8. Bloomed #2
I wanted him so badly all at once, yet could do nothing about it—other than ignore the wetness pooling in my panties.
“The shelf—I meant. It should be permanently attached to the wall,” he clarified and swallowed, his eyes on mine turning apologetic, like a man recognizing a wound he’d caused without meaning to and not knowing how to fix it.
His gaze finally flicked away to my lavender oil bottle. “Yours?” I moved my hand, and he placed the bottle gently on the table, still bracing the shelves steady with his other arm. “How much?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never sold anything before.”
“What’s in them?”
I listed off the lemon, the lavender, the rosemary, and more, and then the glass bottles I’d chosen because the plastic ones cheapened the whole thing.
“Figure the material cost per bottle. Add your labor hourly, processing and labeling both. Double that. Then add a keystone markup, ten to twenty percent depending on your market. That’s your retail price.”
The formula rolled off his tongue so naturally it made my stomach flutter, like he actually believed in what I could do.
It made me want things I had no business wanting from a man with one foot out the door.
I gaped at him. “You sound awfully knowledgeable in retail operations.”
“Uh, well, my brothers all went into business,” he rushed to respond.
“Brothers? How many?”
“Several.” He glanced at my bottle again. “A business name and logo, and professionally printed labels wouldn’t hurt either.”
“That assumes I sell more of these after today. Which is doubtful.”
“Why? You could start a little business on the side, call it Wylde Blooms. Watch it grow, and add more to your savings account.”
“I already have enough jobs in town, thank you very much. Don’t need to add another thing.”
“Haven’t you ever thought about doing something bigger? Even leaving this little town?”
My hands settled on my hips. “What do you have against Forest Grove?”
“It’s just so… small.”
I huffed. “Or maybe your life is too big, Mister Job Back East.” Jeez, I even air-quoted with my fingers. “Look, it’s not so bad here. If you’d stay a while, you might actually see everything it offers.”
“Like what?” He rolled his eyes.
I almost said Like me, but stopped myself just in time as Jake pushed back through the door with the drill under one arm and a level in his hand.
“Alright. Let me at those shelves. Don’t worry, Sage, we’ll have these secure in no time,” he assured, pushing the finger trigger of the drill for dramatic noise and effect. I sulked away from Carter’s side.
Fifteen minutes later, the wall anchors properly set, the men stepped back, admiring their work. Ash had already settled the bill, taking everything to go, and they gathered their coats.
Harper thanked them all and insisted on paying them, but they exited before she could get money out of the register.
Carter lingered behind, donning my father’s coat. The sight of him in it caught me by surprise. The way he filled it out gave it new life. My father may even have liked him—if he was the type of man to stick around. But he wasn’t.
He paused near the table where I worked to put my best guess on the price cards at last.
“Have a nice day,” I offered the generic line I gave many customers.
The corner of his mouth curved. “I’ll try. Where can I find you on Friday? I owe you for the clothes.”
“See, that’s the thing about small towns. A person can’t really hide.” I gestured around the shop. “Ask anyone and they’ll probably have seen me and can point you in the right direction.”
He scoffed and walked out. My shoulders dropped; I was cruel and knew it. Through the window, I watched him catch up with Jake on the sidewalk, the two of them falling into step, breath clouding in the cold air.
Harper startled me at my side. “Everyone in the shop had a clear view of the two of you this whole time. Mark my words, there’ll be gossip going around about you by tomorrow.”
“There’s nothing to go around.” I shook my head.
“So you claim. But people see what they want to see, and people talk.”
Great. I was living my own Forest Grove Gossip Gal moment, with no genuine romance to show for it.
An hour later, Pam arrived and didn’t blink at the price.
She paid in full in cash for all the bottles, added a few more things from the shelves, and stayed forty minutes longer chatting with Harper about local markets and holiday pop-ups and the print shop in Lewistown that did the church bulletins.
They could apparently do labels and logos for next to nothing.
“Hear that, Sage? You could get yourself a pretty logo. Let’s see… what could your business name be?”
“Wylde Blooms,” I repeated the name Carter had uttered earlier before I could stop myself.
“Ooh, I like it. And I’m honored to have been your first customer,” Pam exclaimed. By the time she left, it was mid-afternoon, and time for me to head next door to relieve Ivy for an afternoon shift at her store.
“How does it feel to have that extra cash?” Harper pointed to my pocket.
“It was just a onetime thing.” I reached in and curled my fingers around the money. Every cent was going into my future travel fund.
“That’s what everyone says at the beginning.” Harper held up the napkin where she’d drawn a loose lavender sprig, the words Wylde Blooms below it, the letters rounded and clean. “Before they know it, they have a business to run.”
She set the sketch in front of me. I admired what she was trying to do, but I’d spent a lot of years being useful to other people.
I’d never once thought that made me anything other than someone who showed up when she was needed.
Poppy had her college and career plans. Daisy had the orchard and Knox.
Ivy had the shop and the Chamber of Commerce, Cowboy Nights and Colt.
I traced the words Wylde Blooms with my fingertip. For the first time in years, I had something that felt like it was truly mine.
Unfortunately, the person I most wanted to share this small victory with was the same man who had restlessness in his eyes and heading out of town soon.
I folded the napkin and slipped it into my apron pocket anyway. Some dreams were worth holding onto, even if they came with an expiration date.