Needing Nova

Chapter One

Nova

Snow slowly falls on a dark cobalt night. Blech.

Outside a cold wind whips through the barren trees, a whistle pitched reminder of winter coming to True Ridge. Nestled deep in the Appalachian Mountains, winters can be harsh here. Reason enough for me to flee True Ridge after we lost my parents on a winter’s night similar to this one.

We lost them on Christmas Eve when we were teenagers. It was just me and Orion against the world. My little brother was all I had left, but it was enough. Until last winter, when I caught him with my best friend. It would have been fine if they were honest about it. No, they lied to me for months . I caught them on Christmas, and it changed everything.

They left me with nothing. Caught up in their own world, a new world without room for me, I was all but abandoned. I had never cared much about the holidays after we lost mom and dad. Losing Orion and Oaklin was almost as hard. Having it all happen during the holidays just made me hate them more.

“Fuck all the way off with that song,” I hiss as the radio shifts from fall songs to an awful rendition of Jingle Bells

Someone chuckles behind me and I turn to see my shop boy, Hudson, watching me with an amused grin. Whatever look I have on my face wipes that grin right off his face. I almost laugh. I am not exactly a grinch, but I also have nothing to do with any of the holidays I consider stupid.

In my flower and foliage shop, Bloomin’ Babe, you will find not one hint of the coming holidays. No poinsettias. No golden sprayed foliage. Not a ribbon or a single ornamental item. With a hasty switch of the radio, I also cut off the sounds of the season.

I hate the holidays and will be as bah-humbug as I want to be.

“Take those roses to Ms. Hopson, then call it a day, Hudson.”

“Will do, Nova. Hope you have a good Thanksgiving. Remember, if you want to, we always...”

“Always save a spot at your place. Thanks, kid, I appreciate it. Tell your mama I will not be there, but I will swing by for a slice of that pumpkin pie.”

“No problem, Nova. See you in a few days,” he calls with a toss of his messy golden hair.

Hudson has been with me since I opened the shop. His mother, Tatum, was one of my first customers five years ago. They’ve become the closest thing I have to family here. Sometimes I do take Tatum up on offers to come celebrate with them. Just never Christmas. I have not celebrated in years.

Sweeping the store out, gathering the dropped leaves and petals for compost, I try to shake off my mood. I might not be a grinch, but I sure hate seeing the lights go up, the ribbons hanging from streetlamps, and the awful music pouring out of every store front. True Ridge is a traditional little town who celebrates all the holidays in a big way. I always skirted on the edge of being traditional. I wore a pantsuit to prom, I was not baptized until I could choose my faith, and I never bought into gender roles in any relationships.

“Doesn’t mean you need to hate the holidays,” I whisper under my breath.

Bucking of tradition is not why I hate the coming holiday. That is due to pain and good old resentment. Losing everything at once will do that. I tried to celebrate our first Christmas after we lost our parents, but it was just never the same. How can you celebrate anything with half of yourself gone?

Finishing my closing tasks, I round the store one last time, making sure all the plants have water and have all been trimmed. I step behind the counter to close the day out when I hear the jingle of the front doorbell. I frown as I glance at the clock behind me, wondering who would come in so late.

“Come on Tink,” a low voice calls, full of humor. “He wants to be part of it too. Don’t you, Nibs?”

Despite my previous irritation, I can’t help but smile. Peter Pan? I push up on my toes to see over the rows of flowers and creeping leaves of greenery. Just as I do this, the man stands up, towering over every flower, every vine, and every leaf in the shop.

Bright green eyes sparkle in the soft twinkling lights of my shop. A crooked grin tilts a soft, full mouth as he nods at me, giving away that he caught me staring. I flush and bow my head. He rounds a corner, and I see two adorable kids on either side of him, clutching his gloved hands tight.

“Evening, ma’am,” he begins, his eyes traveling over me in a way that feels too intimate. I blink at the two kids who have his dark hair. “We’re here to get a gift for their mother. Thanksgiving is also her birthday. It often gets forgotten with all the holiday festivities. I want to be sure we celebrate her.”

Well, that melted a little of my ice-cold heart. I smile and nod, leading the cute little family towards some of my prettiest displays. I explain why the flowers would be perfect for their mother as the kids take time looking at each. They ask questions about what all the flowers are, why I put them together the way I do, and they ask him how big a bouquet they can get.

“They say size does not matter,” he teases with a wink at me. “For your mother though...I would assume something big. The biggest we can find.”

“If we’re going for something big, this one might work,” I suggest as I lead them to a towering bouquet that I was hesitant to even create.

With my distaste for the holidays, I don’t offer much in the way of Christmas. Other shops do so I send customers there if that is what they want. This year, I decided to create something that had been in my head for a while. It is a recreation of the last Christmas tree I did with my brother and our parents. Big, white flowers and velvety red roses replace the bulbs. Fresh picked pinecones and soft baby’s breath sparkle with snow dust. It’s a beautiful display I am proud of. It also stands almost as tall as the children.

“Oh wow, that is stunning. Did you…is this your work?”

“Y-yes, it is,” I stutter over his praise. “As I Said…it was in my head, I had to get it out.”

“Is that how…how this whole place is so amazing?” He turns in a slow circle to take in the whole shop, cocking his head at me. There is something soft in his bright green eyes as they meet mine.

Laughing, I flush yet again. What is wrong with me? “Yes. I am…well, I guess I am the Bloom Babe,” I tease, doing a curtsy with a flip of my worn shop apron. “This is what I do. What I see in my head has to come out some way. It was this or awful artwork of some kind.”

“Hmm, it must be beautiful up there,” he comments, reaching out to tap my temple. Turning a little, he spreads his arms at all the flower arrangements and plant displays that fill my little shop. “To create all this to get out what is in your head. I bet it stays beautiful up there.”

For a moment, the whole world goes still. Outside the snow slows, lights go muted, and all I smell is Jasmine. It is just him and I standing here. My heart feels as if it is rabbit hopping in my chest. I can barely catch my breath as he reaches out, brushing some fallen hair from my brow.

“Sissa will love it,” the little girl with bright eyes and dark hair shouts.

Just as fast as it started, the moment ends. As it should. Why would a man come to a flower store with his kids and flirt with the shop girl? Why would the shop girl be foolish enough to flirt back?

“Sissa would, indeed,” the man agrees, smiling at her.

“Christmas,” the little guy says, his eyes big as they take in the large, pine tree shaped display.

“That’s right, Nibs. Mama loves Christmas but we’re going to celebrate her birthday first though. Let’s do it. It’s perfect, thank you,” his voice is warm as he turns his attention back to me.

It’s uncomfortable the way he smiles at me, the way it makes my heart continue to gallop . Ignore it. I move past them to grab the bouquet. I am stunned when he moves too, his big hand pressing to the small of my back as his big body brushes against mine. Another flutter of my heart that almost aches hits me. He’s got a wife and kids. Shut that shit down, Nova!

“Let me get that, honey,” he hums, his voice close to my ear. “It’s so beautiful.”

Stepping back as if the brief contact had shocked me, I bow my head. I cannot look in his eyes. I am wrong for getting so fluttered and flushed over a man I should not. A married man. With adorable children. Not to mention good taste. Celebrating a holiday birthday that others often forget, plus Peter Pan tendencies? Yeah, definitely good taste.

“Thank you. I do not do Christmas usually but...this was in my head.”

Turning to head to the counter, I gather a few things to wrap the bouquet. Butcher paper, a canvas bag, and some ribbons. Setting the big bouquet on the battered wood counter, good-taste dad beams a bright smile at me. I start to return it before I notice the two littles at his side. They whisper to each other, giggle, and smile up at him with obvious adoration.

“They have your smile,” I tell him as I wrap the flowers, careful as I tie a big, red bow around the milk glass vase.

“Heard that before. My sister hates it,” he puts a hand up, whispering behind it towards me. “I continue to torture her even when I am not there to do it. What more could a little brother ask for?”

I stare at his bright smile, his sparkling green eyes, as I process his words. Sissa. His sister. Not his wife? The cute little lost boy and girl are not his children, but his niece and nephew. I am never that sort of lucky.

“Uh…I uh…I think my brother might say the same thing,” I respond.

“Who would ever want to torture you? Someone who makes a place beautiful with her flowers, and that little smile you keep hiding from me.”

I am never, ever, this sort of lucky. “ My brother would. Long story. With words not appropriate for little lost boys and girls,” I tease with a shrug as I glance at the cute little face smiling up at us.

“Well, you know,” good-taste guy grins up at me. “Once we wrap this gift up, I am taking my niece and nephew out to watch the tree lighting. Then it is all the pumpkin pie we can shove in our faces. Want to tell me about it all over pie and Christmas lights?”

As if the invite opened a door to a wave of ice-cold air, I am hit. Hit with memories of Thanksgivings and Christmas tree decorating with my brother. With my mother and father. I am cold down to the bone as I shake my head, shoving his wrapped gift across the counter stiffly.

“No, no thank you. Have a good night, folks. I am closing now, if you could just…” I swallow back a lump of pain as I brush past them to flip the closed sign over. Steeling my spine, I open the door to usher them out.

Unaware of the tension sparking in the room, the two little tykes rush out towards the street. Outside I can hear Christmas carolers. I start to panic. They work their way down Main Street towards the center of town. Where the huge holiday tree is about to be lit. They cannot stop here. I cannot face any of them again. Not again.

“Hey, I apologize if back there I was too forward,” the kind, handsome, good-taste gentlemen states as he hesitates at the door.

All I can see are twinkling lights and falling snow. Everything else is a blur. I turn my head away in shame when I see that he clocked the tears. No. No! I am not going to fall apart again. Least of all with a witness.

“Hey, honey, is there something…is everything ok?”

“Yes. I am fine. Please go. Have a good evening.”

I start to turn before a warm palm presses to my cheek. He tilts my head back up towards him, his eyes searching my face. It is the strangest thing, but it feels as if I cannot hide from those eyes. Not my pain or my petty anger, not my grief of my emptiness.

“I will be at the tree lighting. Offer to listen still stands. At the park. Or over coffee. Right here and right now, if you need. I am a good listener, honey.”

For just a moment, I stare back at him, smiling. I bet he is. “No. Thank you but it's not something I want to talk about. You have a good night, Peter Pan,” I tease with a sorrowful smile.

He turns to go with a nod, seeing I am not wavering. I wonder what it would be like to talk about how much I used to love this night. The night before Thanksgiving when the whole town gathers to celebrate the tree lighting. It was always such a special night, full of joy and hope.

How many nights could we have been there at the same time? What would it be like to go tonight, with those two cute kids? But no. Not even handsome Peter Pan and two cute lost kids could convince me.

I won't ever celebrate Christmas again.