21. Snow Maiden’s Aria #2
“I am,” Philippe said, but his tone remained uncertain. “I am. I miss the shop. I miss Paris. But...”
“It’s exciting,” Louna supplied.
Philippe allowed a small smile to break the seriousness of his expression. “I’m grateful for the flower shop, for our quiet lives. But sometimes... well, we’ve had years of quiet. It was nice to be a part of the action again.”
“Jean-Claude told me about how you got the shop,” Louna said, seizing the opportunity to distract herself. “How Tennyson and Lindsey bought it for you.”
“That was the least they did,” Philippe said.
Louna paused her work and frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“What?” Philippe said. “Did Jean-Claude stop the story there?” When Louna only shrugged, Philippe shook his head and blew out a breath. “It’s just like him to leave out the best part of the story. Yes, they gave us the shop, but we almost lost it before it even opened.”
“Jean-Claude didn’t say anything about it,” Louna said, blinking in surprise.
“He wouldn’t,” Philippe scoffed. “Just having the shop was enough for him—he never thought we were in danger of losing it. But he doesn’t pay attention, does he? Ah, well, I suppose that’s why there’s two of us.”
The smile pulled at Louna’s lips. “What happened?”
“The place was a disaster, first of all,” Philippe said.
He shifted under Louna’s needle, but when she pulled it back, he waved for her to continue.
“Not that I’m complaining. We didn’t mind cleaning up and doing repairs, especially after all the time we spent unable to buy.
The shop was in a good location, and the bones were good.
We weren’t afraid of a little hard work. ”
Louna pulled her thread tight, suddenly reminded of the last time she had sewed—less than a week ago, when she’d stitched the cut in Tennyson’s arm. A shiver threatened her spine, so she tightened her grip on the needle and hummed for Philippe to continue.
“We decided to gut the whole shop and completely renovate,” he said.
“We did most of the work ourselves, but we didn’t mind.
Actually, I enjoyed it, and Jean-Claude has a designer’s eye.
After a few weeks, we were seeing progress, and we started talking about setting an opening date.
And then we received a visit from the city inspector. ”
“Oh no,” Louna said, stilling again.
“Yes,” Philippe said. “And he told us that because the shop was not up to code, we could not open. We said we were still making renovations and hadn’t planned to open yet, but he said it didn’t matter. He could give us an extension, but there would be a fee.”
“A bribe,” Louna said.
Philippe nodded. “We refused. We said we would go directly to the city, that we would find another inspector, and he left. We thought that was the end of it. But then the accidents started happening. Tools disappeared if they were left out, windows would break after we replaced them. Then one night, we were almost run off the road on our way home.” Philippe took a breath, his eyes sparkling with the excitement of the tale.
“It turned out that our little shop was on very popular real estate. Two rivaling businesses wanted the land, and when the previous owner went overseas, they assumed they would be able to buy it from him. Neither of them was happy that we had acquired it instead.”
“But to go so far as to try to run you off!”
“We were determined not to be scared away,” Philippe said stoutly.
“But we were outnumbered. So much of our work on the building was destroyed each day that we were afraid to leave it at night. Then, just as we were beginning to wonder if there was any way out, a whole platoon of American Marines marched into the shop and said they were there to help. They cleaned up, put up drywall, painted, moved furniture—everything we needed, they were happy to do. Even better, our enemies saw that we had our own personal army and decided we were not worth the trouble of bothering anymore. We asked them how they had known to help, and they told us Lindsey and Tennyson had sent them.”
“How did they know?” Louna asked.
Philippe shrugged. “Perhaps they knew the other business owners were interested when they bought the shop. Tennyson is very good at putting information together. Maybe he just guessed. Whatever it was, we would never have opened without their help.”
Louna was quiet, digesting the information.
Tennyson was still sleeping—supposedly—so she wasn’t sure if he’d heard the story.
She wasn’t sure it mattered. The anger that had been coiled in her chest since he’d asked her to leave was gone.
She’d known Tennyson was a good man since that first night in Vietnam, when he’d looked at her like he was starved for light and she was the moon—and then had denied himself to finish his job.
Trust did not come easily to her, but she’d always been good at reading people.
Tennyson was a lot of things, including violent and deceitful, but he was never cruel.
Never disingenuous. Never without a reason for his actions.
And it turned out his reasons were pretty compelling.
“As long as I’ve known them,” Philippe said, drawing her attention again. “Tennyson and Lindsey have never needed help. I’m grateful for the opportunity to repay their kindnesses over the years. Thank you for coming to us.”
Another fragment chipped from her defenses. “Thank you for being here. We could not have done this without you.”
“We haven’t done it yet,” Philippe reminded her.
Louna finished her last stitch and cut the thread, smiling wickedly. “We will,” she said. “Just wait and see.”