Chapter 1 #2
Whatever’s got her riled up, she still cares for the plants.
She’s probably the most talented green thumb I’ve met since Edward, able to nurse plants back from near-death and make them bloom full and lush.
That’s why I hired her, for her botany degree, but thankfully, she’s great with customers too and can handle watching the shop when Janey and I go to Aruba to work the wedding.
But right now, she’s in a tailspin heading for a crash landing.
I step in front of her, placing my hands on her shoulders to stop her from swirling the drain. “Samantha. What’s happening?”
She blinks, coming out of her stupor, and swallows, looking back at the phone on the counter. “That was . . . that was one of Claire’s people. She’s coming. In ten minutes.”
I don’t get it. That’s totally expected. They’re supposed to be picking up the arrangements for tonight’s dinner, so why is Samantha freaking out?
“Okay. They’re picking up the flowers. We’re ready. They’re done.”
She shakes her head, her blonde hair swishing wildly. “No, no . . . she’s coming. Claire is coming!”
What she’s actually saying sinks in and my gut drops. “What?” I shriek. “Why?”
Don’t get me wrong, Claire is quite lovely, down to earth even, and she was perfectly kind the few times I met her in person to get approvals for the floral plan, but there’s no reason for her to be coming to a simple pick-up mere hours before a dinner where she’ll be the guest of honor and hostess with the mostest.
She should be doing a Get Ready With Me video for her followers or a meditation photo shoot with the sunset. Not picking up flowers like a courier or personal assistant.
“I don’t know,” Samantha says, answering the questions I already forgot I asked.
“It was one of her people on the phone. An assistant, I guess? She said Claire is coming, in person, and has an update on the wedding that she wants to deliver in person.” She blinks and then needlessly says one more time, “In. Person. Abi. Claire Johnson is coming here.”
I guess Samantha is more of a fan that I realized.
“No autograph hounding. You hear me? We’ll behave like she’s any other customer.” My words have the force of an order, and she throws me a poorly formed salute. “Good. Now clean up!”
Despite my words, I start scurrying around frantically too.
Samantha and Janey follow suit, clearing off tables, gently tossing loose flowers into the buckets in the cooler, and shoving the leftover donuts from this morning into the trash.
At least it smells amazing in here. No fake air fresheners needed.
We’ve got all-natural floral scents wafting around and blending beautifully.
“Go watch out in the front and give us a warning when they get here,” I tell Samantha when I realize she’s hyperventilating.
She runs to the window, peeking out but ducking down to the side so she’s not seen, as though she’s some secret spy on a stakeout mission. I roll my eyes, huffing out a laugh at her antics because if I don’t laugh, I might go a little cuckoo too.
Janey and I meet eyes. “We’ve got this,” she says with firmness.
“We do,” I say just as solidly.
Neither of us believes it. This is not the norm. Celebrity customers don’t come in like this, unscheduled and with last-minute updates.
Fuck, I hope I’m not getting fired before I even get to show her the work I’ve done. I should’ve done the damn crystals on that bouquet. But it’s too late.
“Ca-caw, ca-caw,” Samantha screeches.
“What the hell is that?” I bark.
“That’s the secret sign,” she explains. “She really does drive a pink glitter Escalade! They’re parking right now.”
Shit.
I look down at myself. The shop might be looking better, but I’m a mess.
I quickly pull my ponytail holder out and shake my head, sending my thick, dark hair tumbling down my back, swipe under my eyes to make sure yesterday’s mascara hasn’t run down into my undereye bags, and smooth my water-spotted T-shirt.
That’s as good as it can get right now, so hopefully, Claire will see that I’m putting my everything into making her flowers beautiful, even if it means I look like an advertisement for college-broke, don’t-give-a-fuck chic.
A man in a black suit rushes out from the driver’s seat to open the side door of the SUV, and out steps Claire Johnson in a trendy pink jumpsuit and sparkly hoop earrings.
Her blonde hair is impeccable, the curls reaching down her back, and her makeup is expertly applied.
She’s at least partially ready for tonight’s festivities, so why is she here?
She’s followed by another woman, slightly older, with frosty hair and wearing a tailored black designer dress.
Who is that? I wonder with a frown. I don’t like surprises when it comes to my work, and that woman practically screams SURPRISE!
Judging by the snooty expression on her face, I can tell that whoever she is, she thinks her shit doesn’t sink.
I know the look. I have a lot of practice pegging her type, especially when people from our social circle hire me for their events.
I walk a line where I’m ‘the help’ but also on ‘their level’, socially speaking.
People struggle with how to treat me—dismissive and holier than thou because I’m just a florist, but never able to forget my last name and the power it wields.
I do a quick search of my mental Rolodex of Claire’s family, and then Cole’s, but nothing matches the stranger.
Claire and her companion stop for a moment outside the shop, seeming to take in the colorfulness of SweetPea, and judging by the look on the older woman’s face, she’s not impressed.
She even seems to say something that causes Claire to frown.
But there’s no time for me to process it all as they move toward the door.
“Best behavior!” I hiss to Samantha and Janey, and fine, to myself as well, before the door swings open. “Welcome to SweetPea Boutique,” I say cheerily, trying to hide my anxiety. “Great to see you again, Claire.”
“Abi!” Claire exclaims as she floats through the doors, smiling warmly at me and holding out her arms. “It’s so good to see you!”
I can’t help but smile as I come from around the counter to give Claire the usual air hug greeting.
I know the designer jumpsuit she’s wearing is this season’s latest and retails for well into the four digits, and I’m covered in green stains, but to my surprise, she instead pulls me into a warm embrace, air kissing one cheek and then the other.
“Great to see you too. I wasn’t expecting you to pick up the arrangements in person?” It should be a statement, but it’s most definitely a question, and she hears the concern in my voice.
Claire waves away my worry with a manicured hand. “It’s okay, I know how it is to run a business! I should’ve told you I was going to stop by well in advance. I just wanted to view them for myself and give you an update on a few changes I’m making to the wedding crew.”
“Changes?” I ask in confusion. Has she come here to fire me personally?
Claire nods, motioning to the frowning woman beside her. “This is my new wedding planner who you’ll be working with for the wedding and who will be in charge of basically everything, Meredith Wildemen. Meredith, this is Abi Andrews, the florist who’ll be handling all the flower arrangements.”
What the heck happened to Beth?
I want to ask about the woman Claire originally hired to plan her wedding, someone I’ve worked with many times before and who is also much nicer than this new woman seems, judging by the scowls she’s flashing around.
But instead of voicing my thoughts out loud and making things awkward, I say, “Nice to meet you, Meredith,” extending my hand in greeting and smiling warmly. “Looking forward to working together.”
“Hmm.” She hums through pressed lips, examining my dirt-lined and chipped-polish nails.
Meredith’s facial expression doesn’t budge as she slowly takes my hand and barely touches fingertips as though I’ll contaminate her with actual filth before letting go abruptly.
“So you’re the flower girl Claire has been going on and on about?
It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The tone of her voice sounds like it’s anything but, and calling me flower girl grates my nerves, but I keep the smile on my face as she taps her watch thoughtfully.
“We do need to see the arrangements. That is, if you have them ready, Miss Andrews?”
She spits out my name as if it’s sour on her tongue. I can’t say that’s the first time that’s happened, but considering I don’t know her, it seems like an intense reaction.
I’ve played this game before, though. I laugh as though she’s told a ridiculous joke. “Oh, of course, I have everything ready. Are you up to speed on everything Beth and I discussed?” The implication that she’s not up to snuff is laced through the question just as bluntly as her insinuation.
Claire jumps in, defusing the polite dominance battle with her effervescent warmth.
“Sorry for the ambush, but I didn’t want to share Beth’s story without her permission.
You know how that is, I’m sure.” Her acknowledgement of who I am and my family’s recent drama in the media isn’t said to be mean or ugly but simply the truth.
Meredith, however, seems to be fighting a smile, though I’m not sure her lips would truly lift even with utter bliss.
Cut back on the Botox, maybe?
“Is Beth okay?” I ask, concerned.
Claire looks around, checking for press, though we’re the only ones in the shop.
She whispers so quietly that I mostly read her lips.
“She’s pregnant and can’t travel. But everything’s staying the same as we planned.
My media partner suggested Meredith to handle the actual event.
” She gestures to Meredith, who’s looking at Claire congenially, well aware that she’s stepping in to save this wedding while simultaneously avoiding the fact that she’s padding her own resumé.