Chapter 10
Elsie
I look up at the big, redbrick building, my belly swarming with bees. When I turn the knob on the glass door in front of me – one of two entrances to the flower shop, just like Olivia suggested – I’ll get to see my shop nearly complete for the first time.
I’ve popped in and out a handful of times over the last few weeks, but the last time I was here, the tile floor was only half done, the countertops still needed to be installed, and the wall between the two shops hadn’t been touched. It was close, but not there yet.
Now it’s finally time to see the last two months of hard work in all their glory.
I take a few seconds to admire my shop from the outside.
The white trim around the door and windows.
The pale pink, glass-paned door with the shop name, The Floral Chic, in white letters on the window.
The pink and white striped awning over the doorway.
The only thing missing is the flowers that will fill the space inside the windows, colorful blooms of peonies and lilies and roses.
Those bees start swarming again.
Before I can have a full-on existential crisis on the sidewalk – because how am I really about to open my own business? – I put my key in the lock and turn the knob, my breath catching in my throat as soon as I step inside.
A little “oh!” slips out of me into the quiet room as I take in the nearly finished space.
It’s stunning. The black and white checkered tile floors and pale gray walls are perfect to offset all the colorful blooms that will soon be overflowing in here.
The shelves and empty displays are a mix of black, white and stained wood.
I wasn’t sure how the eclectic mix would work, but I’m kind of obsessed.
And oh, the matte black countertop on the big, rectangular workspace in the middle of the room.
I stroke my hand across it, picturing all of the arrangements that I’ll put together in this exact spot.
The amount I’m paying Matt and Mike is enough that I prefer not to think about it, but somehow, it still doesn’t feel adequate for the miracles they’ve worked here.
What was once a massive room with worn wooden floors, cracked mirrors along the walls and a hideous white drop ceiling has been transformed into a work of art. A work of art that’s all mine.
I wander through, cataloging all the details I’ve obsessed over for months and dreamed about for much longer. My heart is firmly lodged in my throat as I inspect each detail that Matt and Mike helped bring to life.
The wooden counter in the back corner where customers will check out.
Across from that, the doorway that leads to the small kitchen, bathroom and my office.
At the very back of the shop, the door that leads to the shared backyard where my greenhouse is.
My dad and Aiden had helped me assemble it a few weeks ago.
It isn’t until I’m walking back in from inspecting my greenhouse that I see it. Realization hits me like a freight train as I process the big, glaring, very much not okay thing that just catapulted this perfect moment into possible catastrophe.
Because that big window parents used to look through as they watched their kids dance?
It’s. Still. There.
Instead of looking at a pale gray wall — a solid gray wall — to match the rest of the shop, I can see straight into the tattoo studio next door, where Sean and Declan are busy unpacking boxes of… ink? Are those ink bottles? It occurs to me that I know nothing about tattooing.
By the looks of it I’m going to learn, though, because — and I cannot possibly overstate this — I can see their entire studio.
With shaking hands I pull my phone out of my pocket, fingers fumbling to punch in my code and open my list of recent calls. We’ve been talking so often about the shop’s progress that I don’t have to scroll to find his name.
“Hey, Elsie,” Matt greets me after a couple rings, cheerful as ever. “Did you make it over to the shop? How does it look?”
“I’m here now,” I tell him, fighting to keep my voice even. “I, um… have some questions.”
“Uh oh.” He chuckles nervously. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s just that…”
Rip the Band-Aid off, Elsie. Fuck being a people pleaser right now.
“Why is the big window still there?”
“Big window?” Matt asks, confused. “I thought you wanted those windows? You were with me when we picked –”
“Not the outside windows,” I cut in. “I mean the massive one that lets me see the entire tattoo studio next door.”
The other end of the line falls silent. I wait a few beats but Matt says nothing.
“Hello?”
“Elsie,” Matt says slowly, like he’s explaining something complex to a child. “That’s what the plans we drew up called for. You decided to keep that window.”
I’m honestly trying hard to remain calm, but the panicked “I did not!” that bursts out of me echoes off the empty walls and makes me wince.
Next door, Sean and Declan both look up from what they’re doing.
My face must look as stressed as I feel, because the next thing I know, the door adjoining the two spaces is opening.
The door I didn’t even notice while I was having a meltdown over the window.
But hey, fun surprise – there’s also a door connecting my flower shop with the tattoo studio.
Cool! Fun! Exciting!
I bury my free hand in the hair at the back of my neck to hide the way it shakes.
“You did,” Matt insists. “Remember that conversation we had about cutting costs, and sticking to our two-month timeline?”
“Of course I do.” A month or so back, I started to stress how much all of the renovations were going to cost. The dollar signs were racking up quickly and I started to think hard about what was a need versus a want, especially if we wanted to stay within our two-month timeframe.
Matt drew up a few different plans and I picked the one that cut a decent chunk of change and was also doable in eight weeks.
My focus was on the fact that the plan I chose allowed me to have the big workspace that I wasn’t willing to part with or scale back.
I have plans of teaching workshops and I need the space for it.
“The plan you chose called for leaving that wall alone,” Matt insists.
I bite my lip to keep from screaming. I hear a grunt and look over to where Declan and Sean stand just inside the doorway. Declan crosses his arms and glares, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He looks menacing, the way his tattooed arms bulge where his fingers dig into his biceps.
My eyes trail along his arms, up the ink on the left side of his neck, along his stubbled jaw, up to his eyes. When his dark eyes meet mine, I swear they soften. The creases in the corners smooth out a bit and his glare loses some of its heat.
“You okay?” he mouths silently.
I shake my head in an emphatic no. Without a word he moves closer, hovering close enough that I can feel his body heat without quite touching him.
Is he trying to… comfort me? What’s happening here?
“Give me just a second,” I tell Matt, then mute him.
“Did you know the window and door were still going to be there?” I ask, peeking around Declan to where Sean still hovers by the door. “The ones connecting our shops?” I can’t help the accusation in my tone. Because how is this all my fault, anyway?
“We did,” Sean confirms.
Before I can respond, Declan’s hand gently closes around my elbow. His eyes are fixed on where my hand is still buried in my hair, my fingers clutching at my neck.
“Can you stop that?” he demands. He tugs on my arm and I ignore the way my belly swoops at the contact.
“Why?” I ask, bewildered by this giant, tattooed man and the way he’s glaring at my arm like it personally offended him.
“You’re stressed,” he says simply.
“Okay…”
“It’s making me stressed.”
I… have nothing to say to that. He tugs at my arm again and I let him, this time releasing my hair so he can tuck my arm back down at my side. Apparently satisfied, he crosses his arms again and meets my eyes.
“You were saying?” he prompts.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” I tell them, panic creeping back into my voice. Sean walks over to stand beside Declan, his face laced with concern now.
“Matt called us sometime in early May, I think, about changing up the plans a bit. He said you two were brainstorming ways to cut costs and he came up with some ideas, but it affected us, too, because of that wall.” He gestures to the offending wall behind him.
“He wanted to make sure we were okay with it staying as is before presenting you with that option.”
“And you were okay with it?” I ask, incredulous.
Sean shrugs. “Didn’t really matter to us either way, to be honest. You’re the one who has to watch people get tattooed and pierced all day.”
“Okay, but I didn’t know I’d be watching people getting tattooed and pierced all day. I just…” I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Panic isn’t going to help the situation. “I don’t know what happened. I guess I approved the changes without realizing everything they entailed.”
“Hello?” Matt’s voice calls faintly from the phone in my hand. “Elsie?”
“Shit,” I mutter. I unmute Matt and put him on speaker phone.
“Sorry, Matt. I’m here with Declan and Sean.”
“Hey, guys,” Matt says.
“Hey,” both men respond.
“I’m sorry, Elsie. I don’t really know what to say.” Matt sounds flustered. “I swear we went over the new plans and you gave me the go ahead. I’d never pull one over on you like that.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him, even if it feels decidedly not okay right now. “The place looks absolutely amazing. I’m in awe of your work. We just… got our wires crossed, I guess. I wasn’t expecting the, uh, front-row seat to the tattoo studio.”
Sean chuckles. “Just wait until someone comes in to get their nipples pierced.”
The sound that comes out of me can only be described as a strangled choke. I can’t be helping customers while people’s nipples are being pierced.
“I’m kidding,” Sean says hurriedly. “We usually go in a back room for that. I swear.”