Chapter 36
Elsie
I’ve had a lot of pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming moments since the day I opened the doors here at The Floral Chic, but this one might take the cake.
“You want to be careful not to overcrowd it,” I tell the attendees who signed up for my very first floral design class.
It’s a beginner class to learn the basics about arranging a simple bouquet, from choosing the right flowers that complement each other to arranging them in a way that looks effortless.
I’d been worried that nobody would sign up, but all twenty spots filled up within a week of posting the signup form on social media. It’s surprisingly fun, teaching newbies how to do something that’s become second nature to me.
“Don’t be afraid to take risks,” Noah chimes in from his spot beside me at the front of the shop.
We’d pushed aside our usual displays to make room for folding tables and stools for those who couldn’t fit around the big workspace we typically use.
“If something doesn’t work, you can always redo it.
There’s nothing wrong with a little trial and error. ”
“That’s why I have five kids,” Brenda Owens, a woman who graduated high school two years ahead of me, chimes in from the back of the room, and everybody laughs.
“Sure, that’s why,” my parents’ next-door neighbor, Millie Jenkins, chimes in. “Has nothing to do with that fine husband of yours.”
“Guilty,” Brenda chuckles.
I grin, wondering how it’s real life that I get to do this for my job. I’m having fun.
“Noah’s right,” I tell them. “Trial and error is a good thing. Play around with different blooms and colors until you get something that feels right.”
I’d purposely put out a wide selection and let everybody choose their own flowers and greenery, rather than teaching just one arrangement and having them follow me step by step to put it together.
I want people to leave my classes feeling like they learned how to make something beautiful out of whatever they have available to them.
We also go over the less fun parts, like trimming stems, the best water to help bouquets last longer, and what kind of vase works best with different types of arrangements.
“This isn’t as easy as it looks,” a deep voice grumbles to my right. My younger sister, Georgia, rolls her eyes at our brother.
“I told you,” she scolds Aiden. “If anybody could do it, we wouldn’t need florists. Put some respect on our sister’s name.”
I laugh along with the rest of the room, but secretly, I’m pleased. Georgia and Aiden have always been thick as thieves, and I’ve always felt a little bit left out when it comes to our sibling unit. It’s not often that she takes my side instead of her twin’s.
“Be nice, children,” my mom chides from the table next to them, where she stands elbow-to-elbow with my dad.
He’s been uncharacteristically quiet this evening, his eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down in a permanent frown as he focuses on his arrangement of hydrangeas and fern.
It’s a bit lopsided, but I don’t tell him.
It means the world to me that my family showed up to support Noah and I at our first class.
At every turn, they’ve proven that I had nothing to worry about when I was so terrified to tell them I wanted to quit my job and open my own shop.
They’ve been nothing but supportive, just as I should have expected all along.
What I hadn’t expected, however, was for Declan’s mother to show up tonight.
I hadn’t looked closely at the signup list beyond confirming that all twenty slots had filled up, so I was shocked when Sasha walked through the door.
We haven’t had the chance to chat much, but I think she’s enjoying herself.
“I’m not so sure I’m doing this right,” Mr. Davis calls out from his spot in the middle of the room.
I haven’t seen him much since opening day, when he stopped by to check out both shops.
He’d been blown away by the progress that had been made in his old building, and he had left with a bouquet for his wife, Lydia, that I refused to let him pay for.
I owed him everything for taking a chance on me and my dreams, and for giving me a place to bring them to life.
“You’re not,” Mrs. Davis assures him without taking her eyes off her own arrangement, which admittedly looks a lot better than his. “Stick to your day job, hon.”
“I don’t have one,” he reminds her. “I’m retired.”
By the end of the class, twenty bouquets sit proudly on the tables in matching cylindrical vases. Twenty-one, if you count the one Noah and I worked on together.
“Great work, everyone,” I tell the class as people gather their things and begin filing out with their flowers clutched in hand. “Don’t forget to add some of that flower food when you get home.”
It takes a few minutes for the room to clear out. Everyone wants to thank me and chat for a bit, which I love. It seems like everyone had a great time, and a few people have already asked me to host another class.
On her way out, Sasha stops beside me and nervously tucks a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. “I had a lot of fun,” she says, and though she seems a bit uncomfortable, her smile is sincere.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her since Declan told me about his childhood and everything that Sasha put him through.
He said that he doesn’t want me to think poorly of her, and I really don’t want to, but it’s hard to look at her and not feel a pang in my chest at the thought of a little dark-haired boy whose mother didn’t properly care for him.
But she’s still Declan’s mom, and I want her to like me.
“I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself,” I tell her honestly. “Thank you so much for coming.”
She nods, then her eyes dart toward the shop next door before flitting back to me. “I hope I’ll be seeing more of you. Have a good night, Elsie.”
“You too.”
Once the shop has cleared, Noah sets to work putting away flowers and cleaning off the tables while I stack the stools by the back door.
When I step outside, looking for something to prop the door open with so I can carry the stools out to the greenhouse, I notice Declan sitting on the stone bench along the back of the building.
He looks up and smiles when he sees me, my favorite soft smile that he reserves just for me. His Elsie smile.
“Declan. Hi.”
“Hey, you.”
I walk over to where he’s sitting and he immediately wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close. I run my hands through his hair and his eyes flit closed, a soft sigh escaping him. When I scratch my nails lightly against the back of his head, he groans.
“Keep that up and I’m going to fall asleep out here.”
“What are you doing out here, anyway?”
Declan pulls back slightly to get a better look at me. He studies my face for a moment, considering.
“I got an interesting phone call,” he finally says.
“Interesting how?”
His jaw works back and forth a few times, like it requires physical effort to say whatever he’s about to say. I’ve gathered that he doesn't open up easily, and he doesn’t do it often.
“An old buddy of mine from New York called to tell me about the shop he’s at now. One of our old bosses opened up her own place. I guess they’re looking for someone to fill their fourth chair.”
My pulse ticks up as I register the meaning of his words. “He wants you to work there.”
Declan nods but doesn’t say anything further. I wait, giving him time to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
“What did you tell him?”
Declan shrugs, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder. “I told him I’d think about it. I tried telling him I’m pretty settled here, but he wasn’t having it.”
“So you’re considering it?” I hate how needy I sound. How nervous.
“Not really, no.” Declan pulls me down onto his lap and buries his face in my neck. “I’m happy here,” he mumbles against my skin. “I’m happy with you.”
I want to ask more questions, to find out if there’s any real chance he could end up leaving Port Myles, but we’re interrupted by Noah’s sudden appearance in the backyard.
“There you are,” he says, completely unfazed by the fact that I’m seated in Declan’s lap. My heart immediately begins to race over having a spectator to our relationship, but I remind myself it’s just Noah. I don’t need to hide anything from him. “You want these stools in the greenhouse?”
“Yes, sorry.” I extricate myself from Declan’s hold and stand. “I was about to carry them outside and got distracted.”
“I see that,” Noah says, smirking.
“Hey, Noah,” Declan says, nodding at my best employee.
“Hi, Declan. Did Elsie tell you she absolutely crushed our first class?”
“Oh shit, that was tonight,” Declan says, grabbing my hand and tugging me back toward him. “Tell me about it. How much fun did you have?”
“So much fun,” I admit, smiling. “We had a great turnout. Your mom even came.”
Declan nods like this isn’t a surprise to him. “She mentioned she was thinking about it a while back, when you first posted about it. Who else came?”
“You have a client waiting on you?” Noah asks.
Declan grabs his phone from the bench to check the time. “Nope. I’ve got another ten minutes.”
“Perfect,” Noah says, clapping his hands together. “Put those muscles to use helping us with these stools and we’ll tell you all about it.”
As we set to work carrying the stools out to the greenhouse and folding up the tables that need to be returned to the church we borrowed them from, I make a mental note to ask Declan more about New York the next time I see him.
If there’s any chance at all that he’s going to leave, I want to find out now before I hand over my heart to someone who might leave it behind when he goes.