Chapter 9 Of Plans and Peonies
Of Plans and Peonies
Jake
“I’m starving,” Zander says, running a hand through his already disheveled brown hair and leaning back against the headrest in the passenger seat. “I need a green chile burger, stat.”
I chuckle, fastening my seatbelt. After that grueling training, I’m hungry too.
“Let’s see what’s around here,” I say, firing up the Bronco.
Zander barks out a laugh. “Not a damn thing, unless you want to forage or hunt.”
I shake my head, smiling.
He’s not wrong. We’re in the middle of the San Juan Wilderness, having just completed our Wilderness First Responder recert—an intense day and a half of judging conditions, running rescue sims, and treating imaginarily gruesome and life-threatening wounds.
“I’m too tired to hunt,” I tell him, adjusting the interior temp. It was freezing when we arrived yesterday morning, but with the midday sun, things have warmed up considerably.
“Same,” he groans comically. “I could eat an entire elk, though.”
I laugh at Zander’s antics, reaching into the console for my phone.
“Such a drama queen.”
“That’s king, thank you very much,” he says in a nod to Elvis. “And I’m ready for some real food. Cold-soaked oats and trail mix aren’t—What’s up?”
I glance up from my phone at Zander, who is frowning at me.
“Just checking messages.”
And absolutely astounded at the one Truvy left me yesterday.
“Our new next-door neighbor came by. Holly. She’s nice. Brought you these and left her info. Otherwise uneventful day. Good luck with your training.”
“Let me see.” Zander snags my phone before I can stop him, and then whistles loudly. “Your little florist brought you flowers?”
“She’s not mine,” I say, snatching my phone back and gazing at the photos Truvy sent again.
Not yet, anyway, but I don’t say that aloud.
I don’t need to. Zander knows how I feel about Holly. He’s my best friend, and the drive to training was long.
Zander just chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve got it bad, my friend. And that’s good.” He claps me on the shoulder. “It’s real good.”
I glance up at him, appreciating the support. We’ve known each other since high school. Served in the military together. He’s been there for me through some tough times, and the good ones too.
“It is good, isn’t it,” I agree. I glance at the phone again, swiping through to the next image—both sides of Holly’s business card. “She left her number.”
“Really.” Zander grins, and I know what he’s thinking.
“I’m not going to put her on speaker while I drive,” I tell him, shaking my head.
She’s reserved, and the last thing I want to do is broadcast our conversation to my joker of a friend.
He just laughs, undoing his seatbelt. “I’ll drive. You call your girl. But we’re getting some real food on the way home.”
I can’t help grinning as I comply with Zander’s command. In truth, I’m excited about the prospect of talking with Holly today. Even though the training demanded my focus, in the quieter moments, I’d found my thoughts wandering to her. Wondering how she was and what she was doing.
That she visited my shop and brought me flowers yesterday is huge. I’m also hugely disappointed that I wasn’t there to receive them—or her. God bless Truvy for texting, though, and God bless my cell service for logging it. You never know how things will go through out here.
As Zander puts the Bronco in gear, I save Holly’s info to my contacts and take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves before hitting the call button.
The phone rings and rings, and I can’t help the disappointment that floods my chest as it drops to voice mail. I’d hoped to hear more than a ‘leave a message’ greeting.
I’d hoped to actually talk to her. Maybe make some plans for getting together outside of work.
Instead, I leave her a message to that effect, trying to keep things light and noncommittal so she doesn’t feel obligated, but hoping like hell she’ll call me back.
Zander, to his credit, doesn’t say a thing after I disconnect the call. He just taps the GPS in the main console and refocuses on the road.
I gaze out the window at the passing wilderness as he drives, watching the landscape shift—the snow-covered sections becoming sparser the further we get from where we camped overnight for the training.
I need a shower.
Probably a shave too, but I usually keep the beard until closer to summer. I could trim it, though.
I wonder idly if Holly has a preference around facial hair, and realize that while I’ve learned a lot about her over the past few days, there’s still so much I don’t know.
So much I want to know.
Thankfully, we have the rest of our lifetimes for that. If she’s open to that, of course. If she’s willing to give us a chance. I know I have no right to expect anything from her, especially considering we’ve known each other less than a week.
But damn, I hope she calls me back.
“Thanks again for stopping by,” I call to the sweet little family leaving my shop.
Who knew Sundays would be so busy?
I came in later than usual, figuring I’d finish up the floral arrangements I’m working on for Jake’s place.
I got a little carried away with the variety yesterday, not sure what he and his clients would prefer, and had to call it at dinnertime.
I actually slept in this morning, then puttered around my house for a bit, journaling with coffee, and chatting with my cousins Amber and Lexi.
I didn’t expect anyone to actually visit my shop today. I mean, I’m still getting situated and moving flowers into the space.
Evidently, Sundays are a big day for downtown Pineberry Springs, though, because I’ve already had several people stop by in the hour and a half I’ve been here. A record for me, especially considering I’m not officially open for business yet.
Or am I?
I did sell some roses and two of the ikebanas I’d made for Jake’s.
A minimalist one with a cutting from a Camellia, a single pink blossom and an unfurled bud with just a few of the dark leaves.
And a much more intricate ikebana featuring chocolate, lavender, and white cosmos, delicate Tartarian aster, golden cockscomb, and both the plumes and the fronds of pampas grass.
The little family took that one, and it’s probably for the best that it found a different home. I think it was too tall and showy for one of the bistro tables at Jake’s anyway. I should probably focus on more compact arrangements for that space. Bud vases would do nicely.
I do love a good ikebana, though.
The bells on my door chime again, and I glance up to see the most adorable older couple enter my shop.
Like the little family that just left, this couple is dressed in attire I associate with church—a suit for him, a dress for her.
I love the way she rests her hand in the crook of his elbow, moving closer to him as they walk, and how he smiles at her warmly as they approach the counter together.
It’s endearing.
“Beautiful place you’ve got here, Miss,” the gentleman says, taking his wife’s hand from his elbow and putting his arm around her. “I’m David Chadwick, and this beauty is my Helen.”
The woman blushes, gazing up at him with radiant love, and I can’t help smiling at the sweetness of it all.
To be that old and still besotted is a gift.
They’re old enough to be my grandparents, but there’s a sparkle in the man’s eyes that hints at youthfulness. The woman looks put-together but tired, and completely smitten.
“I’m Holly,” I share, happy to meet more locals. “Welcome to The Enchanted Florist.”
“Such a lovely name,” says Helen, shaking my hand.
I smile at her praise, but my heart sinks as her reality registers.
This sweet woman is sick. There’s a cancer in her body. The same thing that ultimately took my mother’s life.
“Do you have any peonies?” Mr. Chadwick asks, pulling my attention to him. “They’re my Helen’s favorite.”
“Yes,” I tell him, blinking back tears. “In the greenhouse out back. It’ll take me a bit to collect them. What color would you like? And would you like them wrapped or in a vase?”
They order a dozen in a vase, letting me choose the color, and I let them know it will take some time to complete.
“We’ll just go have our lunch then,” Mr. Chadwick says cheerfully.
“Enjoy,” I say with a smile I don’t feel. “I’ll have your arrangement ready by two-thirty.”
I see them out with a new appreciation for the way Mr. Chadwick guides his wife. The careful yet confident way he walks with her. How he puts himself between her and the street as they stroll down the sidewalk together toward the heart of downtown.
I close and lock the door after I see them off, my heart aching at the battle ahead of them. I wonder if they even know yet?
That’s one of the trickier things about my gifts. I’m so attuned to Earth-based cycles of growth and life force energies, I often pick up on things like pregnancies and illnesses, and I never know if it’s okay to say something or not.
In this case, definitely not.
I hardly know these people, and that would be weird, wouldn’t it?
‘I’m sorry you’re sick. Have you considered mistletoe therapy? I hear early intervention can be useful.’—Yeah, I don’t see that going well.
I ensure the sign on the door is flipped to closed and head through my shop to the back, rubbing a palm over my aching heart.
Maybe I can’t talk about it or fix it, but I can do my part to help alleviate her suffering, just like I did with my mother. It’s with a tender heart that I make my way to the greenhouse. By the time I’m done harvesting the peonies though, I’m feeling brighter.
This is what I do. How I use my gifts.
In service to others.
I’ve selected the most exquisite blush-colored peonies for Mrs. Chadwick. Thirteen of them. I know they only ordered twelve, but thirteen is a lucky number. A reminder of cycles and seasons, of grounding and harmony, transformation, and alignment with Nature.