Chapter 45
Elsie
Work the following Tuesday is its own special kind of hell.
I’ve never detested that giant window taking up prime real estate in my shop more than I do know, knowing Declan is just on the other side of it and trying with every ounce of my self-control to avoid catching a glimpse of him.
Thinking about him hurts enough without having to see him, too.
I spend the majority of the day hiding out in my office or the greenhouse, using the excuse that I have to review our inventory and figure out what kind of orders I need to place for the fall.
I’d spent the first hour of my day revamping our displays and marking down some of the arrangements that look like they might not last much longer, but the second the shop light flipped on next door, I made my excuses and fled to my office.
I know it’s not fair to stick Noah out on the floor on his own, but he handles it well, and he promised to let me know if he needs help.
Every time I check on him, he’s chatting with customers or assembling arrangements for display.
A couple times, when the shop is empty of customers, I find him hunched over his phone, tapping away at the screen with a furrowed brow.
I make a mental note to check in later and make sure everything is okay.
It’s mid-afternoon when Noah pops his head into my office. “Hey, boss.”
I look up and give him what I hope is a convincing enough smile. “Hi, Noah. What’s up?”
“I ended up working through most of my lunch, so I was going to take a quick break and run down to The Grind. Is that okay?”
A pang of guilt smacks me square in the chest. “Of course. You should have said something, I would have taken over so you could take your full lunch.” We usually stagger our lunches so someone is always covering the shop.
I’d skipped mine today – come to think of it, I didn’t eat breakfast, either – so I didn’t think anything of it.
Noah waves his hand and gives me his usual easygoing grin. “It was no biggie. I just need a quick caffeine hit and a snack to get me through the afternoon. Would you like anything?”
I probably shouldn’t consume any more caffeine on an empty stomach than I already have coursing through my system, but I’m going cross-eyed sitting here staring at my computer screen.
Maybe it’ll give me some energy to finish going through our inventory reports so I can try to figure out what will keep selling well into the fall, and what items are going to become seasonal for the summer only.
When in doubt, more caffeine is usually the answer.
“An iced lavender latte, if they still have the lavender, please. Otherwise, whatever sounds good. And it’s on me,” I add, digging around in my purse for my wallet. I find my debit card and hold it out to him, but he tries to wave me off.
“You don’t have to –”
“Noah,” I cut in. “Take the dang card. It’s the least I can do after making you miss your lunch.”
He rolls his eyes but takes the card. “I told you, it really wasn’t a big deal.” He glances over his shoulder and fiddles with my card. “I’ll only be gone for fifteen minutes or so, but the shop…”
That same guilt slams into me again. I’ve got Noah scared to even step out and leave me with my own shop for fifteen whole minutes.
“I’ve got it covered,” I assure him, though nerves have taken residence in my belly at the thought of being out there, so close to Declan. “Sorry I’ve been MIA today.”
“It’s alright,” he says softly. His brow furrows, and I get the sense he wants to say more, but the bell above the shop door dings. “I’ll just –”
“Go,” I tell him, rising from my chair. “I’ve got it covered.”
“You’re the best,” he says. Though I’m far from it – especially today – I don’t bother to correct him.
I follow Noah out of my office, through the break room and out onto the shop floor, where a woman stands on the far side of the room, examining our display of indoor house plants.
“I’ll be right back,” Noah assures me, then hurries out the front door.
At the sound of the bell dinging, the woman turns – and my stomach drops.
“Hello, Elsie,” the woman who was almost my mother-in-law greets me. “Beautiful shop you’ve got here.”
“Mrs. Lewis,” I choke out. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Erica,” she corrects me. I’d started calling her Erica instead of Mrs. Lewis about two years into my relationship with Nathan, when we started college and the concept of adulthood didn’t feel quite so out of reach anymore.
Now, though, it feels too informal. Too casual after everything that happened.
“Erica,” I amend. “What can I help you with?”
She walks over to where I’m standing frozen in the middle of the room and smiles. “I complimented the gorgeous flowers at the wedding and Gail told me this is where I could find them. I should have known.”
The inn where Olivia and Cam held their wedding has been in the Lewis family for generations, and Olivia had been dreaming of getting married there since she was a little girl.
While many little girls enjoy daydreaming about their wedding someday – what kind of dress they’ll wear, who their bridesmaids will be, what color scheme they’ll use – Olivia took the task very seriously.
She still has all of the plans she wrote as a kid, and though some important details have changed (she no longer loves fuchsia, thank god, and Taylor Lautner lost his role as the groom to Cam), one major thing remained constant: she wanted to get married at The Wisteria Inn.
Soon after Olivia and Cam got engaged, she took me out to lunch to get my thoughts on her wedding being held at The Wisteria. I assured her I didn’t mind – and then assured her another six hundred times throughout the course of wedding planning.
And it ended up being fine. I know that Erica must have been flitting around somewhere throughout preparations and the reception, but I never saw her, and truthfully, on the day of the wedding, I’d forgotten about Nathan’s family connection to the place.
I’d had other, more pressing things on my mind that night.
Like doom spiraling about the state of my almost-relationship.
“Are you in need of flowers for an event?” I ask, hoping I sound neutral and not like someone who’s actively trying to control their breathing.
I’ve run into Nathan’s parents and younger sister a handful of times over the years – it’s unavoidable in a town this size – but we’ve never said more than a quick hello, sometimes exchanging brief pleasantries before going on our way.
I don’t know how to have a normal conversation with the woman who, for at least a few years, I’d expected to become a permanent fixture in my life.
“Not at the moment, no.” Erica rifles around in her purse and pulls out an envelope. “I was thinking I’d like to have fresh flowers for each of the rooms before guests check in. It’s something I’ve thought about over the years but didn’t want to travel for each time someone new arrived.”
“That’s a great idea.”
She hands me the envelope. “I’ve taken photos of each of our guest rooms. We have twelve rooms. Each room is decorated differently, though there are four main themes.
I was thinking I could call you when we have a room due for new flowers, and if you know which room it is, you can fit the flowers into the room’s theme. ”
I open the envelope and take out the stack of photos, flipping through them quickly. I recognize the room I stayed in after the wedding, with the light, gauzy curtains and blue walls that reminded me of the horizon over the ocean on a sunny, summer day.
“I love that idea,” I tell Erica. “I’d be happy to help.”
“Excellent,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Do you deliver? I’m sure we could find someone to send over here if needed, but a delivery a couple hours before guests are expected would really be ideal.”
“Absolutely.” I don’t tell her that Noah and I just started doing deliveries over the last month, and it’s been hectic, to put it mildly. I really need to hire at least one more person, someone who can handle the deliveries when we have them and help out around the shop during their down time.
“Wonderful.” Erica smiles at me again, and her features soften as her eyes flit across my face. “I know it’s not really my place to say that I’m proud of you, Elsie, but I am. You’ve built something beautiful here and provided a much-needed service to the town. It’s inspiring.”
I have to clear my throat to dislodge the lump that’s taken up residence before speaking. “Thank you, Erica. I really appreciate that.”
Nathan’s parents were never the warm and fuzzy type, but they’re good people who worked hard to provide for (i.e.
spoil) their children, and I’d always gotten along with them well enough.
This might be the closest Erica and I have ever come to a heart-to-heart, though.
I probably won’t get another chance like this.
“Hey, Mrs. Lewis – I mean, Erica – I never really got the chance to tell you how sorry I am for… well…” I trail off, unsure how to continue.
Breaking your son’s heart? Derailing the plans that you loved to dream about with us?
Turning around and scurrying the other way at least half of the times I’ve seen you around town?
“Oh, you have nothing to be sorry about, dear.” She shakes her head and reaches out like she wants to grab my hand, then thinks better of it and lets her arm fall back down to her side.
“Things didn’t work out between you and Nathan, and that’s okay.
If I’d been paying more attention, I would have realized your paths were bound to diverge eventually.
Nathan never did want to stick around Port Myles. ”
“And I never wanted to leave,” I say softly.
“I’d say things have worked out the way they were meant to,” Erica says, gesturing around the shop. Her gaze fixes on something over my shoulder and a smile plays at her lips. “In more ways than one,” she adds.
My body is operating two steps ahead of my brain and I turn to follow her line of sight before I can process why that’s a bad idea. I suck in a sharp breath when I see Declan hunched over the arm of someone I vaguely recognize from the fishing pier.
Even Declan’s side profile is enough to knock the wind out of me.
The slope of his jaw, the perfectly straight bridge of his nose, the eyelashes that I can’t see from here, but I know are so long and dark, they make me sick with envy.
His hair is messier than usual, like maybe he’s been running his hands through it.
His simple, plain black T-shirt stretches taut against his shoulders, and when I notice the way his bicep flexes as he holds his tattoo machine, I have to look away.
He’s so achingly, obviously mine – and yet I’ve never felt further from him in all the time since we met. The wrongness of it all makes me nauseous.
I don’t know what to say to Erica, which turns out to be fine, because she’s oblivious to my inner turmoil. “You seem to be happy, and I’m glad to see it.”
“Happy,” I repeat, my voice sounding hollow. “Yes, of course,” I lie.
It would have been the truth a few days ago.
“I’d better be getting back to the inn,” Erica says, glancing at her watch. “If you have a business card, I’ll take one and get ahold of you before our next check-in.”
Still reeling from seeing Declan for the first time in days, I don’t respond, instead hurrying over to the back counter where I keep our business cards. I grab one and bring it back over to Erica.
“I’m looking forward to working more with you,” she says, smiling. “It was great to see you.”
“You, too,” I tell her, and at least that part isn’t a lie.
I can breathe a little easier knowing she doesn’t hate me for the way things fell apart.
Like some small, broken piece of me has been repaired.
I never needed closure with Nathan – we said all we needed to say when we broke up.
It was everybody else around town, all of the people I disappointed, who I’ve always felt like I had loose ends with.
At least one of them is now tied up in a nice, neat bow.
Erica leaves through the door that Noah, with drinks and a bakery bag in hand, holds open for her.
“One iced lavender latte and a blueberry lemon muffin,” he announces, setting my goodies on the big table I’m hovering near.
I desperately want to turn and catch another glimpse of Declan, but Noah is too perceptive.
He’ll see the anguish written all over my face and then I’ll have to come clean about what happened.
I’m still not ready.
“You’re the best,” I tell him, grabbing my latte and taking a sip. For one too-brief second, there’s only bliss.
I’d inject lavender straight into my veins if I could, especially on a day like today. The smell, the taste, the color – all of it reminds me of home. It’s a little dose of peace when everything else feels like chaos.
“You paid for it,” he reminds me. “Now sit and eat, and let’s discuss what we’re going to do for one last push to win this competition.”
The town’s end-of-summer festival is three and a half weeks away, and the closing ceremony is when the Chamber of Commerce will announce the winner of the Best New Business competition.
It’s decided on by a public vote, and the voting period opens up next week.
The county-wide competition that each local winner is entered into is then voted upon by the Chamber.
Of course, I’d love to win that one as well, but being named the Best New Business in Port Myles is what I really have my sights set on.
Having the people I know and love and pass on the sidewalk each day vote for The Floral Chic would be the highest honor of all.
Noah’s distraction works. We sit at the big work table and chat while we eat our muffins and sip our drinks, and I scribble notes all the while, careful to keep my back to the window.
Now and then, I can feel the weight of eyes on me, but I try to ignore it.
It takes everything in me not to turn and look, to seek out the dark eyes I already miss looking back into mine.
“Elsie?” Noah says softly at one point. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
It’s only then that I notice my leg is bouncing up and down and I’ve been tapping my pen on the tabletop.
Not even close, I want to scream.
“I’m fine,” I assure him quickly. “Now, let’s talk booth decor.”