3. Emma
CHAPTER THREE
EMMA
I’ve managed to stop strangling the steering wheel by the time I park behind the Big House. Since it’s mid-April, the sun stays out at night longer and longer, and it’s not quite dark yet.
Twilighty, sure, but I need the full cover of darkness to sneak into the house and up to my bedroom on the second floor. The moment someone sees me, there will be questions galore, and I don’t feel like telling them about Tucker’s sudden reappearance at the flower shop, the fake kiss with Aaron, and then him throwing—legit, throwing —my keys at me and stalking away.
That was no underhand toss, let me tell you.
Of course, there’s the pretty amazing dinner we shared too, along with the possibility that I could have twenty-five thousand dollars to invest into Pretty in Petals.
My mind feels like I’ve inhaled a whole quart of pollen, and nothing really makes sense. “I certainly don’t want to tell anyone about it.”
Lizzie will most likely come into my bedroom, as she lives right next door in the same hall, and we chit-chat every night before bed. Maybe I can just leave out the bits I don’t want to talk about.
“Yeah, right.” That would be like me denying that succulents are real plants. Of course they are, and of course I’m going to blurt out the fact that I kissed Aaron before my head hits the pillow tonight.
I get my fingers to release the steering wheel, and I flex and curl them, trying to get the ache out of my joints. I have wrist braces and fingerless gloves I wear at work, as I do so much with my hands, usually in cooler temperatures.
The back door opens, and a couple of dogs come bounding out. Super. Beckett’s here with his hounds. I actually really like Duke and Rocky, but the appearance of the dogs means Beckett comes outside too. He migrates toward the corner of the back porch and watches his pups, and I figure maybe there’ll be a disturbance in the Force, and I can somehow make it upstairs among the chaos of Claudia’s boyfriend being over with the dogs.
I get out of the car and twist toward the back seat. I lift my crate out of the car, kick the door closed, and head for the house. Beckett smiles at me, waves his hand, and I nod at him.
I make it into the Big House without having a conversation, and I think maybe the madness of having five roommates—three of whom have boyfriends—might play to my favor. For once.
I stride through the kitchen and slide my crate on the top shelf of the extra racks at the back of the kitchen. I just have to go around the wall and dart up the steps, but that means I have to enter the living room.
Taking a deep breath, I listen to try to figure out what’s going on out there. Beckett comes back inside, and Duke races toward me. “Hey, buddy,” I say, because I can’t resist a dog or a flowerbed.
“Duke, leave ‘er alone,” Beckett says. “Sorry, Em.”
“It’s fine.”
He approaches, and he must see something in my face, because he slows. I swallow and ask, “What’s going on out there tonight?”
“They released a mini round of shows to tease Shark Week.” He glances toward the doorway leading to my freedom…and the living room. Beckett leans closer. “You should not get between Tahlia and Shark Week.”
I grin at him. “Oh, I know.”
“You want to go behind me and upstairs?”
“Can I?”
He moves over to the doorway and looks out. “It’s a commercial,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. “Wait a second.”
I rush over to the freezer and pull out a package of my toaster pancakes, then hurry back to him. “Okay,” I say, almost breathless. “Tell me when.”
He stands there for a few extra seconds, and then Claudia calls his name. I see this going badly for me, and my heart pounds as Beckett shifts in the doorway. My ears malfunction as Beckett says something back to her.
Then he hisses at me, “Move,” as he steps out into the living room.
I flow with him, turning right and going up the steps as fast as I can. But since my form of exercise is floral arranging and sweeping, I can’t maintain a fast pace for more than a few stairs. Thankfully, that’s all it takes to get me far enough up the steps that I won’t be seen.
Heard, however, is another issue, but thankfully, a round of shushing happens from the first floor as the show starts again. Tahlia refuses to miss even a moment of it, and I’ve sat through several rounds of Shark Week with her.
I duck into the first room on the left and close the door behind me. I need some of Ry’s coveted M&Ms, and I suddenly remember the pancakes in my hand. They’re apple cinnamon, and I move over to the toaster on my desk and set two in the slots.
My phone chimes in my back pocket, and I cringe. Lizzie has said that she can hear my ringtone if my phone volume is up all the way—like it is right now.
I slip my phone out and turn it down all at the same time, my eyes quickly taking in who’s messaged me. My pulse blips through me that it might be Aaron, but it’s Lizzie herself.
I see your crate in the kitchen. How’d you get upstairs without anyone seeing you?
I’m a ninja , I send back to her, and I twirl my desk chair around and collapse into it. Exhaustion moves through me, a sense of tiredness that not even the scent of browning apple cinnamon pancakes can soothe.
I exhale and run my hands through my hair, freeing the last of it from its ponytail. Maybe I should just text Aaron. Apologize for kissing him the way I did.
My phone mocks me, but I can’t make myself pick it up. My thumbs twitch as if I’m already typing an apology to Aaron. Just as I reach for my device, Lizzie taps on my door with her nails and then opens it.
“You’re having pancakes up here?” she asks before I can even focus on the fact that she’s wearing the cutest purple wrap shirt I’ve ever seen. Lizzie always has the best clothes, as she’s a plus-size model, and she gets new shipments every week.
She runs a pretty amazing social media account, and she’s actually a fashion influencer in addition to her job as a compliance officer at a chemical company. So as she cocks her hip and folds her arms, she’s the perfect picture of honey-haired beauty.
“My evening was eventful,” I say.
Lizzie actually dyes her hair a darker shade, so she’ll get more respect at work, but she’s blonde like me. I’m actually thinking of putting some red in my hair, but I haven’t been able to get myself to do it yet.
“Didn’t you have your small business meeting tonight?” she asks.
“Can you close the door?”
She does, then moves over to my bed just as my pancakes pop up. I open my top drawer and pull out a paper plate. “Want one?”
“Tahlia has a whole shark-themed party downstairs,” Lizzie says, her blue eyes sparkling like sapphires. “I saved you some of her ‘shark fin pizza,’ and Ry insisted that we save you a ‘shark’s blood’ Jell-O cup.” She grins. “Tahlia took today off work and spent all day in the kitchen.”
I hold up one of my apple cinnamon pancakes. “And I’m up here eating freezer pancakes.”
“Yeah.” Lizzie pins me with her sharp gaze that will pierce me and make me spill my guts in no time flat. I fill my mouth with pancake as she asks, “So why’s that?”
I could tell her that I forgot about the Shark Week party, because I did. I could tell her that there’s just a lot on my mind because of the upcoming weddings, which is totally true .
Instead, I swallow and say, “Tucker came into the shop wanting to get back together, and Aaron was there, and I kissed him.”
Lizzie sucks in a breath, her eyes going wide. “Emma.”
I spin away from her, my desk chair squeaking as I do. “I know, okay? And now he’s mad at me, and I don’t know what to do.”
The next day, I key my way into the back of the flower shop while shooting the hardware store a furtive glance. There’s always a lot of activity around the back of it, as they house their large pick-up orders off the dock there.
I’ve never seen Aaron there, but it’ll be just my luck that he needs some air right as I’m glancing over. In fact, as a man wearing a gray-green tee steps outside, I suck in a breath and duck inside as fast as possible, the words, “Sweet snapdragons,” coming out of my mouth.
I lock the back door, detour into my office to set down my crate and my purse, then I pull out the orange folder. These are my orders-due for today, and I need them done by lunchtime. The shop doesn’t open for another couple of hours, and I expect to be able to complain to Sir Chills-a-Lot about everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours .
I sigh as I walk into the cold room where I do all of my arrangements—and all of my confessions. After Lizzie persuaded me to come downstairs and have more for dinner than apple cinnamon pancakes, I’d spent some time on my laptop to make notes.
I like to name all of my arrangements something fun and festive, and I have a pretty good list for this weekend. I sell way more flowers later in the week, and the crowds will start to swell tomorrow evening, pick up on Friday as people head home for the weekend, and Saturdays are my best day of the week.
“Petal to the Metal,” I mutter as I look at my idea list. “Bloom with a View. Ferntastic Friday.”
Thistle Be the Day.
I smile at that one. I wish this would be the day that I could figure out what to do about Aaron. We’ve been on shaky, non-defined ground for so long. Maybe I just need to make a move.
He didn’t text me last night either, and I don’t know what that means. I’ve never seen him upset before, at least not with me, and I barely know what to do with the flash of frustration I saw in his eyes in the parking garage.
My phone zings, and I glance over to it. It’s Margi from the Small Charleston Businesses Association, and I step over to my device as I pull on my fingerless gloves.
We need one more person to help with the Spring Fling Festival. I know you said you were too busy, but if I make it as easy as possible on you, will you do it? I have to submit the names by Friday, and if we don’t have a solid five, we don’t get the funding from the Conglomerate.
My pulse sinks into my stomach.
The Spring Fling Festival is a singles evening event. A dating event.
I don’t want to do it on many levels. I do want the very best for Cider Cove, and I’m sure singles in town will find their One True Love.
I met Tucker there a couple of springs ago, so it’s definitely something that holds a lot of bad memories for me.
A sigh tugs through my lungs, and I pick up my phone. As easy as possible? Define that.
I just need a name to put on the paperwork , Margi says. And your name has come up to do the flowers for it anyway. You might have to go to a couple of meetings, but so much of it has already been organized. I mean, it’s in three weeks.
I don’t know how to tell people no. It’s definitely one of my biggest weaknesses, one that I’ve been working on in the past few months. But as I stand in the ultra-cool room with all my blooms, I look up to the ceiling.
“What do you think, Sir Chills-a-Lot? Say yes to the Spring Fling Festival? They probably just want me to do the roses the men hand out.”
And I can do that.
“Then text Aaron? ”
The refrigeration unit hums to life, and I pretend it’s the best advice I can possibly get. “Fine,” I grumble. My thumbs fly across the screen. Okay , I say. Put my name on the list and put me in touch with who I need to talk to about the Spring Fling Thing.
That’s such a better name than Festival, and I smile at my text.
Oh, thank you, thank you! Margi says. And here’s your first easy task: the committee chair is Aaron, and I know you already have his number. Just let him know you’re now on the committee, and he’ll get you all up to speed.
I drop my phone, and it clatters against the stainless steel counter in front of me. “Sir Chills,” I say in a disgusted voice. “You could’ve told me the committee chair was Aaron before I texted and said yes.”