Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cactus Dahlia Day
Cecelia tamped down the panic clawing at her ribs.
The procession of young women had completed its march from the main gate and now streamed into the Washington State Building two by two, gathering upon the grand staircase like a frothy bed of summer flowers.
The crowd rapidly filling the spacious reception hall applauded, murmuring their approval of the ladies’ pristine white gowns, carefully placed cactus dahlia garlands, and delicate bouquets.
“Where the hell is Drew?” she hissed, forcing the words past the lump lodged in her throat. “And stop looking at each other like I’m some wilting rose waiting to be deadheaded.”
Rosie froze halfway through exchanging yet another worried glance with Theo. “I’m sure he’ll be here any moment.”
Cecelia wanted to believe her. She’d spent the last hour telling herself there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
The streetcar must have broken down. Or another, larger procession had blocked his path.
Perhaps the Expo greenhouse had caught fire.
Some foolish mishap that would have Drew barreling through those doors at any moment, flushed and apologetic.
But another thought had begun needling her, one that refused to quiet down.
What if he’d gotten all he wanted from her?
She wanted to believe their intimacy last night meant something.
For God’s sake, a faint soreness still lingered between her thighs.
Her breasts were still gently abraded by the rasp of his morning scruff.
Yet women heard things. Men could spend weeks—in her case, years—pursuing a woman, making her the center of his universe, only to lose interest once she let him into her bed.
Once he had won her physically, what was left to want?
The possibility was nauseating.
She pressed her hand to her stomach. No. That wasn’t Drew. She wouldn’t reduce him to that. She couldn’t. And yet…he wasn’t there. She ignored Rosie’s fluttering hands and Theo’s grim mouth, and searched the reception hall again.
Long tables lined the walls, each crowned with crystal-cut vases overflowing with starburst-shaped cactus dahlias and flanked by their proud owners. Most fussed over their arrangements, eager for the judging. A few watched the entrance, waiting, just like she was.
Waiting, not for him, but for the spectacle if he didn’t come.
A woman at the neighboring display caught her eye, then leaned over and said with sympathy, “I heard Mr. Sutton has been arm wrestling children on the Pay Streak for most of the morning. Perhaps he simply lost track of time.”
Cecelia managed a tight nod.
“Go find your friend,” Rosie urged Theo, all but spitting the final two words, loyal creature that she was. Theo disappeared into the crowd, and Cecelia’s gaze dropped to her arrangements on the table. Seven vases for seven classes, filled with the best dahlias she’d ever produced.
At that moment, the young women’s voices rose in song. The exposition’s anthem washed over the hall, each cheerful note scraping across Cecelia’s nerves like a file against bone. Once they finished, the judging would begin.
There was no more time.
“We were supposed to do this together,” she whispered, her shoulders threatening to droop.
The public bickering, the newspapers writing about them for sport, the public frothing at the mouth every time they were spotted together—it had all been absurd.
But they'd been absurd together. “That’s what made the whole thing bearable.”
Rosie took her hand. “I know.”
“I don’t care what anyone in this room thinks about me.”
“Except him?’
“Yes.” Her breath hissed through her front teeth. “Now I know, and it isn’t a good feeling.”
“We could leave,” Rosie offered.
Cecelia squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, the lights sparkling from the action and certainly not from tears. “I will uphold my end of our bargain because that’s who I am. Seattle can write whatever nonsense it wants later, but it will know I kept my word. I was no coward.”
“Good.” Rosie nodded once. “Now let me straighten your sash before you go make everyone jealous of your prowess.”
Cecelia allowed her best friend to make her presentable, as she’d done throughout their entire friendship. Ever since they’d become study partners freshman year, both seeking more practice on the challenging Minot microtome. She was lucky to have Rosie. At least she would always have Rosie.
“Why does this hurt so much?” she wondered aloud.
Rosie’s hands stilled. “I think you know.”
“All I know is that this whole day is tainted. I should be happy, thrilled to be here, and instead I’m weak—
Rosie tugged sharply at the sash, her brows narrowing into a fierce glare that was so uncharacteristic of her normal sweetness.
“Cecelia Townsend, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You can do that later if you need to. But right now, you will stand tall. Proud. You are one of the top botanists in this state, and now the world will know. It is the only thing that matters right now, do you hear me?”
She drew in a tight breath, then released it. “I do. I—thank you. Right now, flowers. Later, stab, maim, destroy.”
Rosie’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Exactly.”
Cecelia straightened her shoulders and went to stand by her dahlias.
~
“Shit, shit, shit.”
Drew muttered the words as he jogged through the fairgrounds, brushing rudely past families, vendors, and anyone else unfortunate enough to stand between him and the Washington State Building.
He was too late—the dahlias he’d spent all summer cultivating sat forlorn in his greenhouse. Wasted months of painstaking work, wasted hours spent worrying over every damn leaf. It was a veritable loss, yet it paled in comparison to the damage he may have caused to his new bond with Cecelia.
He took the staircase in two leaps and rushed to the entrance, the marble tiles ringing beneath his shoes. Please let her still be inside, please let her be willing to hear him out—
“Drew,” a voice called. He whirled on his heel, chest heaving. Theo pushed away from the nearest Ionic column, removing his hands from his pockets. Drew searched his stony expression for even a sliver of mercy but found none. “You missed the whole damn thing.”
“Where is she?” he asked between rasping breaths. “I need to speak with her.”
“She believed in you,” Theo ground out. “Long after I stopped expecting you to show. She kept looking at those doors, convinced you'd come walking through them. How could you leave her standing there?”
“Theo, please.” He scrubbed a hand over his damp brow, his chest aching with mounting dread. “You know me. You know I'd crawl across broken glass before I'd willingly hurt her. So believe me when I say something bigger kept me away.”
Abruptly, Theo sighed. “She wanted to leave immediately, but we convinced her to take a few minutes in my office at the Administration Building. Figured that if you showed up, this would be your only chance to plead your case.”
Drew clapped his hand on Theo’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend.”
“Please don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t. I swear it.”
“Come on, then. You’ll need my credentials to get inside.”
They crossed the fairgrounds at a brisk pace, Drew explaining between breaths.
Theo's anger gradually gave way to troubled silence, which scared the hell out of Drew. All he could picture was Cecelia standing alone before the judges, searching the room for him but finding only gossipmongers. His petal was fierce and opinionated, but she wasn’t immune to cruelty.
If she’d been mocked because of him, he would never forgive himself.
They entered the Administration building and wound their way upstairs, past a wall map of the exposition grounds and a clerk hurrying through the corridor with an armful of paperwork.
Muffled conversations and clattering typewriters wafted from behind closed office doors.
When they reached the end of the corridor, before the door emblazoned with Theo’s name, they stopped.
“I hope you can mend this,” said Theo, “but I’m still going to thump you the next time we’re at the club.”
“I deserve a good punch,” he allowed, his lips twitching.
“Go on, then.” Theo nodded at the door before them. “And good luck.”
Drew raised his hand to knock—and froze. What if he couldn’t fix this? What if she’d finally wised up and decided—no, no. Doubt was for after the fight. He braced himself, then knocked thrice.
The door opened a crack. The earnest face of Theo’s Rosie appeared in the gap. Surprise flashed across it before hardening into fury. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the door as though she were debating slamming it in his face.
“Come with me, darling,” Theo said softly.
She pursed her lips but gave a grudging nod.
She slipped past Drew, shooting him one last murderous glare that said, in no uncertain terms, that while Theo might believe in second chances, she thought he'd be better employed hurling himself off the Aero Plunge without a raft.
He deserved that, too. He waited until they were halfway down the corridor before easing the door open.
Cecelia stood by the window, arms clasped across her chest. She inhaled sharply at the sight of him, her arms falling to her sides only for her hands to curl into tight fists. The sash he’d sent her lay at her feet in a crumpled heap.
“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” she said with dangerous calm, heels clicking on the wood floor as she strode toward him. She stopped an arm's length away and arched a brow. “Do you have an excuse?”
“I do.”
“Well, I’m not ready to hear it!” She jabbed a finger against his chest. “First, you're going to stand there while I explain precisely why I'm furious, and precisely why you've behaved like absolute scum.”