—13— Wyatt #2
“I don’t just say shit.” He nods over his shoulder.
“You see all those stupid arches coming in? All those big pots on the way in? So full of extra doily shit, looked like a crafts store barfed into a dump truck of garden scraps. They all try too hard. It’s annoying.
” He crosses his arms as his eyes settle on the centerpiece.
“Yours … they’re less showy. You let the flowers speak for themselves. ”
I blink.
Dumbfounded.
As distracted as I might be with Diego’s presence tonight, the sight of the other floral arrangements were not lost on me since the moment we arrived.
Huge. Embellished with extra decorations between all of the flowers, long spikes of wood, lengths of bamboo, shiny golden ribbons—all matters of glitz and glamour.
Glitz and glamor that I don’t have.
And with every hyper-colored arrangement in the giant vases and flower arches we passed coming in, I felt smaller and smaller.
Who would even notice the centerpieces at this point? Who would notice my cute Wishing Blooms logo and consider hiring me for their event? Who would care?
Diego notices. Diego cares.
“Why’d these people only hire you to do some of the pieces?” he asks suddenly. “Why not all of them?”
I shake out of my thoughts. “Huh? All of—?” I nearly laugh. “My little shop? Doing all of the flowers for this big event? No, no. I wouldn’t be able to pull off all of this on my own.”
“Not with that attitude.”
I look at him. “Seriously, I’d need ten of me.”
“You could do it. And better.” He kicks back his drink.
I’ve never thought anything of it, Cissy asking me just for the table centerpieces each year and nothing more. I always figured it was because she knew I was a small flower shop and didn’t have a big factory with dozens of employees at my disposal.
I just told myself I was lucky to be in business at all, what with my parents away and leaving me in charge. What is it about Diego that makes me question things I’ve just let be?
And I don’t have much time to dwell on it, because: “Wyatt!” I barely get my head turned before Bonnie’s thrown her long arms around me. “You look adorable! Ahh, I can’t stand it!”
“S-Same!” I manage while squished against her chest. (There’s a lot of chest.) I free myself to find her bearded husband Kirk next to her offering an apologetic grimace. Ten-year-old Kirkland sulks next to him. Or is he eleven yet? “Enjoying the festivities?”
“Hardly,” blurts Bonnie. She may be a few drinks in.
“Anthony’s so boring now that he doesn’t drink as much as he used to—I blame Bridger—and Pete and Juni don’t wanna travel with their newborn, which I guess I get, but—” She finally notices Diego sitting next to me.
Her whole tone changes. “Well, hi there. Are you the new hunk at the auto shop Joel’s been goin’ on about? ”
Diego stares back at her, appearing understandably uncertain how to respond.
She turns back to me. “He’s quiet.”
Kirk shouts, “Yo, Jeremiah!” and heads off. Bonnie chases him, grumbling, “As if you don’t see these people every day,” with her sulky kid trailing behind.
We don’t have a second to breathe before Tanner and Billy show up making the rounds, with Tanner already cracking jokes about his brother Jimmy’s big dance number later tonight.
“Dude’s been rehearsing his booty off like he ain’t done one of these things every year!
” Lance and Chad get involved, Chad insisting there’s no way they can outdo their number from last year.
“Y’all better pay attention tonight,” chimes in Billy, uncharacteristically loose and carefree, his bowtie cockeyed, “because Jimmy added a crazy lift at the end that’s gonna have Cissy prayin’ she has insurance. ”
A little girl races between the tables with three balloons tied around her wrist, soon followed by an apologetic father—oh, it’s Dr. Emory, not her father—attempting to capture her before she goes and clotheslines someone in heels.
Is that his granddaughter? Does he have a granddaughter? Who the heck’s the girl?
The table behind us explodes into laughter.
Someone’s drink is spilled, narrowly missing me.
Tanner and Billy get lost cracking Tyrone and Omar up over a shared experience involving rogue sparklers this past Fourth of July right here in this backyard.
Kelsey, the Kings’ daughter, is bored stiff, until something catches her eye and she springs from the table with a, “Toby! Vann! Over here! Hey!” then flying away squealing, her fathers chuckling to each other.
I turn to Diego, worried this is all too much.
Instead, I find him with a strangely calm expression, eyebrows lowered slightly as if in deep and immersive thought, taking it all in with an eerie sort of peace.
I recognize Marcos in his eyes at once.
The pensive, observant, kicking-back-watching-the-craziness expression that would take over his face at many a gathering.
I wonder if Marcos’s brother was like that, too. Wielding that specific sense of not quite being detached from the world. Just taking the madness in slowly, one breath at a time.
“You alright?” I ask.
I worry I was too quiet to hear, until after a moment, he says, “Yeah.”
Not sure if he means it. Or trying to convince himself. Lance explodes into laughter again, shaking the table. The little girl—still as free as an open flame—rushes by yet again, with the pursuing doctor stopping for breath, hunched over, gasping.
I notice Diego’s glass is empty. “Wanna get another drink?”
He glances at me.
Studying my face.
I gaze back at him, taken by the serenity in his eyes. All of the madness around us seems to dull whenever we look at each other.
Then he gives me a nod. “Sure.”
We’re out of our seats.
No one notices.