7. Zoe
SEVEN
Zoe
R alphie shifts his weight in the backpack at the wailing entrance bell of Florist Shop as I step into the familiar scent of fresh blooms and air made extra clean by countless plants. The vibrant colors of flora, fauna, planters and decor greet me like old friends, and my eye catches a sign for sale that reads “God said to meet Him in the Garden.” I take a deep breath, letting the sweet fragrances of roses, lilies, among others, and freshly watered greens fill my lungs. The sun filters through my large front windows, casting a warm glow over the rows of blossoms I left in the window display for attraction and easy pickin’s, and I can’t help but smile. Today feels better now that I got the approval of Ms. Perez, and feel I didn’t burn that opportunity to the ground with my forgetfulness. Everything is looking up! I may even go to that cafe tonight and see if I can run into Tom, act like it’s an accident.
Setting the old vase down on the metal counter by my sink, I coo to Ralphie, “Don’t worry, I’m setting you free now,” and slide my pack off so I can unzip it and allow my furry mischief maker to explore his home away from home.
He gives me an impatient, “Meow!” waiting for the zipper, and leaps to freedom, strolling over to wherever he’d like.
As I clear out the vase, carefully tossing browned flowers and limp garnishes into the large trash can lined with a black garbage bag, my mind floats to the vision of Caleb Astor III and I chasing Ralphie around the Four Seasons, and a grin spreads on my face. People were flinching, even darting out of the way as he gracefully sprinted between their legs and every which way, but they were smiling, too. We must have made quite the picture, and gave them a good story to take into their days.
I love a good story.
And now I have one.
Who would like to hear it?
Wyatt and Nathan would think it’s hilarious. I’ll tell them when next I see them. Gosh, it’s been a minute, hasn’t it? I should give them a call. Nicholas, too. He’d crack up! Yes, all three of my brothers will die laughing when they hear about me chasing my cat all over such a fancy hotel with the help of one of its most respectable guests.
I’ll leave out the part about how handsome that guest was. Don’t need to spark their overprotectiveness. It would take away the focus of the story. The fun of it.
Moving to my front counter, I clutter it with an array of tools—scissors, floral tape, and a collection of vases in varying shapes and sizes. Checking my computer for new orders, my spirits brighten at the sight of two new ones.
I start with a burst of sunflowers, “Did I tell you the one of the crazy cat nearly knocking over an expensive painting?” their golden faces beaming at me as I add in afterthought, “If it weren’t bolted down, which it probably is,” and trim their stems at an angle, the sturdy, thick green stalks promising longevity with or without my green thumb. Flowers like these need little care, just a fresh cut and water now and then to keep them vibrant for a long period.
Arranging the plentiful stems in a rustic wooden crate rather than the usual clear glass vase I almost chose, I firmly fix them into a foam block I poked large enough holes into. Next I add delicate Lisianthus, their soft purple hues contrasting beautifully with the bright yellow. For a touch of elegance comes white roses and for graceful fragility, Queen Anne’s Lace. Adding and subtracting, my focus is steady as I achieve the right balance. Taking a final step back to inspect what I’ve made, my inhale comes easily as satisfaction takes hold. “What d’ya think, Ralphie?” I ask, glancing to where he’s lounging on the tiles, taking advantage of a lingering ray of sunlight. “I can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment at this one, because these aren’t flowers I normally see together, but with the right balance…” I pause and adjust the angle on a sunflower and remove one of the roses, “…it has a dreamy impact.”
Next, I turn my attention to a more traditionally romantic creation, one that’s far more simple but ordered often. A glass vase waits patiently as I gather from my refrigerated room two dozen deep red roses, their velvety petals soft and sensuous. These also require their stems cut at an angle, and I carefully trim away the leaves from the lower half of the stems as they tend to wilt in water and contaminate it, shortening their flower’s life. “We can’t have that,” I whisper to myself.
I’m lost in my floral world in this way until I hear the familiar howl of the bell again. My heart skips a beat as I look up to find Tom striding in, wearing that lopsided smile I find so attractive. His brown hair is tousled, as usual. Body slender and toned muscles flexing as he walks.
Not meaning it to, an image of Caleb Astor III springs into my mind — his perfectly-fitted suit and coifed wavy hair, stubble sculpted in a way that can only be called purposeful. He was like a man you’d see walking off of a magazine cover.
Next to Caleb, Tom is almost the opposite in how he presents himself — effortlessly handsome.
“Hey Zoe,” he calls, voice warm and inviting. Zero guile. “Got any new deliveries before I head to my second job?”
“You’re right on time because I just finished two new orders,” I reply, trying to keep my tone casual despite my fluttering heart.
“Glad I dropped by! Mind if I wash my hands?”
He passes me for the sink and I inhale his scent, pine mixed with salt from working on a hot day. A zing hits my bloodstream, tummy clenching with a primal, feminine interest I didn’t expect. Blinking too much, I move a rose that doesn’t need to be moved, then another, disrupting the balance and hurrying to restore it as I hear the faucet turn off and his footsteps approaching behind me.
He steps close, towering over my right shoulder as he checks out the arrangements. “These are amazing.” His hand brushes my arm, as he reaches to point at the crated sunflower bouquet. “You amaze me.”
I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks, hoping he doesn’t see the goosebumps he inspired. “Thank you, Tom.” His hand brushes my arm again as he retracts it. I stutter, “I…I wanted to capture the grace of a summer’s day.” I gesture to the Lisianthus, whispering, “And these are my favorite flower. Don’t tell the others.”
“Your favorite, huh?” He leans forward to see them better, his pectoral muscle pressing against my shoulder blade as he inspects the delicate flowers. “You have such an eye for design and compatibility. It’s like they’re friends now. Like you can read the flowers’ minds.”
I look up to find his eyes sparkling as I whisper, “I can.”
Tom gives me his lopsided smile, “I believe it. You always impress me.” His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, and I catch my breath, hoping this is the moment he’ll ask me out. It feels like he will! Where did this crush come from? He’s been working for me for ten months. I wasn’t aware of how he makes my heart feel lighter when he’s around, until today, and now it’s pounding like it’s excited I finally caught on.
“I should get going. Get these deliveries out and get to my next gig. But hey, if you’re free later, there’s a new café that just opened down the street.”
I blink at him, “Yes?”
“You should check it out.”
That’s not an invitation. You should check it out? Not we should. Or would you like to go with me and check it out?
Alone, he’s implying, right?
Ugh.
Anticipation flickers as I remember what Lexi made me promise: Take a chance.
“Maybe I’ll see you there?” Inwardly I slap my own face. That wasn’t what I meant to say. I meant to directly invite him! Not run into him, having arrived separately, like it doesn’t matter and isn’t a date.
He glances to the flowers. “I won’t be there tonight.”
“This morning you said you were going tonight,” I remind him, feeling foolish now. “You’re not?”
“Can’t tonight. My sister’s in town. Just got the text that she drove in from North Carolina without a warning.” He lifts first the wooden crate, carefully. “I’m taking her out to dinner since I haven’t seen her in a few months.”
“Oh, of course.” I force a smile. “That sounds nice.”
Tom flicks a glance to me like his mind is racing, too. What he’s thinking, I have no idea. How I wish I did. He lifts the roses and walks backwards, biceps flexed as he carries my arrangements with skill. I see hesitation in his eyes. “You should definitely check it out, though! I’ll catch you later, Zoe.” And just like that, he turns and walks out, the bell roaring its objection behind him.
To the bell I say, “I thought that was an awful exit, too,” and stand here with the cheerful flower cuttings that litter my counter suddenly feeling overwhelming and burdensome, like cleaning up is too hard right now. My spirits are as wilted as that arrangement I brought back from the hotel a day too late.
Why am I being so sensitive?
I wasn’t even aware I had a crush on Tom until today! Biting my lip, I look back on the ten months he’s worked for me, wondering where it began? Is it simply that my shutting the door on Ryder, finally, opened my eyes?
Great.
Just what I need.
Another unrequited crush.
I clean up the cuttings, tools, vases, and finally the counter with a damp cloth, inspecting it in the light to see if I missed a spot. “Well, Ralphie, it’s just you and me again.”
His green eyes lazily land on mine, and he stretches, the patch of sun now gone.
Picking up my duster, I cross to a shelf, humming to myself in a strained attempt to lift my mood. But I can’t shake the feeling that perhaps I’m destined to remain in this floral paradise, surrounded by beauty and supplying flowers for romance, but forever waiting for the moment when love finds me, when someone I care about finally notices the girl behind the flowers.
I react to the muffled ringing of my phone from inside my backpack’s side pocket, and hurry over to answer it before the call reaches voicemail, backpack crumpled on the floor as I kneel beside it, hurrying to answer, “Florist Shop!” with a forced smile.
A deep voice asks, “Zoe Cocker?”
“Yes, sorry! This is Zoe. Can I help you?”
“I hope so. This is Caleb Astor III. I was wondering… would you marry me?”
My eyes go wide, and I scream as Ralphie leaps onto my back.