Chapter 30 #2
Nolan looks at me, his expression severe, eyes searching my expression for the longest time. Just when my skin starts to itch under his intense scrutiny, he gives me a wide, uncharacteristic smile. “Yeah, kid. You’ll be alright.”
“Bridget, you don’t look good.” She’s standing at the register, swaying slightly, a sheen to her flushed skin. Even from several feet away, I can see the sweat beading on her forehead. “I think you should go home.”
She shakes her head weakly. “No way.” Her voice is hoarse, each word dragging roughly against her throat. “There’s still ninety minutes until close, and I’m not leaving you here on your own.”
“I’ll call Nolan. He’s probably doing nothing but sitting around, watching paint dry.”
Bridget shoots me a glare, but the effect is lost by the glazed look in her eyes. “He’s painting your living room.”
I blink. “I know.”
She leans against the counter, a stand of her hair sticking to her temple. “So, obviously, he isn’t just watching paint dry.”
I scrunch my expression up. “I don’t understand your point.” She throws a hand up in exasperation, and I dart forward when she tilts precariously. “Bridget, seriously,” I fret. “Go home.”
Steadying herself on the counter, Bridget sucks in a shaky breath before nodding. “Okay, yes. Yep. I’ll go home. But you need to call Nolan, okay? I don’t think you should be here alone.”
“Nothing will happen, Bridge,” I murmur, pulling my phone out of my apron and pulling up the rideshare app. “No one is going to be making trouble for a florist. Now, I’ve ordered you a ride. Go get your stuff. It’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Bossy,” Bridget mumbles, but does as I say, her feet dragging as she heads to the break room.
Before she comes back, the bell chimes, and I look over as a man comes in, looking around the shop curiously.
He doesn’t look like our usual clientele, dressed in a stretched-out band tee and worn jeans, but everyone needs flowers sometimes.
“Afternoon!” I call out, catching his attention. “Welcome to Blossom Boutique. How can I help you today?”
“Hello…Gracie,” he greets, his eyes dropping to the name tag pinned on my apron. “I’m looking for flowers for my sister. Something to say thank you for letting me stay with her.”
I grin. “Well, you came to the right place! Flowers are the perfect thank-you gift. Were you looking for a potted plant or a floral arrangement?”
He glances around, brows knitting together. “A potted plant, I think. A bouquet just dies, right?” He glances back at me, his eyes creasing uncertainly. “I don’t want to get her something that will just die.”
“We got some orchids just last week that I think will be perfect for you.” I round the counter, gesturing for the man to follow me. “Orchids are a long-lasting plant, and really low-maintenance, but they’re a flower that says, ‘I appreciate you.’”
“That sounds perfect,” he says behind me. “Halsey is low maintenance too. She spends more time lost in her artwork than anything else, so a plant that doesn’t need much will be a good option.”
“Halsey sounds like my kind of girl.” I laugh. “Here we are.”
I end up showing him the peace lilies as well, but the man decides to go with a purple orchid.
I tie a ribbon around the pot, making the perfect bow while he writes in the small card he picked out.
He hands it over, and I’m clipping it to the pot when Bridget comes out of the backroom, still looking pale, her bag hooked over her shoulder.
“I’ll see you later,” she rasps before her eyes flare, taking in the customer at the counter. She pauses, flicking a look back at me, brows lifting in question.
“I’ll be fine. Go home and rest.” It’s a testament to how shit she feels when Bridget doesn’t argue anymore, just bobbing her head and turning to head for the door. Through the glass window, I can see her ride idling at the curb waiting for her.
The customer tracks Bridget’s progress across the room, his brow furrowed. “Is your friend okay?” he asks as she steps through the front door.
“There’s a nasty flu going around,” I say, finishing up with the orchid and ringing him up. “Hopefully, some rest and fluids, and she’ll be back to herself in no time. Here we are—one orchid, ready for its new home!”
“Thanks, Gracie.” He gives me a smile without his teeth, and I realize he’s been doing that this entire time. I don’t know why it sticks out, but now my brain locks onto that detail, twisting it around into a strange fact. “You’ve been a great help,” he continues. “I’m sure my sister will love it.”
“No problem at all. And if your sister needs any advice about looking after her orchid, just tell her to give us a call.” I slide a business card across the counter, and he picks it up, flicking it over his fingers. “We’re open Tuesday through Saturday.”
“I’ll do that,” he murmurs, tucking the card into his pocket. He picks up the orchid, and then he’s gone. I wait until the bell stops chiming, making sure that no other customers are coming in beforeI call Nolan.
He answers on the third ring, “Hey, sweetheart.” There’s a loud rush of sound, like he’s standing next to a fan or—
“Where are you?” I ask curiously.
He sighs into the line. “I ran out of paint,” he grumbles. “I’m driving to Ashland to buy some more.”
I press my fingers to my mouth, muffling the sound of amusement. “I told—”
“Don’t,” he warns in a growl. “Otherwise, I’ll buy Peach Pizazz over Sea Salt Green.”
I gasp. “You would not! I bet that’s not even a color.”
Nolan chuckles darkly. “Push me and find out.”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it. “Whatever. How long do you think you’ll be?”
There’s a beat of silence. “At least another hour and a half by the time I grab the paint and drive back. Maybe even two. What’s up?”
I tap my fingers against the counter, frowning as I debate just how much to tell him. But he’ll just worry if I let him know, and it’s only—I check the clock—sixty minutes until closing time. “Nothing. I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a beer or something when I shut up for the day.”
“Sounds good to me, but only if you help me paint another wall.” I groan loudly, and he laughs. “Or you can keep me company while I paint.”
“You’ve got a deal,” I agree eagerly. “I’ll sit and drink beer, and watch you paint.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Okay, see you soon, bye!” I hang up before he can argue anymore, chuckling to myself.
Deciding it is better to be safe than sorry, I quickly flick a message to Maryann, hoping that either she or Stacey might be able to come down until we close.
I set my phone down under the register, deciding I’ll call in fifteen minutes if she hasn’t messaged back.
The next hour passes by in a blur of customers—two brides asking about summer wedding dates, a pair of teens ordering matching corsages and boutonnieres for the upcoming prom, and four people browsing for something fresh to brighten their homes for spring.
It was an unexpected rush, and by the time I flip the sign to Closed and lock the door, a wave of fatigue washes over me. I turn the main locks and head into the break room, collapsing into a chair and rubbing my temple where pain throbs.
Hope I haven’t caught whatever Bridget has.
I don’t mind being busy, especially when it means I don’t have to think about Braxton or Nolan pushing me to talk to him.
I know that I need to, and that leaving this situation unresolved isn’t healthy for anyone…
but clearly, my coping strategies have been to duck and run for long enough that they’re ingrained now.
Deciding to message Braxton right here and now—just so I don’t give myself any wriggle room to back out of it—I fish inside my apron pocket for my phone and come up empty. Confusion fills me until I remember leaving it under the counter earlier, and I stand with a grimace, my feet aching.
I’m heading toward the door when the light above me flickers once and then dies completely. I freeze midstep. There’s no natural light in the break room, and the darkness is suffocating. It’s probably my brain playing tricks on me, but the air feels heavier, thicker as I drag it into my lungs.
The weather was fine last time I looked, barely a cloud overhead, so it can’t be a storm that’s killed the power. Maybe an accident or—
Crash.
An explosion of sound ricochets through the building, followed by a smattering of glass pinging against concrete flooring. It is too close to have come from out front, but too loud to be anything but the window in the workshop.
Fueled by instinct and adrenaline, I tiptoe to the door—my only exit from the room. I pause, one hand on the doorknob, holding my breath, trying to hear what’s going on. There’s nothing, and yet something warns me against opening the door.
Maybe it was just a fluke accident?
No one is out there, and my brain is just playing tricks—
The thought doesn’t finish before there’s a loud thump.
I jump backward, barely missing being hit by the door as it’s forcefully shoved open.
A gasp leaves me as a shadowy figure fills the space, just enough light pouring in from the front room for me to see a dark hoodie pulled over their head and a black… mask over their face.
Terror washes over me as a masculine voice growls, “You should have left when you had the chance.” There’s a thread of annoyance and, before I can react, his arm moves, a whoosh sounding before something heavy slams into my temple.
I stumble back with a cry as my hands come up to protect myself from more hits.
“Where’s the money?” he demands, and I blink, trying to clear the blurriness from my eyes as he storms toward me. Without thinking, I move, dodging around the table and putting it between us, wincing when I kick one of the legs.
“There’s no money,” I cry desperately, feeling a wet trickle run down the side of my face.
I don’t bother brushing it away, never taking my eyes off him, even when my vision seems to throb in time with my pulse.
My stomach swoops with nausea, but I clench my jaw, forcing out, “It’s already gone to the bank. ”
“Liar!” he barks viciously, taking another step closer, each of us on either side of the table. “I know you’re on your own, and I know you never fucking left. Where’s the money?!”
I swallow roughly. “The register—”
He scoffs rudely. “There’s fuck all in there, and you know it. Where’s the rest of it?”
I shake my head wildly, stifling a wince at the pain the movement causes. “We’re a florist. We don’t make that much, and people don’t use cash—”
A glint of something flashes in the dim light as he raises a hand, and a whimper escapes as I realize he’s brandishing a big fucking knife.
“I don’t have time for this, bitch.”
He starts coming around the table, but I don’t wait for him to get to me, running the opposite way.
I sprint for the open door, but his boots are thundering against the floor after me.
There’s a rustle, and then something brushes against the loose strands of my hair.
A choked noise of terror escapes as I duck my head before he can close his fist.
I make it through the door, lunging for an empty pot and whirling around, screaming when I realize just how close he is. I don’t hesitate, bringing the pot down on his head with a resounding crack.
He falls back with a loud curse as ceramic pieces shower over him. I’m already on the move, snatching my phone as I round the counter, jamming my fingers against the side button to initiate an emergency call.
“Come on, come on, come on…” It goes through, a tinny voice squawking through the speaker, and I open my mouth, still running—
“You fucking whore!” There’s a whoosh before sharp agony slices down my back, leaving a trail of fire. I shriek, the sound blasting through my own head. I fall forward, arms flailing, but his hand is in my hair, ruthlessly yanking me back.
It feels like pain has taken over my body. I shove it down, knowing I can’t let it distract me. No one’s coming. Not in time. If I want to make it out of this alive, I have to do something. Anything.
I spin in his hold, pulling several strands of hair out in the process. Before he can react, I slam my palm up against his mask-covered nose and then lift my knee, nailing him in the balls.
A high-pitched keening noise leaves him, nasally and broken. He’s surprised enough that he lets me go, and before he recovers, I’m flipping the lock on the front door and escaping outside, yelling into my phone, “Help! I’m being attacked! Please help!”