Chapter 16
Elsie
“Paint and sip?” Noah rattles off, one of the many ideas he’s tossed out in the last few minutes.
“Too overdone,” I tell him. “We can add it to the calendar for the fall, but we need something fun and different for the summer.”
It’s Sunday, and instead of enjoying a day off, Noah and I are at The Grind brainstorming ideas to set The Floral Chic apart and help us win the Best New Business competition.
Port Myles isn’t overflowing with new businesses by any means, but a handful pop up each year.
Our competition includes a French bistro with killer croquettes, a food truck that specializes in every kind of mac and cheese imaginable, a bike repair shop and the tattoo studio.
The head of the Chamber of Commerce said there were more businesses that opened in the last year than usual.
“We could do some fun giveaways,” Noah suggests. He smirks, which should be my first warning sign. “Like, customers can guess how many times a day you get distracted looking at Declan, and the closest to guessing the correct five hundred and eighty times wins a bouquet.”
I shoot daggers at Noah. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
He grins, completely nonplussed. At least he takes pity on me and changes the subject. “Remind me again what the prize is?”
“The winner gets $5,000, three months of radio and billboard ads, and a plaque to display, letting customers know you’ve been named Best New Business.”
Noah nods, sipping his coffee as he jots the information down.
“The advertising alone is worth its weight in gold,” I tell him. “I’ve looked into the cost of doing radio ads and they’re not cheap.”
Social media has been great for exposure, thanks to Grace’s help, but I could reach a whole new demographic on the radio.
“There’s another competition after that, right?” Noah asks.
“The winner of the competition here in Port Myles will go on to compete with the winners from all of the other towns in Campbell County. The prize for that one is $10,000, a Sunday feature in the regional newspaper and being the guest of honor at the Chamber’s annual awards dinner.”
I try not to get ahead of myself and think about all the things I could accomplish with $15,000. Closing up that window, for starters.
I don’t even know if we’d have a shot at winning the county competition, but I want to win the one here in town badly. Even if just to rub it in Declan’s face.
“What if I taught some kind of workshop?” I suggest. “Do we think people would want to learn how to put arrangements together?”
It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now, before I even knew about the competition. But part of me worries that nobody else actually cares about flowers the way I do, and no one will show up.
“If they’re learning from you? Absolutely.”
“What if nobody shows up?” I say quietly.
Noah leans forward and grabs my hand where it rests on the table. “Elsie,” he says fondly. “I don’t think you understand how much the people in this town adore you. I’ve only been working with you for a week and I can see it. If you host it, they’ll come.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so,” he assures me. “I see it on every customer’s face who walks through your door. But if you’re really worried about it, you can make it an RSVP-only event with tickets sold ahead of time. That way you’ll know exactly how many people to expect.”
“I like that idea.” I jot it down in the notebook that wasn’t nearly so full when we arrived – I glance at the watch on my wrist – nearly two hours ago.
I grab my second iced latte of the morning and take a sip, groaning at how good it is.
“Sounds like a happy customer to me,” Lindsey, one of the baristas, calls out as she passes by our table.
“The happiest,” I tell her. I grab my notebook, writing Bring flowers to The Grind at the top of the page.
We have our own little coffee station at the shop, but I’ve been coming here more frequently than usual, grabbing Noah and I coffees on a quick lunch break or on my way into work in the mornings.
Yesterday the owners, Luca and Jodie, sent over our usual order: an iced vanilla and blueberry latte for me, an iced coffee with cream and caramel for Noah, plus a box of assorted muffins.
The note they sent with it congratulated me on opening the shop and thanked us for our business, which was beyond sweet.
Every day, the people in this town remind me how lucky I am to live here.
“Hey, I forgot to ask yesterday,” Noah says, leaning forward excitedly. “Did you ever get those samples we talked about?”
“I did, and they’re stunning.”
Earlier in the week, Georgia passed along contact info for someone in one of her classes who does the most beautiful calligraphy I’ve ever seen.
I approached her about designing some greeting cards that we could sell in the shop, and she also drew up some options for business cards, in case I’m interested.
I hadn’t thought of it before, but I’m absolutely going to take her up on it.
“Want to go check them out?” I ask Noah.
“Let’s do it.”
We wave goodbye to the baristas and make our way outside.
It’s nearing the end of June and the sidewalks are filled with tourists popping in and out of the shops, lugging around beach totes and snapping photos.
Sometimes I like to just close my eyes and listen, soaking it all in – the happy chatter, the seagulls squawking, the sound of foghorns when the weather is particularly gloomy.
Everything about this town feels like a warm hug, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
When we get to the shop, there’s a box sitting outside the Main Street door.
I lean over and pick it up, surprised by how heavy it is.
I’m not expecting any deliveries that I can think of, but things have been so hectic lately.
I check the label and see that it’s addressed to Sean Hughes and Declan Rhodes.
“What did ya get, boss?” Noah asks from where he waits on the sidewalk behind me.
He gets a kick out of calling me “boss.” I certainly never thought I’d be anybody’s boss, and it’s strange to hear.
Even as plans to open this place became real, tangible possibilities, I didn’t know if I’d ever get to the point where I could hire someone to help me out.
In my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have predicted I’d be needing help – and be able to afford it – so soon.
“I didn’t get anything,” I tell him. “It’s for Sean and Declan.”
“Ah, the elusive tattooers,” he jokes. Despite our close proximity, Noah hasn’t actually met the guys next door yet.
It had been a busy week, and when we had any downtime, I was busy showing Noah things I hadn’t had time to get to on the Friday before.
The guys had also been busy with clients, so the timing just didn’t work out.
And, sure, maybe I was avoiding Declan after my embarrassment over getting caught ogling him without his shirt on.
Even now, I can feel my cheeks heat at the memory.
I just hadn’t expected so many muscles. The tattoos were expected, but equally distracting.
I wanted to inspect each one of them up close, run my fingers across them and find out what they are and what they mean.
“Elsie?” Noah prods from behind me.
“Sorry. Here, take this.” I hand him the package so I can grab my keys from my purse and unlock the shop door. “I promise we’ll pop over sometime this week so I can introduce you.”
The bell over the door announces our arrival to the empty shop and I smile.
No matter how many times I’ve walked through this door over the last few weeks, and all of the weeks leading up to opening day, I never get tired of the feeling of rightness that washes over me every time I cross the threshold and see my life’s dream laid out before me.
This shop has given me another sense of home I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
Home, for me, isn’t just the town I live in.
It’s a collection of tiny moments that make me realize I’m right where I’m meant to be.
It’s the cries of seagulls on my favorite beach.
The smell of lavender when I step out my front door in the summertime.
The way Olivia and Grace’s arms link with mine while we walk down the sidewalk.
It’s there in every “hi, Elsie” from my friends and neighbors when I’m out running errands, and each sip of crisp chardonnay at Carmichael family dinners.
I didn’t have this feeling when I walked into work at my dad’s store, or the years before that at college, a school I only went to because it’s what was expected of me.
This feeling of home away from home – of finding a sense of purpose and belonging in my career, not just my personal life – is brand new to me.
“Earth to Elsie,” Noah calls out. I look over and catch him grinning at me over his shoulder as he carries the misplaced delivery across the room.
“What were you – whoa.” He slips on something near the door adjoining the two shops and nearly loses his footing, his feet windmilling beneath him like the Road Runner for a few seconds.
Somehow, he manages to both stay upright and hang onto the box.
“Are you okay?” I hurry over, stopping short when I see the water spread across the black and white tile. It’s seeping from beneath the door Noah had been about to drop the package next to.
“I’m good,” he assures me. “That, however…” He tilts his head, gesturing toward the water. “That doesn’t look good.”
“It does not,” I agree.
“Shit,” Noah sighs.
“Shit,” I echo. My unexpected curse has Noah whipping his head toward me, a goofy grin on his face.
“I love when you get feisty.”
I roll my eyes, grinning back at him. “Go set that down somewhere. I’m going to call Sean and let him know something’s leaking next door.”
I grab my phone from where I set it on the work table and find Sean’s number. I click on his name and wait, listening to it ring while I watch Noah try – and fail – to mop up the water with paper towels.