the Keys. He didn’t come home that often, according to Micah. In fact, when he’d come in for her wedding that she skipped out on eight months ago, climbing on a motorcycle with then stranger Leo McKane and hightailing it to Charmed, it had been the first time in years. He hadn’t been back again till now.
Hell, I wouldn’t either. We lived near a pond and a theme park. Micah’s hometown of Cherrydale had an antique trade mart.
Yeah. I’d take the beach.
“Seems that he and his business buddy had a falling out,” Micah said, shrugging. “I think it was over a woman—I don’t know. I think they generally butt heads anyway though, because Jackson is—well, he kind of flies by his ass while his partner is probably very structured. Essentially, he’s me, and the other guy is Thatcher. So, he took some time off to get away from one organization junkie, just to come to another.”
“But you and Thatcher get along, right?” I asked.
“Oh, Thatch and I are tight,” Micah said. “He’s always had patience with me, but with Jackson—mmm, not so much.”
“Well, maybe we can all go to dinner or something,” I said. “I’d love to meet baby brother, and seeing that I’m in business with the other one I should probably meet him face-to-face one of these days.”
“I know,” Micah said. “It’s crazy that y’all keep missing each other. Well, the whole two times he’s come here to see the field progress and the one time you’ve been to the farm with me.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s such a homebody after work, it’s hard to get him out of there.”
“Let’s go there,” I said. “Like during the day, have a meeting like real business people do.”
“I’m going tomorrow morning after a quick coffee with Lanie,” she said.
“Oh, I saw Lanie yesterday,” Drew said, piping in as the bell over the door jingled. “She looks like that puppy’s about to fall out if she sneezes hard.”
“You calling my sweet baby a puppy?” said a voice following far behind the belly that preceeded it.
Micah laughed. “Lanie!”
“Aw,” said Drew. “I meant it only in the best way. I love puppies, you know.”
Lanie straddled a stool and lowered onto it, pursing her lips through an exhale.
“Don’t sweat it,” she said, sounding out of breath. “It’s better than most of the names I call it. Last night it was Little Alien Shit, when I had to sleep sitting up because it was kicking me with all eight legs.”
Lanie McKane was married to Nick, Micah’s hottie Leo’s brother—if that’s not confusing. Nick was a hottie, himself, and the chef at the Blue Banana Grille. Or he was before a psychopath burned it to the ground several months earlier. They’d gone through their own drama to be together, and losing the diner had been devastating, but they had a bundle of joy on the way. I had to think that made up for anything.
It would for me.
“I like how you keep calling it, It,” I said, walking around to give her a hug. “Wasn’t last week all about it being a boy?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Two weeks ago, Carmen’s mom felt up my belly and swore it was a girl, so we of course assumed it would be the opposite. Now, I don’t know.” She rubbed the big ball that looked like it was attached to her body with Velcro. “So, I figure I’ll keep it generic so he or she doesn’t get confused.”
“Oh!” came my mother’s voice from the back hall. “I hear a pregnant woman!”
My smile stayed pasted on my face, but I felt it wither a little inside me as my mother did everything short of vaulting the shop counter to get to Lanie. Lanie laughed as Wanda Graham squealed and ooh’d and aah’d and caressed her belly like it was a crystal ball. I backed up and watched her maternal joy ooze from every pore. She would be the most amazing grandma, but I couldn’t give her that. Drew would have to pony up on that one, and she couldn’t care less about kids. I licked my lips and shoved back the unfairness of it all. This moment wasn’t about me, it was about a friend of mine getting her fairy tale.
“When are you due?” my mom asked, shoving her glasses up on top of her head. “I know I probably asked you two weeks ago but my brain is tired.”
“Next week,” Lanie said. “If it decides to wait that long.” She winced and pushed down on the top of her belly. “Put your butt down, Little Shit.”
“And we still don’t know the sex?” Mom asked.
“Nope,” Lanie said. “We want the surprise. I’m secretly hoping for a boy for Nick since he has Addison, but we don’t care.”
“So, what brings you in?” I asked. “Are you hiding a pie somewhere in there?”
“Ooh, I do have some pie to bring you!” Lanie said, her eyes going wide and then closing as if she was savoring the taste right there. “Nick made the most amazing apple crumb something or other last night, oh my God. I’ll bring you some.”
I laughed. “I’ll be waiting.”
“But I do want to talk about landscaping,” she said then, all matter-of-fact.
Drew leaned on her elbows and tilted her head. “In January?”
“Nine months pregnant?” Micah added.
“I know,” Lanie said. “Suddenly I’m obsessed with redoing the flower beds in front of the house. I’m exhausted with building design. The Blue Banana being rebuilt as the New Blue has Nick talking about nothing else, and me seeing beams and sheetrock in my sleep. I need sunshine and dirt and pretty blooms, and I’ll be busy with the baby when it warms up so I need to make a plan now. Y’all do that, right?”
Drew looked at me, and I looked at Micah. Who looked at my mom. We did not do that. We were a florist, not a nursery.
“You know what, honey?” Mom said. “We can totally do that.” Well, hey, go Mom. “Can you come back after work this afternoon? We’ll sit down with the computer and see what we can work up.”
I caught Drew’s look again, and bit back a smile. Mom on the computer. No matter what we were doing, spreadsheets or surfing the internet, to her it was all the computer. But she wanted to help Lanie out in her last trimester nesting obsession, so that was awesome. I might text Lanie later to look up some things on her phone ahead of time, though.
“Will do,” she said. “Today’s actually my last day of work at the bank,” she said, grinning sheepishly as she pushed to her feet. “I can’t stay on my feet that long, anymore, and all the desk agent spots are full, so I’m starting maternity leave tomorrow and hoping this kid doesn’t come late.”
“Did Allie and Nick decide on paint?” Micah asked.
Lanie gave her a look. “Micah.”
“Don’t Micah me,” Micah said, putting her hands on her hips.
“We told you, insurance is taking care of it,” Lanie said.
“And the insurance money can go toward things I can’t do,” Micah said. “But I can get paint, and go spend a weekend slapping it on the walls. It’s the least I can do.”
“The least?” Lanie said on a laugh. “You’ve helped pour concrete, hang sheetrock, I think you’ve done plenty!”
“Including bringing my psychotic ex here to burn it down,” Micah said. “Not to mention, he would have done the same to your house if it weren’t for—well, whatever that was.”
“My Aunt Ruby’s magic?” Lanie said, matter-of-factly. “It’s okay, you can say it out loud. The more you do, the less crazy it sounds,” she added with a wink.
“Just let me do this,” Micah said. “It makes me feel less guilty.”
Lanie held up her hands. “It’s between you and Allie,” she said. “You know how proud she is.”
The bell dinged over the door as the mail lady pushed it open. Not our normal sweet little perky girl with the ponytail and husky laugh. Today, it was Lindsey Truitt, a woman I’d known since kindergarten and given my nasty bread pizza to for a full year in the third grade. She looked annoyed, but then again she always looked like she’d just tasted something sour.
“Hey, Lindsey,” Lanie said. “Haven’t seen you out on route in forever, is Ash okay?”
“Who knows?” Lindsey said, her brows dipping. “Carriers call in sick all the time, and are magically fine the next day. Today, three of them at once, so guess who had to pick up a route?” She grabbed a rubber banded stack of mail from her bag and tossed it at the counter and then paused, chewing her lip. “I have a certified letter for you, Gabi. Do you want it here or do you want to pick it up at the office?”
I blinked twice. “Well, I’m right here. Why would I want to pick—”
“It’s technically against the rules for me to deliver it here,” she said in an impatient rush. “It’s addressed to your house. But it’s faster to drop it here than fill out the door slip and leave it there.”
I widened my eyes and forced a smile. “Okeydoke, yep, just give it to me.”
Lindsey sighed like it was now all my idea and I was putting her out. She pulled out the white envelope and a scanner and beeped it, holding it out to me to sign for it, and then pulling it back at the last second as she gave it a double-take.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“This is for Bart or Gabrielle Larson,” she said.
“Yes?” I said.
“Aren’t you divorced, now?” she asked. “I’ll need to see your identification.”
I blinked. “You know who I am, Lindsey,” I said, pointing at the name. “That’s still me.”
“Well, but this is from a bank,” she said. “It might make a difference.”
I gave her a look as I snatched the letter from her hand. Grabbing a pen from the counter, I scribbled my name.
“It’s none of your business,” I said, pulling off her part of the slip and thrusting it at her before I turned back, shaking my head. Some people.
“I’m gonna have to call Bart and tell him you took this—”
She stopped talking as I whirled around, her eyes going wary. She had also had a thing for Bart back in the day if I remembered correctly, going all doe-eyed every time he said boo.
“Please do,” I said. “And get your postmaster to come out here while you’re at it so I can tell him that you’re delivering federal mail illegally—and making personal judgment calls on it.”
I was totally talking out of my ass on that last one. I had no idea if that was a thing. The haughty roll of her eyes as she held up her hands like I was being unruly, however, told me it was enough to give her pause.
“Who is the postmaster now,” Lanie asked. “Is it still Carson Crowley?”
“Ugh, he’s a dick,” Mom said.
“Mom!” Drew said, laughing.
“What?” she said, looking over her cheaters at Drew. “He is. His wife is in my Bunko group, and he calls every single time to gripe at her about something and make her night miserable.”
“Fine,” Lindsey said like she just wanted to get the hell out of there. “Keep your letter. I hope it’s horrible news.”
I held it up. “Thanks,” I said, forcing my feet to root into the floor before I did something crazy like kick her in the ass. I wanted to yell, Call Bart! Jump him! Go for it, bitch, maybe he’ll hump you on his desk, too!
Ugh. And to think I used to give her my pizza.
“Everything okay, honey?” Mom asked, nodding toward the letter in my hand.
I turned it over. It was indeed from a bank, but not from mine. I recognized it as the bank that held our former mortgage loan, which Bart had paid off before the divorce. We’d had a method, he and I. Rather than split everything, I paid the car notes and the groceries, and he paid the utility bills and the mortgage. He made more than I did, so it seemed fair, and it worked for us for years. In the divorce, we had the option to sell the house and split the proceeds, but we’d bought it cheap as a fixer-upper and made it beautiful, and I loved it. Bart, probably driven by guilt, paid it off early and told his lawyer to let me keep it. He took over his car note, I took the utilities, and all was said and done and everyone got what they wanted.
Well, except that I now lived alone and he was banging a Barbie doll, but hey, I wasn’t bitter. I never had to watch another episode of Survivor for as long as I lived, and I’d put money down that he was having to watch the Kardashians do whatever they do. That alone made me feel a little better.
“Probably the deed to the house or something,” I said, grabbing a letter opener from the drawer under the register. I slid it under the flap and sliced. “Bart paid the house off while we were separated, and I don’t know if he ever got the pap—”
My words died on my tongue as I unfolded the gray sheet of paper in my hand and stared, uncomprehending, at the red capital letters typed across the header.
“What—this—” I stammered, blinking rapidly. My eyes skimmed down the page, but nothing I read there made that large red word make any better sense.
Micah was standing nearest to me, and I felt her reading over my shoulder.
“Foreclosure!” she said, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Sorry!” she whispered. “What the living hell?”
“What?” Mom said, her voice raising two octaves.
“Seriously?” Lanie and Drew said in unison.
“No, no, no,” I said, shaking my head at the paper like we just weren’t understanding each other. “There’s—no, there’s something wrong here. Bart paid the final note months ago. I don’t understand.”
My mother was behind me in seconds, reading over my other shoulder.
“Is it through our bank?” Lanie asked. “I can check on it.”
“No, it’s with Fidelity Trust in Goldworth,” I said, reading the words again.
We regret to inform you that after six consecutive months of non-payment on your loan, and no response to our repeated attempts to contact you regarding this, that the account for the property listed above has been foreclosed. Any further payments at this time are forfeit. In consideration of your long-time status with our institution, this is a good faith notification. Please make arrangements to vacate the premises of all personal possessions by January 31st, as the property will be seized at that time and locks changed.
“Gabi,” my mother breathed, as Micah grabbed my arm.
“It’s a mistake,” I said. “It has to be a mistake.”
“That’s—that’s in five days,” Mom said.
“I have to go over there,” I said, turning on my heel. “They have to have the record of payment on file, this is insane.”
“Call Fuckwad!” Drew said.
“Drew!” Mom admonished.
“What, you can call Crowley a dick, but I can’t call my lying, cheating, ex-brother-in-law a fuckwad?” she retorted.
“He’s next,” I said, grabbing my wallet and looking for my keys. And trying to corral the sinking pit sucking a black hole in my gut. “I don’t want to talk to him if I don’t have to, so if I can clear this up first—” I stopped and blew out a breath. Slow down. Think it out. “And I need to wire my lease payment to Mr. Bailey, anyway, so I’ll do that while I’m out.”
“People still wire?” Drew asked.
“He does.”
“He’s very old school from what I’ve heard,” Lanie said. “Carmen is a little freaked out by him.”
Albert Bailey owned most of Charmed, sold Sully Hart part of it when Sully quit the carnival to come build the Lucky Charm theme park, and was rumored to live a hermited existence in the woods because he couldn’t be around people. Lanie’s best friend, Carmen, said something about losing time when she touched his hand, and I’d heard some weird things about him, too. While I mostly thought it was bunk, there were too many oddities that happened in Charmed to blow off the possibility of one man’s weirdness. Lanie’s eccentric late aunt had been Mr. Bailey’s childhood friend, and the freaky that happened around that house just couldn’t be explained off.
“I still haven’t met him personally,” I said. “All the payments get wired except for now and then he wants cash and Sully comes to pick it up.”
“Sounds like the mob,” Drew said.
“Well, if it is, the mob is going to own a beautiful wildflower farm,” I said. “I don’t care.”
“I heard Sully say he’s been sick,” Lanie said. “But I saw him just the day before yesterday at the park, sitting out on the gazebo. I was trying to walk this baby out of me, and he told me I was radiant.” She blew out a breath and rubbed her belly. “I wasn’t radiant. I was sweaty and waddling.”
“I wouldn’t know him if I ran smack into him,” I said.
“Yeah, you would,” she said. “He has a presence.”
“Well, presence or not, I’d still like to thank him one day for believing in me enough to lease the fields for Wild Things instead of stripping the ground for housing.”
Lanie rose awkwardly from her stool and confirmed coffee with Micah for the next morning while I stood there twitching, my keys still in my hand. She reminded me to text her about the pie because she’d forget before she got out the door.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” she said, turning and waving her way out. “Bank reference, whatever.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
I watched my mom watch her waddle out the door, and averted my eyes.
“What were we talking about?” I asked, gripping my keys.
“Your house?” Drew said.
“Before that.”
“Oh,” Drew said under her breath. “Y’all leaving me here to do all the work.”
“Going to Cherrydale in the morning,” Micah said. “I need to plan the spring schedule with Thatcher, so I’ll leave here at nine, meet up with him at ten, and then corral Roarke on harvest plans. I probably won’t be back till after lunch, but you’re welcome to come if you want. I’ll pick you up.”
I wanted to go now about as much as I wanted a root canal, but I needed to stay on point. It had to be a simple accounting mistake on the bank’s part. Right? But if Bart did this or was doing this, and something was going on with my house, I’d have to handle it with minimal derailment. I had a business now. A dream. A life to get on with. Including meeting my merger partner and looking like a professional instead of flaking out over personal issues. Yes, Thatcher Roman was just Micah’s brother, but I couldn’t think like that. He was key to my business succeeding, and I certainly didn’t want him thinking she’s just Micah’s friend.
“Sounds good,” I said, rubbing my breastbone with two fingers like that would assuage the anxiety. “I’ll be ready.”
“Sure, you two get a field trip,” Drew said. “I get to throw out wilted flowers and make these orders and arrange the Callihan memoriam.” She glanced at the whiteboard calendar. “Shit, and do the quarterly sales tax report for year-end. Gabi, I know you’re all into your new business, but I need some help here, too.”
“I’ll throw out the wilted inventory,” Mom said, waving a hand at her as she disappeared back down the hall. “Don’t act like it’s a one-woman show.”
“Yay,” Drew said, shaking her head. “Out of all that, she picks the five-minute task.”
The bell dinged over the door, and I both welcomed the diversion and cursed the delay. I knew I wasn’t being fair to Drew, dumping all my shop responsibilities on her lately, but starting Wild Things took a lot of my attention. I needed to make it up to her.
A girl came in, maybe college-aged, with red curly hair pulled up in a messy tumble-down do, fresh faced and adorable with no makeup, a hoodie, and earphones.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey,” she said with a sweet smile as she pulled her earbuds out. “Do you do like, shower gifts and stuff?”
“We do,” I said, resisting the need to bounce on the balls of my feet. My keys jingled in my hand, and I curled my fingers tighter around them.
Her eyes lit up and she put her phone in her hoodie pocket, pulling out a folded piece of blue paper.
“Awesome!” she said, opening the paper. “How fast could you do fifty—rosebud adorned miniature boots?” she read.
My heart sank.
“Fifty,” Drew echoed.
“Miniature boots?” I asked.
“Any color,” the girl said. “And I’ll bring you the little boots. She wants them woven into the sides with leather straps.”
Holy shit. I looked to Drew, feeling totally inadequate that I wasn’t up to speed on the workload schedule or the inventory. Hell, but even if we could start at that very second, it would take—
“We don’t have that many new rosebuds in inventory,” Drew said, as the girl frowned like that hadn’t occurred to her. “I’ll have to call some suppliers. I probably have ten or so on hand.”
“I’ll be at the farm tomorrow and I can see what we have in the greenhouse,” Micah said. “Most likely around the same, though. It’s just not the time of year.”
“You’re a florist,” the girl said. “Aren’t you supposed to have flowers all the time?”
“It’s January, sweetie,” Drew said. “It’s not rose season. Plus, you’re asking for babies. They don’t stay buds long, they open up, so they have to be cut at a certain time to ensure the process stops.”
“But I need these today,” the girl said, reaching in her pocket for her phone like it might provide comfort. “She said tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“Today?” I said, cutting a look to Drew to can it as she laughed out loud. “That’s just not possible, honey, I’m sorry. If you would have come in a week or so ago, we might have—”
“Well, we just found out two days ago,” she said.
“About—what?” I asked, confused.
“About the baby,” she said, as if that were obvious.
“Oh!” I said. “I thought you were talking about a wedding shower.”
“I am,” she said, waving a hand. “We’ll worry about the baby shower later. Right now, we just have to get the girl married if you know what I mean.” She grimaced and winked. “She’s upset because she’s always wanted to get married on Valentine’s Day, but her mom said she can’t afford the extra few weeks.”
Ah. That kind of wedding.
I winked back, feeling my escape window returning. “Gotcha.”
“So, the shower is tomorrow night, and the wedding is next weekend,” she added. “We have the wedding flowers covered. I think Mrs. Dartwell is using someone in Goldworth. It’s a whole Daisy Duke theme with shorts under the dresses and boots, so we thought the boots would tie it all together cute. She told me to go there but this is closer and made more…”
There was more. The words kept droning on about shorts and boots, but everything after Dartwell was just a weird echo bouncing from ear to ear. When the girl finally stopped speaking, there was a ringing silence as the solidarity next to me gave homage. I felt frozen, all thoughts pinging around my head on long loop, as my extremities went numb.
Drew finally cleared her throat. “The—party boat across the pond,” she said, gesturing vaguely behind her.
“Yes!” the girl said. “Dixie’s aunt and uncle are lending it for the wedding reception. Isn’t that awesome?”
“Awesome,” I whispered, unsure I even said it out loud.
“It’ll be loaded with booze, too,” she said on a laugh. “Not that Dixie will be drinking, but—”
That’s right. Because she just found out, two days ago…
My mind exploded. The sound of keys hitting the floor reached my ears as if it were in the next room.
“We can’t help you,” I heard Drew say, her words monotoned and clipped. “Sorry, go to Goldworth.”
The girl looked confused. “But—you were going to check your—”
“No,” Drew said. “Bye.”
“Rude,” the girl said, sliding us all a disdainful look.
It was lost on me. I was stuck. Nauseous. Sick. I was going to hurl all over myself because I couldn’t move my feet.
They’re having a baby. Everyone’s having babies. Bart’s having a baby.
“Yep,” Drew said, striding out from behind the counter and beating her to the door to open it for her. “We’re very rude. Please go tell Dixie and her mother how rude we were. That should be an entertaining conversation.”
I heard the bell ding over the door, but all I saw was the ficus across the room by the end of a counter. Above it was a striking picture of roses climbing into a window. Drew had drawn it years ago with colored charcoal. You could interpret it as invasive, as hopeful, as a show of strength—really however the mood struck you. That was the genius in it.
Right now, it was the anchor grounding me to sanity.
“Gabi,” Micah said, pulling me to her for a hug.
I let her, unable to feel it but knowing there was love there. Drew stayed on the other side of the counter and met my eyes, righteous sisterly rage shining in hers on my behalf. I loved her for that. For chasing that stupid idiot out the door. But I couldn’t voice anything.
“Are you okay?” Micah asked.
I just nodded.
“Gabi,” Drew said carefully. I shook my head. Words were—they just weren’t. “Gabi, don’t let them break you.” Her eyes filled with angry tears. “They don’t deserve that satisfaction. You are strong. You are a badass bitch.”
A laugh choked through my own building tears, and the sound broke my paralysis. My stomach pitched and I pulled free of Micah. I ran, a hand clamped over my mouth as I bolted through the back hall and nearly took my mother down, side sprinting around her.
“Gabi?” she called.
I threw open the bathroom door and didn’t even get it closed before I had to hit my knees. My stomach pitched again, rolling, contracting with every hard-drawn breath. Like morning sickness, or so I’d heard. Like Lanie had gone through. Like Dixie was probably going through now. The thought sent more vile retching through my body.
I felt cool hands sweep my hair out of the way and stroke my back, bringing more hot, stinging tears to my eyes. I’d know my mother’s hands if I were struck blind and deaf tomorrow, and—and—no one would ever be able to say that about me.
She handed me a small towel and I clenched it in my fist, pressing it against my eyes as hard sobs took the place of hurling. I sat back on my heels as my mom flushed the nasty away and squatted to wrap her arms around me. I hugged her arms and let her rock me softly, knowing that she thought it was about the house, and also knowing that word would spread quickly.
“Bart and Dixie are getting married,” I choked out.
There was a pause. “Ah.”
I shook my head, soaking the towel with more of my tears. “No, that’s not—not it,” I managed. It wasn’t. Yes, it would have still hit me weird for them to get engaged. I would still be pissed that two people I loved betrayed me and now they were moving on together. But this—this was just—a cruel joke. “They—they’re having a baby,” I said, pushing out the last word like I’d never uttered it before in my life and wasn’t sure how.
I felt my mother sigh and lean her head against mine.
“Oh, honey.”