Addison

 

It is so hot here in Orlando! How do you stand it?! But the theme parks? My inner child is doing cartwheels right now. I can’t wait to go.

My phone buzzed frantically on the nightstand, pulling me out of a deep, dreamless sleep. I reached for it and saw Sabrina’s blurry name on the screen.

“Hey,” I croaked, and immediately pulled the phone away from my ear as it was blasted by a loud siren.

“Oh, Addi! I’m so glad you answered!” Sabrina yelled into the phone, her voice piercing my brain. “I need the alarm code for Blooms again! I think I wrote it down wrong.”

“Hold on.” I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I needed to wake up—fast. What was my code?! I pointed my index finger in the air, mimicking the way I punched it in each day. Confident I had it right, I held the phone up to my ear once more and immediately regretted it. “Sabrina?”

“Yes!”

“It’s four seven nine three.”

“It’s what?”

“Four seven nine three,” I said louder into the mouthpiece.

“Four-seven-nine-three?” she repeated, the alarm still blaring.

“You got it!”

“Thanks, gotta go!” She hung up, and mercifully, the room fell into silence once more.

I slumped back against the pillow. Well, that isn’t a fun way to wake up. I wondered if I’d given Sabrina the wrong code in the first place or if she’d written it down wrong. I guessed it didn’t matter now: problem solved. Even if it had meant a rude awakening for me.

I glanced at the time on my phone. It was ridiculously early, but with Orlando being three hours ahead of California, it was almost shop opening time for Sabrina. I expected the alarm going off was just a minor hiccup. Although I’d only known Sabrina for a short time, I just knew Blooms on Valencia was in good hands.

I loved my florist shop. I think I even missed it, despite having fallen in love with San Francisco in the time I’d been here. In fact, if it wasn’t for Blooms, I would probably have packed up and gone back home to New Zealand a long time ago.

I yawned and stretched, touching the top of the wrought iron headboard behind me with my fingertips. I had may as well get out of bed. After that auditory assault, there was no way I was going back to sleep now. And, just to confirm my decision, the now familiar foghorns started up.

I slipped on my socks and one of the new sweaters I’d purchased yesterday and prepared to face the day.

Although Sabrina was technically on “The Honeymoon That Wasn’t,” I decided to go into her florist shop, The Flower Girl. I wanted to familiarize myself with the place and its processes, ready to open up in a few days’ time.

Since I wasn’t going to see any customers today, I slipped on my shorts and sweater and an old pair of beat-up tennis shoes. I may not have been the picture of fashion, but I was going to be comfortable.

Over my coffee and granola, I read through Sabrina’s notes, looking for how she got to work each day. I was still a little shaky after crashing Velma yesterday, even if that cute guy had called it more of a “flop” than a bona fide crash.

My cheeks immediately heated up as I thought of him, my Knight in Shining Sneakers, rescuing me from that hedge. Meeting him had definitely been one of the highlights of my time in San Francisco so far.

I only wish I’d had enough presence of mind at the time to ask him his name.

Perhaps I’d head back to the scene of the crime later today in the hopes of “accidentally” bumping into him—without Velma, of course.

Finding what I was looking for in Sabrina’s notes, I dropped her apartment keys into my purse and slipped out the door. I walked the few blocks to the F-line stop, the tourist in me perking up: I was about to go on a streetcar in San Francisco! Okay, it wasn’t one of the famous cable cars that climb those steep hills with passengers hanging off its sides, but it was pretty darn close.

Once I reached my stop in the touristy Fisherman’s Wharf, I didn’t have to wait too long before a green and cream tram came gliding to a stop. I clamored on with a bunch of other commuters and managed to grab a seat. I watched out the window with rising excitement as the streetcar went from stop to stop, making its progress toward my destination. The fog was minimal today, so I got the chance to glimpse the deep blue of the bay, sparkling in the early morning light.

I disembarked at my stop in Embarcadero and made my way across the busy street to the Ferry Building, where Sabrina’s flower shop, The Flower Girl, was located. It was a grand, old building at the end of one of the city’s main streets, with a tall clock tower standing proudly above.

With an air of anticipation, I walked through the main entrance and was immediately struck by the interior. I took in the high ceilings, the artisan stores, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I let out a contented sigh. This place was incredible!

I wandered from store to store, my mouth salivating at the cheeses, the pastries, and the delicatessen treats. Eventually, I spotted a wooden sign hanging beside an arched entranceway that read “The Flower Girl” in gold writing against a dark background. Sabrina’s shop!

I paused at the barred door, admiring the perfectly trimmed “golf ball” plants in two large, black pots, flanking the entranceway. I pulled the keys out of my purse and tried a large brass key in the door lock. It fitted perfectly. Checking my hand, where I’d written the alarm code in large, bold letters—one alarm mishap was more than enough for the florists of the world today—I pushed the door open and stepped into the darkened store.

The alarm gave a warning beep, detecting my presence. I located the panel on the wall, exactly where Sabrina had told me it would be in her notes, and entered the code. The alarm panel light turned to green, and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding.

I closed the door behind me, flicked on the lights, and looked around. It was just how I’d pictured Sabrina’s florist shop to be. Oh-so stylish, very urban chic and orderly, but somehow friendly and approachable.

There were potted plants lining the mirrored walls, with exquisite orchids on low oak shelves, and a large glass chandelier of clear balls cascading down from the high ceiling, all the way down to the top of a group of lush evergreens placed on a rustic central oak table.

Not a stuffed toy, fake flower, or helium balloon in sight.

This place was pure class—just like its owner.

I glanced down at my shorts and sweater. I was going to have to dress considerably more glamorously when I opened the shop up to fit in here.

I pulled my phone out of my purse and took a selfie standing next to The Flower Girl sign above the register. I typed a text to Sabrina, attaching the photo.

I love your florist shop!

She texted straight back.

Thank you! You know you don’t have to open up for a few days, right?

I replied, explaining I wanted to get familiar with the place before I opened.

Leonardo can help. He knows everything.

Sabrina had mentioned Leonardo. He was her part-time assistant who had agreed to work longer hours until I got used to the shop. From the way Sabrina talked about him, he sounded quite the character.

I located the register and slipped my purse into one of the drawers. I wandered around, familiarizing myself with the place. It reminded me of my own shop, only it was much slicker than mine, much more “city.” It wasn’t very large, but the layout made it feel spacious.

I could see the vases Sabrina put her fresh-cut flowers, in groups, dotted around the floor and shelves. I picked up an unusual ornament, flipped it over, and nearly dropped it when I saw the price. With trembling fingers, I placed it quickly back on the shelf.

I returned to the register and had a good look around, noting where the papers were for wrapping, the ribbons, the scissors: all the tools vital for the florist’s trade. I powered up the computer and logged in, checking Sabrina’s orders and which markets she bought her stock from. With my head buried deep in her processes, it took me a moment to notice the young woman standing at the door, smiling and waving at me.

“Hello!” she called out.

I walked over to the door and pulled it open. “Look, I’m so sorry, but we’re closed today.”

“Addison, right?” she said, pointing at me and grinning.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Yes, that’s . . . me,” I replied tentatively. “Should I know you?”

“Yes!” the woman replied, her eyes dancing as she brushed her long, straight hair over her shoulder. “I’m Naomi!”

I still wasn’t getting it. “Sorry, who?”

“Sabrina’s maid of honor! I was hoping you’d be here. I’ve been dying to meet you!”

“Naomi. Right. Of course,” I bluffed. I remembered Sabrina telling me she had a maid of honor who had helped her get into her wedding dress, but that was as much as I had retained in my brain, full to the brim of Sabrina’s life as it was. “Did you want to come in?”

Naomi glanced over my shoulder into The Flower Girl. I grabbed the chance to look her over. She was beautifully dressed in a little black dress with a high cream collar, studded with seed pearls, a pair of knee-high black boots, and some Audrey Hepburn sunglasses placed atop her dark head.

Next to her, I felt like the poor cousin who fashion forgot.

Were all Sabrina’s friends as much tall and gorgeous glamazons as her?

Naomi crinkled her nose. “That’s okay. Why don’t we go to Peet’s so we can chat? My treat.” She nodded toward the coffee shop I had walked past when I was soaking up the Ferry Building atmosphere earlier in the day.

“Sure, thanks. Let me just lock up and I’ll see you there.”

I returned to the counter and collected my purse from the drawer. I waited until Naomi was out of sight before I sent a quick message to Sabrina.

What have you told Naomi?

I stood, staring at my screen, awaiting Sabrina’s reply. I tapped my foot. I sent another message.

She’s here in the shop!!

Still nothing. I bit my lip. After another minute of waiting, I slipped my phone back into my purse and locked the shop up.

I was on my own.

A few moments later, our orders placed with the barista—mine a vanilla latte with extra cream and Naomi’s a much more sensible sugar-free version—we stood together, waiting for our beverages to be made.

Naomi studied me, making me feel uncomfortable. I smiled at her and looked away, willing the barista to work super fast.

“So, you’re going to be taking care of The Flower Girl for Sabrina while she’s away?” Naomi asked, smiling at me.

“Yes.” I glanced surreptitiously at my phone inside my purse, hoping to have a text from Sabrina. I was met with my home screen and no message.

I had no choice but to play it safe. Sabrina had made it very clear to me she didn’t want people to know where she was and what she was doing—not until she’d worked a few things out, at least.

Was her best friend included on that list?

“So, how did you two meet?” Naomi asked.

“Well, I . . .”

The barista announced our coffees. I used the interruption to my advantage. “Shall we go outside? It looks like a gorgeous day out there, and I’ve not been here before.”

She raised her eyebrows. This was clearly new information to her.

Dammit!

“Really? Sure, that sounds good.”

We collected our drinks and walked out of the café.

“Let’s find a seat by the water,” Naomi suggested, gesturing to the back of the building, an area I hadn’t visited.

We pushed our way one-handed through a set of heavy glass doors, out into the brilliant morning sun. As I pulled my sunglasses out of my purse, I checked my phone again.

Still nothing.

I felt like a foreign spy about to be interrogated by the enemy. Only I had no idea what I could or could not say.

“How’s this?” Naomi asked, pointing at a free bench about fifteen feet away.

“That’s great!” I replied a little overenthusiastically.

What was I allowed to say to this woman? On the one hand, Sabrina and Naomi must have been good enough friends for Sabrina to have had her as her maid of honor in the first place. Surely she told her everything, like I did with Tonya, my best friend back home?

Only, now that I thought about it, I hadn’t told Tonya I’d switched lives with someone I met in an airport.

Perhaps Sabrina hadn’t given Naomi the full story yet.

Whatever the case, I needed to play it safe.

We reached the bench and both sat down. A ferry was coming in to dock at the far end of the wharf, and a bridge stretched all the way across the water on the other end. Despite the beauty of the surrounds, my nerves were almost getting the better of me.

Before Naomi had the chance to ask more probing questions, I launched into the subject myself in the hopes of controlling its direction. “Okay, what has Sabrina told you?” I took a sip of my latte.

“Well,” Naomi began, her long hair moving in the breeze, “Sabrina texted me the day of her wedding. Well, the day that was supposed to be her wedding. She told me she was going away for a while.”

“Ah-huh,” I replied, taking another sip. “And then?”

“And then she told me you were going to take things over for her, by which I assumed she meant the shop, not her fiancé.” She let out a laugh, and I couldn’t help but join in.

The idea of “taking over” Sabrina’s fiancé was utterly preposterous, of course.

“That’s all correct. I’m running her shop for a while.”

“How long is ‘a while,’ exactly?”

“Oh, umm, I’m not sure.”

Which was God’s honest truth.

“Do you know how to run a flower shop? I mean, it takes skill, right? It’s not like you can just learn it all in a day.” Naomi took a sip of her coffee.

“No, no. I’m a florist, actually.”

“Really? So, you replied to an ad or something? Did Sabrina have this all planned out?”

I swallowed. Wow, living someone else’s life was tricky—especially when that someone else was runaway bride Sabrina Monroe.

“Not exactly.” I took a large gulp of my coffee, burning my tongue. I coughed, putting my hand over my mouth. “Sorry.” I reached inside my purse and rummaged around for a tissue. I felt my phone with my fingers and pushed it to one side, peering at it to see if I had a message from Sabrina.

Please don’t tell her where I am.

I let out another cough—this one slightly less authentic than the last—and continued to rummage.

“Here,” Naomi said, handing me a tissue.

I took it and wiped my eyes under my sunglasses. “Thanks. Hot coffee.”

“Sure. I love your accent. Are you from England?”

I did an internal eye roll. Naomi seemed nice, but it was the same old question, once again. “No, I’m from New Zealand.”

“Oh, wow. That’s really far away.”

I thought of my Knight in Shining Sneakers from yesterday and smiled. “Yes, yes it is.”

“Weren’t the Avatar movies filmed there, or something?”

“No, I think they were mainly CGI.” How could anyone think the planet on Avatar was an actual country on Earth? “You’re thinking of the Lord of the Rings movies.”

“Oh, that’s right. So, you’re from New Zealand, and Sabrina’s a Cali girl, through and through. How did you two meet again?”

I bit the inside of my lip. She was like a dog with a bone.

“I guess . . . I was in the right place at the right time.” I smiled at her. I was glad I had my sunglasses on so Naomi couldn’t see my eyes.

I was never one of those people who found lying easy. I would end up giggling or caving, quite possibly both, the lie as obvious as a black sheep in a field of white snow. Not that I was lying.

Well, not exactly. I just wasn’t giving her the full story.

Naomi shot me a sideways glance. “You’re not going to tell me anything else, are you?”

I shook my head, holding my smile.

“Can you at least tell me where she is?”

I shook my head again, still smiling. Sabrina had made it clear. I couldn’t betray her trust.

“I’m just worried about her, we all are. She’s my best friend, and I’ve only received two messages from her since Saturday. Two! Can you at least tell me if she’s okay?” She pressed her lips together, her face the picture of concern.

My heart went out to her. Here she was, expecting to watch her best friend get married, only for her to run away, leaving no clue of her whereabouts or even what her mental state might be.

If I were Naomi, I would feel the same.

“Please don’t worry about her, Naomi. She’s doing fine.”

“Fine?” she questioned, raising her eyebrows at me.

“Maybe not ‘fine,’ but as good as can be, under the circumstances.”

She let out a puff of air. “That’s a relief.”

“And I’m looking after her apartment really well.”

Which was also true. I wasn’t the neatest girl on the planet, but I was taking extra care with Sabrina’s place because it was so nice.

My mind darted to Velma’s dented fender.

At least I couldn’t crash Sabrina’s apartment into a hedge.

Naomi lowered her sunglasses down her nose and looked at me. “You’re living at her place?”

Was I meant to tell her that? Man, this was hard! This whole life-switch thing was proving to be pretty darn tricky.

I clearly needed to lift my game.

Before I had the chance to answer, she put her hand up and said, “You know what? It doesn’t matter. If Sabrina trusts you to live in her apartment and manage her business, you must be one hell of a girl.”

“I . . . um . . .” I didn’t know what to say. Disagree and I looked suspicious, agree and I looked conceited. I settled on, “Thanks.”

“Do you have any plans on Friday night? I’m going to this gallery opening thing my friend is running, which might be boring, but the drinks are free and we can go out after?”

A gallery opening in San Francisco? Was she kidding? I read about that kind of thing, never thinking I would ever go to one. I leapt at the chance.

“Sure! That sounds great.”

“Awesome. Give me your number.” Naomi pulled her phone out of her purse, and I gave her my number. “Four zero seven? Is that a New Zealand number?”

“Yes,” I replied, the lie sticking like gum in my throat.

Four zero seven was the area code for Orlando. Before this moment, it hadn’t occurred to me giving Naomi my number could give Sabrina’s whereabouts away. I looked out at the water, hoping she couldn’t tell I had lied—again.

“Oh, look, another ferry!” I exclaimed, trying to distract her.

She shot me a quizzical look. “Yeah . . . that’s a ferry, all right.”

“I like ferries,” I said by way of explanation. “Like, a lot.”

Another lie. Not that I disliked ferries, exactly. I had no opinion on them either way. Although, the idea of boarding one to get away from all these awkward questions was very appealing right now.

“Well, you’re in the right place for ferries.” She typed something into her phone. “I just sent you my number. I’ll text you later. I have to get going, but it’s been great to meet you, Addison.”

“Yes, great to meet you, too. Oh, and call me Addi.”

“Sure, Addi.” She stood up and smoothed down the skirt of her black dress.

I followed suit, although my crumpled shorts needed a lot more than a quick brush down to make me look anything like Naomi.

“I’m actually going to meet up with Sabrina’s fiancé.” She shook her head, pursing her lips. “That poor guy. He needs all the support he can get right now.”

I nodded. In all the life-switching craziness, I hadn’t given Sabrina’s ex-fiancé a second thought. “I hope he’s doing okay.”

“Would you be doing okay if the love of your life left you on your wedding day?”

I thought of him, standing at the altar, waiting for a bride who never turned up. I shook my head. “No, I guess not.”

“All right, girl.” She pulled me in for a hug, taking me by surprise. “Talk to you soon.” She walked away, then turned and called, “Make sure you take good care of The Flower Girl!”

“I will!” I called back.

With Naomi out of sight, I turned to look back at the sea, leaning my arms on the fence. When I had agreed to do this with Sabrina, I had no clue her maid of honor would come tracking me down, peppering me with questions. This was proving harder than I had imagined.

I wondered who would be next?

Back in the store, I ensured the “closed” sign was firmly in place before I wandered around the shop once more, doing one final check.

As I clipped a couple of damaged leaves off a Peace Lily, I spotted a group of exquisite paperweights placed on one of the oak shelves. I picked one up, holding it gently in my hands. It was heavy, clearly made of solid glass—no cheap plastic copies in Sabrina’s store.

I held it up to the light and peered at it. It was filled with delicate glass petals, in varying shades of pink, making it look like an exotic and beautiful flower.

A loud and sudden rap on the door made me jump, and the paperweight went flying out of my hands. I grabbed for it with my right hand, almost managing to wrap my fingers around it, until it slipped out of my grasp. With my left, I swiped at it, only managing to bat it, like a baseball, onto the floor. It made a loud thud as heavy glass met rattan floor rug, but mercifully, it didn’t break.

I put my hand on my hammering heart, letting out a puff of air.

That was close!

I collected it up in my hands and turned to see who had knocked. Whoever it was had turned his back, his hands placed on his hips. I pulled the door open, the undamaged paperweight held tightly in my left hand.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed today,” I said to the man’s back.

He turned to face me, and for a moment, all I could see were his movie star good looks, his messy light brown hair, his brown eyes with the flecks of gold.

“What the . . .? It’s you,” he said breathlessly, his eyes wide, his forehead crinkled.

My heart leapt into my mouth. I smiled at him, my tummy flip-flopping all over the place.

He was here: my Knight.