Chasing Lyric

Chapter One

LYRIC

My tires squeal as I grind to a sudden stop, slamming on the brakes with such force I jar my damn chest and ribs against the seatbelt. The force is so brutal that I slide forward in my seat, causing my body to jolt with the strength of the movement.

This morning has not been good.

I should be back at the shop preparing our arrangements for the Sawdust Art Festival in Laguna Beach.

But my business partner, who also happens to be my best friend since grade school, royally screwed us.

So, I’m here, forty minutes away in Naples, purchasing the flowers we need for said arrangements.

I had to acquire them from the only supplier in the area who I know has an excess stock, thank goodness, on the busiest day of the year for us.

I mean, for other florists, sure, Valentine’s Day is where it’s at. But when you’re the most popular florist in Laguna Beach and the Art Festival rolls into town, you better believe that I’m on my A-game and pull out the best floral arrangements money can buy.

Well, every year except this one, I do.

Our shop, Love and Lavender, obviously doesn’t conform to necessities like being ready for the busiest day of the year.

We can handle Valentine’s Day, but being prepared for the influx of artists who critique every petal position and every leaf placement like it’s a piece manufactured by Picasso himself—yeah, today is damn important.

And we’re already off to a bad start!

Serves me right. If you want something done correctly, you’ve got to do it yourself.

Letting out a deep cleansing breath, I open my truck door, then hop out to find Gino waiting for me with a cheery expression on his round face.

He’s exceptionally short, and with his beret on, he reminds me of Mario from the famous video game.

It’s actually quite comical. He wears blue coveralls and everything.

“Bella! It’s good to see you again,” he calls.

Stepping out into the pitch black of the ridiculously early morning, I slam my door shut, then walk around to the back, opening the tailgate, the overhead streetlamp the only thing illuminating my surroundings.

“Gino, I swear to God you’re an angel. A freaking heaven-sent, halo-wearing, feather-winged angel. ”

He lets out his boisterous belly laugh, which finally sends my body into a more relaxed state. His men place bucket upon bucket filled to the brim with flowers onto the tray bed. Knowing we have these flowers to help us through the rush of the day back in Laguna Beach eases my anxiety somewhat.

“Oh, bella, you know I’d do anything for you, my sweet.

We have plenty of spare stock. So, any time you need a refill, my door is always open for you.

” Gino wraps his arm around my shoulders as he leads me toward the small coffee shop attached to his supply warehouse.

I turn my head and watch his workers loading up my truck and know they will do a great job.

With a sigh, I completely relax knowing Gino has singlehandedly saved my ass after Rory’s epic failure.

She’s a fabulous worker, but sometimes she’s off with the fairies.

Love the girl, I wouldn’t ever fire her, not for something like this.

I know it’s a blunder. Yeah, a big one, but for all her misgivings, she does a lot of good for the shop.

So, I’ll let this slide. No matter how dire this situation might be right now.

Gino and I walk into the coffee shop. He takes me to the bakery section, and the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans wafts through the air. “You want something to eat? My treat.”

My stomach growls as I take in all the tasty delicacies in the glass-fronted cabinet, but I shake my head, knowing time is wasting. “No. I’d better pay my way and get these back. Plus, my ass is big enough without needing a croissant to add to the spread.”

Gino pulls his lips into a thin line. He knows by now I tend to just say whatever I’m thinking. I have no damn filter.

“But thank you for saving me… yet again.”

I hand him a wad of bills.

He dips his head, taking it from me. “Always a pleasure to see your beautiful face, Lyri. You come by any time, you hear?”

My lips turn up, and I’m finally feeling like I can get on with the busy-as-hell day back at the shop.

Spinning on my heels, I head for my pickup.

My feet crunch on the pebbled path as I rush, and once I reach the back of my truck, I quickly do a double-check and notice one overturned flower bucket.

So, I yank it back up without giving it a second thought, then slam the tailgate shut in a mad dash.

I race to my truck, the engine rumbling beneath me as I head back to Laguna Beach, back to Love and Lavender, where the day is just waiting to hopefully explode into something unforgettable.

The entire drive back, I can’t help but think about how grateful I am for the life I’m living. Business is booming. I have the most fabulous, best friend in the world, when she isn’t annoying me by not doing her job. I have a great home and a wonderful family, even though I hardly see them.

When I think about my life, all I do is work, then go home to my double yellow-headed parrot named Polly Parton. When he was little, I thought he was a she, hence the female name, but alas, when I took him to the vet later in life, I found out that Polly was in fact a Peter.

Go figure.

Though by then, he was used to his name, so it stuck.

He’s great company and all, but he’s also a reminder of my absent-for-most-of-my-life dad, whose attempts to be in my life in the past have failed miserably, especially when he bought me Polly for my twenty-fifth birthday, then took off yet again.

That was three years ago.

Three long years of no interaction.

No nothing.

The thing is, I love my dad. No, I adore him, actually.

I’m a self-proclaimed Daddy’s girl. When he’s around, he is the best father in the world.

I know he loves me. There’s never been any doubt about that.

It’s just he’s hardly there for any of us, and that made it extra tough growing up, especially when I am the eldest of three siblings, which includes my brother, Clef, and sister, Aria.

Back then, it was the three of us against the world.

Being the eldest meant I had to step up. I was their caregiver. Their proxy mom. Their proxy dad. Their cook. Their cleaner. The one who would put Band-Aids on their boo-boos. I was there for it all, while my parents were way too busy touring the world to worry about their children.

My father is Stylo Griffin, lead singer of Savage Riot, the world-famous ’80s rock group, who is still performing, amazingly still together, and incredibly still going strong. Some say they’re in the same league as Kiss or Bon Jovi.

They grow old but never get old.

They just keep on going.

Mom? She’s the band’s manager, so while the rest of the band’s families grew up with their mothers around, our mom was away on tour with Dad’s band.

We are the only Savage Riot kids who have had to fend for ourselves.

Sure, we had nannies and help along the way, but eventually, they all quit, so I took on more of the roles and responsibilities of a parent.

I’m not angry or bitter. It’s just how it was.

I missed out on a normal childhood, an everyday life.

I guess it’s why I’m where I am, a florist.

Life for me now is entirely away from the industry because I’ve seen what the music business can do to families, and I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted any of it for me.

Can I sing? Yeah, sure.

But that life, the fame game, I’m just not interested in it, unlike my siblings, who are in their own bands and totally taking after my father.

My family is all famous in their own right.

Then there’s me, Lyric Griffin, a florist living in Laguna Beach while keeping a low profile.

Just as it should be.

Just as I want it to be.

Pulling up at Love and Lavender, I hop out of the truck quickly, while letting out a long exhale to calm my racing thoughts.

I don’t know what it is about busy days like today, but they seem to mess with my emotions.

Get me thinking all kinds of stupid things.

Flowers are a symbol of love, of giving love, and of receiving love.

And yet, I have no one in my life to celebrate love with.

Not anymore.

I cringe thinking about Zane, my ex, before a shudder runs right through me. It’s just another good reason to be rid of the music industry.

Zane Ross.

Lead singer of Hazardous.

Breaker of hearts.

Manipulator of women.

Asshole of the universe.

Yeah, come to think of it, I hate getting sentimental and emotional.

I am stronger than that!

Who needs a man anyway?

I unlock the tailgate of my pickup, and the rear falls with a crash before…

What the frick is going on?

I can’t help but take in the disarray that is the rear of my truck.

Buckets are turned over, flowers are haphazardly strewn all over the place, and water’s running out and over the tailgate onto my shoes.

Some of the flowers appear damaged, while others are fine.

But the roses? The roses are all ruined.

“What in the goddamn hell is going on?”

I didn’t drive that crazy, did I?

I know my head’s all over the place right now, but seriously?

The sun rises in the distance, but while the sky changes tones in ambers, pinks, and turquoise, a chilly darkness settles over my truck as it sits out the front of the store in the small parking lot.

The street is deserted as I glance around, trying to figure out why the hell my brand-new flowers are currently butchered when I hear something shift at the back of my truck.

The hairs on my arms raise instantly, forcing me to stop dead and listen, all my senses on high alert.

Suddenly, a cute little goat sticks its head around one of the buckets while casually munching on a David Austin rose like nobody’s business.

Oh, holy heck!