Chapter 32
Lila
The bell above the door sang out in a bright chime as I stepped into The Wild Bloom.
I had exactly thirty minutes for a break, and I was strict in taking it.
Grams always said it was important to be good to yourself.
Taking a walk or visiting friends was a great way for me to do that, especially on long days.
Sage’s shop was one of my favorite places. It was always warm because of the plants, and it always smelled of loamy, damp earth and blossoms. It reminded me of spring, which was especially nice near the beginning of February.
The shop was always colorful with her glass bottles that she’d repurposed into vases, the shelves crammed full of plants, and the pressed flowers that she’d framed in simple wooden borders on the walls.
Her touch was everything, with whimsical chalkboard signs with doodles of vines and gnomes scattered in the pots.
Her secret wish was to gnome someone’s house.
God help the person who she picked for that.
It’d be hilarious, and I would totally help.
She appeared from behind a towering fern, auburn curls in wild disarray, apron streaked with potting soil. “Finally! The cavalry arrives.” Without preamble, she thrust a heavy pot into my hands. Damp soil clung to my sweater. “Look at this root system, Lila. Look at it.”
The fern’s leaves spilled over the sides like green fireworks. Roots tangled thick through the soil, strong and alive.
“I’m not sure what I’m looking at,” I said, though the plant did look unusually… snug.
“Poor Bob. He’s been recovering since that horrific car ride. It’s Olympia’s. She brought him all the way from Maine.” She shook her head sadly as if envisioning the poor fern smashed into the back of Olympia Quinn’s Honda. “Can you imagine. He’s got here half-frozen.”
From near the counter, Briggs shifted his stance, arms crossed, his Stetson shadowing his expression. “What was wrong with it? Looks like any other plant.”
Today, he had been following me around, and I am already tired of it. I could tell Sage wasn’t impressed either. The silence that followed was heavy with her outrage.
“Bob’s been ill,” she said dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest as if he’d struck her. “You might as well have insulted someone’s child. Mister Redhawk, let me enlighten you. A Boston fern is practically royalty in the plant kingdom.”
“Royalty that sheds on the floor.” His gaze flicked to the carpet and the littering of tiny fronds near the display. “Maybe you’re right, and there is something wrong with it. Could need more water.”
Sage narrowed her eyes at him like she was choosing whether to duel him with pruning shears or punch him in the face. Then her lips curved. “Poor Bob has been through things you wouldn’t believe. He’s in recovery.”
Laughter bubbled out of me before I could stop it. “You’ve officially made him regret walking through the door.”
Briggs adjusted his hat, the gesture neat and deliberate. “I’m here because you insisted on a break. Not because I’m shopping. I can pivot, though.”
“You think you’re here to guard Lila,” Sage countered, leaning an elbow on the counter. “But really, you’re here because you like my plants. I can tell. Stoic cowboy on the outside, closet succulent-whisperer on the inside.”
“I don’t talk to plants, but I could be a closet-succulent whisper if needed.” He gave her a little look that made her blush.
Briggs wasn’t much of a talker, and I hadn’t been able to learn much about him so far, only that he’d served in the military and perhaps spent some time on the rodeo circuit.
This banter with my bestie was intriguing.
Maybe he was interested in her? I’d be a pal and try to do a little match-making, but he didn’t even live here, and that was a no-go for Sage. She was a hometown girl.
Not to mention, I didn’t know much about Briggs. I didn’t even know if he was single.
“Exactly what someone who talks to plants would say.” Sage gave a flippant shrug and a hair toss like she dismissed him out of hand. Total rage bait.
I nearly choked on my laugh, hugging the fern tighter. Sage had that relentless spark, and it was impossible to resist. Briggs’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Could you take this? Or maybe set Bob back on the counter? I think he’s gained a pound or two.”
Sage caught it, too. “See, Lila, he’s cracking. There’s a smile. Next week, he’ll be naming orchids after his childhood pets.”
“I don’t have orchids,” he grumped.
“You will,” she said with absolute certainty, taking the fern from me and setting it back on the counter.
The banter carried on while Sage darted around the shop, tying up bouquets of lavender, humming under her breath while we talked. Briggs stayed near the door like a watchful sentinel, but his eyes followed her movements more than he probably realized.
At one point, Sage slid a small journal across the counter. Its cover was pressed with wildflowers and stitched with care. “Here. A manly pressed-flower journal. Start with daisies.”
Briggs touched it with two fingers, expression unreadable. “Daisies are manly?”
“If a Viking can braid his hair, you can press flowers. Don’t limit yourself. It’s not good for your constitution. Let yourself breathe, Mr. Redhawk.”
That pulled a real smile out of him, brief but there. I felt something inside me ease at the sight. For all the heaviness shadowing my life lately, the warmth in this little shop made me smile.
“You two are getting along disturbingly well.” Letting myself lean into the moment, I smiled at her.
Sage smirked. “It’s called making friends, Merrick. You should try it.”