Chapter Two
__________
Ben
Walking out of the eloquent shop filled with arrangements designed for elaborate weddings or funerals, the low tone of the bell mocks my farewell as Cole's–my old boss–dismissive words echo in my ears, "Advertising the shop?
What," he scoffed, "you think these...volunteers are going to bring in paying customers? " His voice was condescending at best.
I think back to months ago when I gave flowers to a particular doctor who was volunteering at the center. His eyes spoke volumes. His gratitude meant everything. Another voice over shadows that of Cole's––my mother. I was ten. She said to be kind no matter what.
The flowers I gave Ms. Tibball back then, and the appreciation she showed, gave me such a warm feeling back then. I chase that feeling to this day. Every time I give an arrangement of flowers to someone, it warms me to my core.
A small bloom of gratitude for their kindness.
I tried explaining this to Cole, but he only cared about the shop's image and making money.
What's so wrong with giving out a few small flower arrangements?
I made them from the leftover flowers that would have ended in the trash because, to Cole, they weren't perfect.
Unlike him, I always found beauty in the imperfect.
I wrap my crocheted scarf around my neck a little tighter as I wander over to the park across the street.
Due to it being early February, there aren't any flowers to admire in the park's gardens.
The skies above are gray, and it feels like it could snow tonight.
The ground is cold beneath my well-loved Converse tennis shoes as I continue to stroll along the paved pathways.
A lone little boy playing with bubbles near the swings catches my attention as I watch his father dip the little stick in the plastic jar and blow out another set.
My heart aches for the childhood I once knew.
Thinking back on the exchange with Cole, I can't help but wonder…
Am I fired? I was told to go home for the day, and the whole exchange made it sound like Cole was unhappy with me.
But he never said whether or not I was let go.
The uncertainty gnawed at me. The indecision feels like a bloom that is wilting a slow, painful death.
Maybe my passion for flowers and the desire to connect them to people's lives in a meaningful way is a liability. Not an asset.
A gentle breeze rustles the leaves that are still hanging onto the branches above me.
I close my eyes momentarily, trying to picture the look on the volunteers’ faces as I handed over the small arrangements.
The containers came from yard sales and thrift stores.
Each one is unique, like the recipient. Such a small moment of joy.
A little bit of sunshine in these gray days we've been having.
It may be time to pick up my life and move.
Start my own flower stand. The thought sparks a light inside, one I haven't given much thought to in so long. Setting up a booth at the local Saturday farmers’ market would be a start.
See how it goes. My dream would have the stall emulate my mother's old potting shed – mismatched jars, wildflowers offering a splash of color against the whitewashed wood. The ideas are endless.
As the thoughts drift in, the anxiety of possibly being fired eases as I envision the smiles on the customer's faces, the murmured compliments, and just the overall joy each flower arrangement would bring.
The best part is that I would get to create what I wanted. Each arrangement would carry a piece of me and not just an arrangement that showed off my skills or uphold the shop's particular image.
It's fun to dream, but then there's practicality–rent, food, bills. My vintage VW camper bus was paid for with my savings, so at least I have that part covered. Worst-case scenario, I could always live in it. It's cozy enough. I worked hard on updating it and making it my own.
Is it foolish to even consider such a leap as this? Venturing out alone like this is like sailing into uncharted waters, beautiful perhaps, but fraught with the very real danger of capsizing. I long for a daddy to help me with these decisions.
I walk past one of the raised flower beds in the community garden section, tracing the worn grain with my finger, the rough texture a counterpoint to the smooth, delicate petals I usually work with.
Up ahead on the path, a small, bright yellow dandelion pushes its way through a crack in the pavement.
The contrast of yellow against the gray concrete caught my eye.
It's stubborn. It's not even the season for any type of flower to bloom unless they're in a greenhouse. The little flower isn't grand or exotic, but it’s resilient. Like me. Finding hope and happiness in unlikely places.
I bend over, contemplating whether to pick it. The stem feels sturdy between my pointer finger and thumb. He'll have a cute little jar to live in when I get home. It may not survive out here if it snows, but if I pick it, the poor little guy will surely die in about a week.
I leave the little flower where he is and try to cultivate that resilience in my own life. To find a space where my passion isn't snuffed out. Instead, it's a seed waiting to blossom, even if the soil is currently a little less fertile than I'd like.
With the setting sun, the temperature feels like it's dropping. I cross the street and climb into my van, cranking the engine to get the heat flowing. I decide to wait a few minutes to warm up before pulling out of my parking spot.
While waiting, my phone vibrates in my pocket, jolting me out of my thoughts. It's probably Cole letting me know not to come in tomorrow, and I debate whether or not I want to look at the message right now. All that tension I left in the park is back in full force.
Sliding my phone out of my pocket, I smile at the screen as warmth fills my body, and not from the heater that's taking longer than usual to warm up the vehicle.
Kai, a name that fills my heart with love.
Not love like lovers, but one of admiration and respect.
Friendship. Kai took me under his wing when my dad threw me out for being gay.
He patiently taught me how to navigate a world that suddenly felt hostile and uncertain.
I hit the text to speech button.
Kai: Hey Ben. I hope you're having a good evening. Remember when Shaun mentioned having a friend who owns a flower shop in Rockport Ridge? Well, they're looking to hire someone. I thought of your talent instantly. If you're interested, let me know. I hope you're doing alright.
Rockport Ridge. It's a smaller town renowned for its artistic community and expansive botanical gardens.
It also features the best zoo in our state, which made national news several years ago with the birth of an elephant.
I can't remember if it was an African elephant or an Asian one.
Rockport Ridge feels a world away from the sterile, commercially-driven atmosphere of Sovereign Florals. And Cole.
The thought of possibly working with someone who understands the heart of what I do feels like a ray of sunshine on this cloudy day.
This could be the universe, in its own chaotic way, offering me a lifeline in the bleakness of my current situation.
I re-listen Kai's text, a slow smile spreading across my face. Rockport Ridge. It’s a risk, a big one, but perhaps it is a risk worth taking. Could I be resilient like the dandelion on the cracked sidewalk?
I sit up a little taller in the driver's seat in my van. Take a deep breath and hit the call button.
The old-fashioned bell announces my arrival in the quaint flower shop. It's a contrast to the doorbell tune I'm used to when I arrived at work in Bedford City. The smell of the flowers is intoxicating as the fragrance of the different blooms hits my senses.
"I'll be right with you," a deeper voice calls out from what I assume is an office or back room.
I don't respond, just walk around and take in all the flower arrangements on display.
It's Valentine's Day next week and there are a lot of roses.
I'm usually not a fan of such structured arrangements, but I appreciate the fresh perspective these offer.
They're structured, but also have a story to tell.
I only make it around half the store when I'm greeted more formally.
"Good morning, is there something I can help you find?" The tall, handsome guy asks. His eyes are kind and gentle. My cheeks flush instantly.
He would make the perfect daddy.
I shake my head and chastise myself instantly for the thought. This might be my new boss. I can't have these thoughts. Besides, if I don't land this job, there’s a possible chance I could be homeless by the end of the month.
"I...I'm Ben. I...I'm here for an interview?" I tell him nervously, coming out more like a question.
There is so much at stake here.
The man's gentle smile widens, a genuine warmth easing the knot of nerves that has taken up residence in my stomach.
"Ah, Ben! Kai said you'd be stopping by this morning.
I'm Barrett, one of the co-owners. I work in the office behind the scenes.
Caleb, my husband, is the creative mind behind everything you see out here on display. "
Husband. He's taken, and for some reason, that has me relaxing a little more.
"They're beautiful." I compliment the work, and Barrett nods.
"He just popped out for coffee at Steamed.
It's just a couple of blocks down, so he should be back any minute.
In the meantime," Barrett gestures around the shop, his large hands moving with surprising grace, "take a look around.
Get a feel for the place. We pride ourselves on letting our flowers do the talking, but we're always open to a fresh perspective. "
Oh, how different this is from Sovereign Florals.
"I'm in no rush," I tell him, already scanning the vibrant displays. The arrangements are indeed stunning, a symphony of color and texture that speaks of creativity and care.
A pang of excitement, a familiar flutter that always accompanies me when I immerse myself in a world full of blooms. Except, I never really felt this way at Sovereign. This right here, standing in the middle of Peonies and Petals, feels right.
Reaching out to gently touch a velvety tulip that is in a design with roses, I hear the chime of the bell announced another arrival.
A man who is my height with bright eyes and a slightly disheveled mop of copper hair enters the shop, balancing two steaming cups of coffee and a white paper sack rolled at the top.
This must be the husband. Caleb.
"Steamed delivered!" he announces with a grin, handing one of the cups to Barrett. "Noah sends his love, obviously."
"And look who's here!" Barrett says, pointing to me with his coffee cupped hand.
Curiosity crosses his eyes before recognition sets in. "You must be Ben. Kai's been raving about you." He extends his hand, grip soft and gentle with a couple of band aids lacing his fingers.
"That's me. Ben. Nice to meet you," I tell him, still eyeing his fingers when I let go of his hand.
"Don't worry, hazard of the trade. One of the batches of roses we got in had thorns, and I didn't notice them until it was too late." He shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. At least I assume it is coffee. "Ben. Welcome to Peonies and Petals. My baby."
Barrett clears his throat and gives Caleb a pointed look.
"Fine," he teases and offers me a wink. "It's my second baby," he finishes and then lets out a soft giggle.
Barrett's eyes linger on Caleb, a possessive warmth that speaks volumes. It isn't just professional admiration; it's something softer, something more intimate.
I turn my attention away from them as it seems to be a private moment, only to be met by tension in my neck. The comments from Cole sneaking in, and the fear that my work is inadequate. But the more I take in the shop and the kindness of these two men, that tension starts to dissipate.
"So," Caleb says, turning his bright gaze back to me and away from his husband, his hand still resting on Barrett's arm, a gesture of casual intimacy.
"Kai tells us you have a knack for making flowers tell a story.
I'm all ears. But instead of telling us, we want you to show us. That is, if you're okay with that."
The unspoken invitation hangs in the air.
A surge of quiet confidence fills me. Here I am in a new town, already being seen for the first time in a long time. It's like I'm on the cusp of something extraordinary.
A prelude to what's to come.