Chapter 4
I thought life would feel different, knowing Connor was back, but I’ve been home from the flower exhibition for a little over a week, and nothing’s changed. Just like my unchanging dream: working with flowers.
When I started working at Shirley’s Florist in my senior year in high school, it was surreal. I love what I get to do, the smiles I get to see on people’s faces as they pick out bouquets for their loved ones. The people I get to bring together through the flowers I help them select.
I glance up from the bouquet I’m making to the photo hanging on the wall.
The store’s owner, Shirley, and I are surrounded by floral arrangements we crafted for a wedding and both smiling wide.
She’s become like a grandmother to me over the past six years.
We have the kind of relationship now where she fully relies on me to take and make all of our orders while she sits and talks to me.
I love listening to her regale me with her memories and share life advice.
It still feels unreal that, in just one short week, Shirley will be leaving this flower shop to me, and I’ll be the owner.
It will be the perfect distraction from the fact that Connor is back.
Mallory told me that his parents were shocked when he showed up at their weekly family dinner.
She even said her mom cried when Connor said he was back for good.
I grab another daisy from the table. Instead of adding it to the bouquet, I pluck the petals off one at a time.
He loves me. He loves me not. I continue until I pull the last petal.
He loves me. I sigh, knowing it doesn’t mean anything.
It’s just the silly daisy game I’ve played since I was a child.
I’m a grown woman now who can’t mistake Connor’s kindness for infatuation, regardless of what the petals indicate.
I pick up another daisy and add it to the bouquet. In flower language, they’re said to represent innocence and new beginnings. It’s exactly what I need. A fresh start. To stop getting swallowed up in the past and hoping that Connor and I will ever be anything.
Inhaling a deep breath, I move to grab another bloom, but a burning smell tickles my nose. It’s an old building, so I’m always hit with a gross burning scent whenever the heat kicks on, but I didn’t know it was supposed to be cold enough today for that.
I attempt to keep making the bouquet. Shirley isn’t in the shop today, so I’m on my own finishing this order. I add a few more flowers, but then I’m hit with another strong whiff of the burning smell that makes me cough. My heart pounds in my chest as I begin to panic.
Something isn’t right.
I drop the unfinished bouquet on the worktable and cover my mouth with my elbow as another cough wracks my body.
My eyes start to burn as I rush toward the door.
What did they teach us to do when we were kids if there might be a fire?
Now would be a really good time to have Connor’s number so I could ask him.
I cough as the burning stench grows stronger.
Looks like I don’t have time to research it, either.
I think I’m supposed to feel it with the back of my hand, so that’s what I do.
It’s cool, so I move and quickly tap the back of my hand against the doorknob, relieved to find it’s not hot either.
If there’s a fire, at least it’s not too close to block my only escape.
“Please work for me, baby,” I sweet-talk the doorknob. It’s been finicky lately, so I jimmy the knob like I usually do, lifting it slightly while pushing against the door with my shoulder, but it doesn’t budge.
I groan, which makes me break into another coughing fit. I told Shirley we needed to get this fixed.
The opening verse of “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things” by Taylor Swift begins to play over my Bluetooth speaker.
If my future career—and potentially my life—is about to go up in flames, at least it’s happening with my favorite singer playing in the background.
I have to keep joking, even if it feels a little macabre, because it’s the only way I’m keeping myself from full-on panicking right now.
The burning smell grows stronger as the pre-chorus hits. I pull my floral-patterned cardigan up over my mouth and nose with one hand as I scramble back to the worktable. My head pounds as I grab my phone and I clumsily unlock it to dial 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hi, I hope you’re having a good day,” I quickly say, despite my panic.
“I’m at work and think there may possibly be a fire in my building.
I smell something burning.” I look back at the door and see a faint plume of smoke coming in.
“And there’s some smoke.” I suck in a ragged breath, but it only makes me cough again.
The dispatcher gets my name and location and then says, “Okay, Shayna. The fire department is on its way. To your knowledge, is there anyone still in the building?”
“I am,” I rasp, coughing harder.
“You need to leave immediately, ma’am. It’s not safe for you to remain in the building.”
“I would love to do that, but you see, I’m in the back room and the door is jammed. I can usually un-jam it, but it’s not budging this time.” I do my best to sound optimistic, despite the present circumstances and my internal panic. “I’m a little stuck, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”
The dispatcher’s voice sounds slightly more alarmed as she says, “Stay in the back room, ma’am. The fire department should be there shortly, and they’ll get you out. If you’re able, get as low as you can on the ground and cover yourself with a blanket or a sweater as a barrier from the smoke.”
“Okay, I will.” My voice comes out raspy, my lungs burning from the smoke inhalation. I take my cardigan off, wrapping it around my head before pulling it back over my nose and mouth.
“I can stay on the line with you, if you’d like. They’re about three minutes out.”
“That’s okay,” I say, not wanting to be a bother. I’m sure there are other calls she needs to answer. I swallow hard, taking another shallow breath. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“Okay, just try to stay calm, Shayna. Help will be there soon.”
After I’ve hung up the phone, I grab all the current order tickets from our cabinet, stuffing them in my bag before sitting on the hardwood floor, as far away from the door as possible.
Shirley doesn’t believe in using the internet, so she’s always made me handle orders the old-fashioned way.
It was nothing short of a miracle when I finally convinced her to have a landline installed for call-in orders and questions from customers.
One of the first changes I had in mind when the business officially became mine was to implement an online order system.
But who knows if there will even be a business left for me to inherit after this.
My body trembles and I begin feeling lightheaded. I grab my inhaler from my large work bag and slowly breathe in as I press down on the top of the canister. Smoke typically is the worst trigger for my asthma, so I repeat the action, hoping it helps until the fire department arrives.
Wrapping my cardigan more tightly around my mouth, I try to focus on my breathing, but each breath becomes more difficult. There’s a loud crackling sound from outside the door, then a popping noise that makes me jump and break into another coughing fit.
The fire department will be here any minute. Then I’ll be out of here. I’m not trapped. I’m just temporarily stuck.
Stating the facts doesn’t seem like it’s doing much to slow my racing heart, so I try to think back on the questions Connor asked me on the plane.
I think the first one was five things I can see.
The smoke coming through the door is an obvious answer.
My unfinished bouquet on the table. The water stains on the ceiling. My cardigan pulled over my face.
A pounding on the door breaks my concentration. “Louisville FD. Anyone in there?”
“Yes,” I croak. “Help.” The two words are small, but they make my chest feel even heavier. I cough from the effort of speaking and wrap my free arm around my knees, praying they heard me.
“Stand back,” a masculine voice shouts. I think I’m going crazy because I hear the firm command in Connor’s voice.
A second later, a tall figure dressed in tan turnouts comes barreling into the room. I need to figure out what workout routine he does at the fire station because he just knocked that door down with only his body like it was nothing.
There it is, the fifth thing I see: the firefighter here to save my life. He looks around the small space before finding me. The firefighter takes fast steps toward me.
I try to stand, but the small exertion sends me into another coughing fit. He rushes forward, wrapping one arm around my middle and the other under my legs. The way he scoops me up like I weigh nothing is impressive.
I look at his face to thank him, but the words get lost in my mouth because there’s no mistaking those hazel eyes. Not even the mask he wears is enough to hide the fact that the concerned eyes that are looking at me right now are the same ones that looked at me on that plane.
I wasn’t going crazy from smoke inhalation or thinking I was on the brink of death.
Connor Porter is my firefighter in shining tan armor. The man here to save my life. And after seeing him in his turnouts in the flesh…I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get this image out of my mind. And I’m not sure I want to.