Seeds of Doubt
KALLIE
“Bloomhaus, Kallie speaking.”
“Hi, Callie. This is George Marco, the owner of The Grocery Spot.”
I set the floral sheers and carnations I’d been making into a fun flower “ice cream” float to the side so I can give my full attention to George. The Grocery Spot is one of the larger stores in Raven’s Hollow, with two locations on either side of the downtown area.
“Hi, Mr. Marco, how can I help you?” I say in what I like to think of as my professional boss bitch voice.
“George, please. Well, it’s a funny story. My wife stopped into Carlan’s on her way home from work the other day. Went into another man’s grocery store instead of her own husband’s, can you believe that?” He chuckles.
I laugh myself, playfully saying, “Oh, the betrayal.”
“Right,” he laughs again. “But I’m not calling about my darling wife’s poor choices.
While she was at that other store, she picked up a few flower arrangements for our house.
Absolutely raved about how beautiful and creative they were.
She loved them so much, she mentioned going back.
Now you can understand, I just can’t have that.
What would the other grocers say? I have an image to protect. ”
I try to muffle my snort of laughter as I picture a group of grocery store owners all wearing their store aprons, gossiping around a display of watermelon.
“I’m sure it would cause quite a stir,” I manage to get out.
George huffs out a laugh. “Exactly. So, I partook in a bit of espionage.” He says conspiratorially.
I suck in a mock breath of shock and awe. “Oh goodness, George.”
“It’s true. I called and pretended to be a customer and asked them where the flowers came from.”
“Very clever,” I say, sensing where this conversation is going and smiling.
“Thank you,” he says cheerily. “Once I discovered the source of the flowers, I, of course, looked you up. Clearly, I can’t have my wife going to Carlans’ for your flowers, so I wanted to reach out and discuss carrying Bloomhaus arrangements at both Grocery Spots.”
Holy. Shitballs. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale.
For the next hour, in between customers and call-in orders, I speak with Mr. Marco—George—about the business agreement I have with Carlan’s and FreshMart. We end the call with an agreement for me to send over the contracts for him to look over and schedule a follow-up call next week.
I’m through the roof excited and want to call Evren and Mel immediately, but I’ve got the float and the rest of the FreshMart order to finish. As soon as I get those completed, I’ll call.
An hour later, that plan gets derailed by the bell over the door chiming. I’m seriously regretting my decision to give Grey the day off.
“Welcome to Bloomhaus! I’ll be right with you!
” I call from the back of the shop. Thankfully, my shop is small.
There’s a small front area with a few displays, a stand with grab-and-go arrangements, and two coolers about the size of two large refrigerators next to the checkout counter.
The back is a galley-style work area with counters and shelving lining both walls.
The narrow walkway leads to the large back cooler, which holds all the processed flowers and arrangements ready to go out for delivery or pick-up.
“Thanks,” comes a short, feminine voice that is just north of the edge of annoyance. I place the last of the FreshMart orders into the back cooler and head out the doorway to the main shop.
And then nearly trip on air.
Jackson Frost, International Supernatural hockey player, in all his ridiculously tall, sexy glory, is looking at a display of succulents with a curvy strawberry blonde on his arm. The descendant of the Jack Frost is a tall drink of water with lean muscles and alluring moonstone skin.
Drool worthy? Absolutely. But he’s no Evren.
I’m not a sports girl by any means, but even I know of Jackson Frost and the Crimson Reign.
They moved here not long ago after the massive tournament the city hosted.
Our city fell in love with the team, and they fell in love with the city.
After the tournament concluded, they relocated and brought an amazing influx of business with them.
Once I regain control of my momentary drool moment, I don my best smile and hope I don’t sound like a star-struck loon.
“Hi there. Sorry for the wait. I’m Kallie. How can I help you guys today?”
They turn to me, both wearing what I can only describe as pleasantly tight smiles. Like they are happy but on the verge of agitation. It’s like looking at a living, breathing embodiment of the grumpy/grumpy book trope.
“We’re getting married and looking for a florist.” The woman says.
Before I can continue, she barrels on, “I’m gonna level with you right now, Kallie.
Frosty,” she says, pointing at Jackson, “and I are not the most personable of patient people. I’ve lost count of the vendors we’ve spoken to at this point, but you are the sixth flower shop today, and I’m hanging on by the thinnest icicle. ”
“Totally get that. Weddings are a lot,” I say calmly.
“Even more so when you’re planning it around hockey practice and then the regular season, plus running a catering business that also happens to cater for said hockey team.” She says, giving Jackson a vicious side eye.
Jackson, in the meantime, has been standing next to his bride, stone-faced and silent. Until she mentions catering. Then he cracks a smile and wraps his arm around her.
“If it weren’t for your catering, we never would have met.”
When she looks up at him, and their eyes meet, I see the way they soften for each other. It’s such a tender moment, my heart clenches.
I hope that’s the way Evren and I look at each other, I absently think.
“That and Mistletoe Mischief Frost,” she says softly, smiling at him.
“Still a ridiculous name,” he says, leaning down to kiss her quickly before turning to me and extending a hand.
“I’m Jackson Frost, but please call me Jackson. Sorry for coming off so…” he searches for the word as we shake hands.
“Brutish,” she says, extending her hand as I release Jackson’s and laugh. “Grace Balentine. Nice to meet you. Mostly. No offense, but as I said, patience is not my strong suit.”
“Oh my god, you own Bite Me Baby! Your frosted cookies are like some sort of food crack. I could literally eat my weight in those babies and have zero regrets.” I word vomit before I remember I’m supposed to be in professional boss bitch mode.
Grace laughs and seems to relax a bit.
I shake my head and clasp my hands to my heart.
“Okay, so how about we skip all the tiny details and get to the meat and bones of things. Date, aesthetic, how elaborate, and budget.”
Jackson and Grace look at each other and smile before turning back to me.
“Winter, no fucking clue, define elaborate, and cost efficient.” Ticking each off on a finger.
“Budget is not an issue,” Jackson interjects.
I nod, thinking for a moment before proceeding.
“Winter is open, as long as it’s not Christmas Eve or Day.”
“Not a chance in hell. Christmas is its own sacred celebration,” Grace interrupts as Jackson groans and rolls his eyes.
”Watch it, Frosty,” Grace growls at her fiancé. He holds up his hands in mock surrender, but rolls his eyes at me once again when Grace turns her attention back to me.
“Ok, no Christmas. Winter is good. We can work on aesthetics and discuss budget later. As for elaborate, are we talking appetizer, seven-course meal, or buffet?”
When Grace smiles, her whole face lights up.
“I like her,” Grace says.
“Same,” Jackson replies.
“You’re hired,” they both say in unison, making us all laugh.
I grab my appointment book and schedule them for a consult in two weeks. This is an incredible opportunity that will bring even more attention to my little shop.
Could this day get any better? I pull out my phone to text Mel and Evren.
I’m floating so high on the wedding booking and the new contract with The Grocery Spot, I barely register the bell over the door.
“Welcome to” I begin, looking up from my phone, only to discover Matt. “How can I help you, Matt?”
He walks around the shop, a smug look on his face. “I don’t get the whole greeting?” He snarks.
I watch him continue walking through the shop, touching shelves, lifting the plant leaves, and I wonder how in all the realms I married this jackass.
Matt’s an attractive man, sure. Today, he has on a dark navy suit that fits well and showcases his lean frame. I wonder briefly if he came from some sort of interview.
He’s of average height, with lightly curled black hair and an olive complexion. His smile, which I once found so charming, is sleezy. He’s dismissive and rude, with an air about him that screams scumbag.
The complete opposite of Evren.
“I’ve got things to do, Matt. What do you want?” I say, moving around the counter.
He makes his way to stand opposite me, much like our marriage, and smiles smugly.
“I’ve heard business is blooming,” he laughs, but it’s not pleasant and warm like when Evren laughs. No, this is hollow and mocking and makes the hairs on my neck stand on end.
“See what I did there, Kal?” He laughs again.
I huff out a sigh and glance at the clock.
“Yes, things are good,” I say dryly while wondering where this conversation is going. Matt never gave two shits about the business unless he needed money.
Matt hums, his smile growing into something vicious. He reaches into his jacket, retrieves an envelope, and hands it to me.
“I could have had that delivered,” he says once I take the envelope from his hand, “but I couldn’t resist doing it myself.”
I can feel my brow scrunching as I open the envelope. When I open the paper, my heart drops.
“You can’t be serious?” I all but shout at Matt, who looks like the cat who ate the canary.
He shakes his head and turns for the door. “I never thought you were capable, Kal. Hiding money from me so you didn’t have to pay in the divorce. Hurtful.”
“You fucking snake!” I say to the now-empty shop. The bastard served me with court papers. Papers that claim I withheld income that would have affected our divorce settlement. And there’s a mention of a lien on the business.
I call Mel and have a complete freak out, word vomiting the entire altercation with Matt. As soon as I finish, she urges me to call my lawyer.
In utter panic, I call my divorce lawyer. After emailing her the paperwork, she confirms my fears. Matt is going to drag me back to court to try and milk every last cent of income I have.
Motherfucker.
When I hang up with the lawyer, I go through the motions of closing up the shop in a numb stupor. Evren texts and asks if I want to meet for dinner. I look at the message, then the papers in my hand. For the first time in two weeks, seeds of doubt take root.
I don’t want to drag Evren into my mess, but I don’t want to lose him. The lawyer said she would do some digging to see if there’s any way to get out of the lien or avoid court. All I can do now is try to keep this from Evren, who will try fix this mess, and pray that my lawyer finds a way out.
And in the meantime, try not to let the seeds grow deep roots.