5. Becky
Chapter five
Becky
T he sound of murmured voices and soft laughter fills the town square as I walk past the bakery, holding B. snug in her little carrier.
The kitten’s been my constant companion these days, a bundle of comfort and calm in a world that feels like it’s teetering on the edge of chaos.
But the murmurs around me are different today. Instead of the usual chatter about the weather and bake sales, I catch fragments of something else.
“...did you see them at the square yesterday?”
“...holding hands. Looked awfully cozy.”
“Never thought Mike would settle down. Especially not with a florist.”
The words make my cheeks burn, and I duck my head, hoping no one notices. Gossip travels faster than wildfire in a town like this, and apparently, my ‘relationship’ with Mike has become the hottest topic.
I can’t even be mad—it’s not like we didn’t know this would happen. But the weight of the attention is heavier than I expected.
By the time I reach Ellie’s matchmaking service, I’m still replaying the whispers in my head. Ellie greets me at the door with her usual sunny smile, her hair pulled back into a neat fishtail braid. Maggie Ann has stopped by to chat as well.
“Becky!” Ellie says, ushering me inside. “You look adorable, as always.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, setting B.’s carrier down near the desk.
Ellie tilts her head, studying me. “What’s wrong? You look… flustered.”
Sinking into one of her cozy chairs, I sigh. “It’s nothing. Just the town being the town. Everyone’s talking about me and Mike.”
Ellie’s eyes light up. “That’s good! It means the plan is working.”
“Yeah,” I say, fiddling with my fingers. “It’s just… weird. I’m not used to being the center of attention.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better,” Ellie says with a wink, “you and Mike are officially the cutest fake couple this town has ever seen.”
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “Thanks, Ellie. That helps.”
I tell the girls that I finally met Mike and Lulu’s mother, Julia Thorn. She’s a tall, elegant woman with kind eyes and a voice that instantly put me at ease.
“She hugged me tight,” I say, happily remembering the open way Julia had accepted me into their home and their lives. “She’s a gardener, and we had so much to talk about.”
“We had a lively discussion about flowers, gardening, and recipes, and by the end of our chat, it felt like I’d known Julia for years,” I add. “On her advice, I’ve decided to start a new venture. Who’s in?”
“What is it?” Ellie asks curiously.
“I’m going to teach ‘language of flowers’ classes. The idea came to me while chatting with Julia,” I say excitedly. “My aunt taught me so much, and I’d like to share it with others.”
“Share already!” Ellie interjects.
“Flowers have been used for centuries to communicate emotions,” I explain. “Back in Victorian times, people couldn’t always say what they meant out loud, so they used flowers instead. Each bloom had a meaning, and if you knew the language, you could send entire messages without saying a word.”
“Like a secret love letter in a bouquet?” Ellie murmurs, intrigued.
“Exactly,” I say, my excitement growing. “A bouquet wasn’t just about looking pretty—it was a coded message. The right combination could confess love, express regret, or even reject a suitor without a single spoken word.”
“Most people know this one—red roses mean love and passion.”
Maggie Ann sighs dramatically. “A classic.”
“But if someone gave you a yellow rose in the Victorian era, it didn’t mean love—it meant friendship, or worse, jealousy,” I explain, enjoying sharing my knowledge with a willing audience.
Maggie Ann nudges Ellie playfully. “Better make sure none of your matchmaking couples send yellow roses to the wrong people.”
Ellie laughs. “Noted.”
I smile. “Daisies represent innocence and new beginnings.”
Playful banter fills the air, and I feel an overwhelming sense of joy. I knew both Ellie and Maggie Ann would jump on board.
I proceed to tell them about Julia’s herb garden in the backyard and explain my plans for the classes. It will give me something to do while I wait for the shop to be rebuilt. Luckily, the insurance will pay for a rental, and since I’ll be staying with Lulu, I won’t need money for expenses.
“It’s perfect,” Maggie Ann says when I mention it later that day. “People love learning something new, and it’s for a good cause. We’ll raise enough money to get your shop back on its feet in no time.”
“Maggie Ann, Julia told me that she bakes a lot with the herbs in their garden. I just loved that,” I share.
“Interesting,” Maggie Ann muses. I can see the gears turning in her mind as she thinks about her next batch of savory bakes.
“Yum,” Ellie remarks.
We decide the first class will include a small but enthusiastic group of women from town eager to learn the meanings behind their favorite blooms. I will teach them how to create arrangements that tell a story—roses for love, daisies for innocence, sunflowers for loyalty.
By the end of the brainstorming session, the room is filled with laughter. It’s the first time in weeks that I feel truly hopeful.
This is what I love most—sharing the meaning of flowers, watching people discover how they can tell a story with just a handful of blooms.
And as I catch Mike’s profile approaching through the shop window, I wonder…
Could flowers be speaking for us too?
***
Mike takes me to the florist shop to check on the progress of the reconstruction. The insurance agent’s initial assessment had been encouraging—most of the damage is superficial, and the structure is sound. But the repairs will still take time, which means I’ll be staying at Lulu and Mike’s house for the foreseeable future.
“Looks like it’ll be about eight weeks at most,” Mike says, gesturing to the freshly sanded walls and newly installed beams. “They’re moving fast.”
“That’s a relief,” I say, running my fingers over the counter where I used to arrange bouquets. “It feels strange seeing it like this, but I can already picture it coming back to life.”
“You’ll get there,” Mike says, his voice steady.
Glancing at him, I see his expression is unreadable but warm. There’s something in his tone that makes my chest feel lighter, like maybe I really believe everything is going to be okay.
That evening, as I’m arranging a flower vase in the kitchen of Thorn Ranch, my phone buzzes on the counter. Expecting a message from Ellie or Maggie Ann, my stomach drops when I see the name on the screen.
Paul.
I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen before finally opening the message.
We need to talk. Don’t think I’m going to let this go. You can’t hide behind Mike forever.
My breath catches, and I clutch the phone tightly, my heart pounding in my chest.
My hands shake as I reread Paul’s message, the words blurring together. The knot in my stomach tightens, and for a moment, I feel like I can’t breathe.
Mike’s voice startles me. “Becky?”
I whirl around. He’s standing in the doorway, his sharp eyes catching the tension I can’t hide.
“Everything okay?”
I glance at my phone as another notification flashes across the screen.
Mike follows my gaze, his jaw tightening. “Is it him?”
I nod. “It’s Paul. He sent me a message.”
Mike’s expression darkens. He picks up the phone, his face hardening. When he looks back at me, fire blazes in his eyes.
“You’re not dealing with this alone,” he says firmly.
For the first time since reading Paul’s message, I feel a flicker of safety standing in Mike’s presence.
“I’ll handle it,” Mike says, his voice resolute. “I promise.”