Chapter 2
Denny
One day you will meet someone
with wounds as deep as yours
―a wandering soul left in the cold
by everyone they’ve ever known.
― Samira Vivette
Sometimes she genuinely wondered if violence could be the answer.
“You sell plants, you must know what I’m talking about!”
“I know what you’re talking about, madam. We just don’t sell that kind of plant here.”
“My friend Cathy guaranteed me she bought them here!”
Denny’s expression had been cemented on her Customer Service Poise for a while already and there hadn’t been any progress in the conversation so far. Despite her best efforts, the CSP was beginning to slip.
“I assure you,” she said, as amiably as possible, “that your friend didn’t buy turnips from us. Maybe she got confused?”
A look of sheer outrage surfaced from under the woman’s perfect maquillage. “She did not!” The lady stomped her heeled foot so hard that Denny felt for the floor tiles. “She showed me the bag with your logo and it was full of turnip bulbs!”
“Look.” It wheezed out of Denny with a pleading tremble. “This is my shop, I’m here to make money… I’d gladly sell you all the turnips you want—” The customer’s face lit up. “—if I had any.”
The woman faltered, as if her brain had just tripped on a tricky obstacle.
Her mouth opened and then, very slowly, closed again, lips peevishly curving downward.
A sharp air intake made Denny brace for an insult or worse.
Unexpectedly, it turned into a sigh as the woman’s expression morphed to utter patronisation.
“Do you understand what I’m looking for? Little onion things with green sprouts on top of them…”
“Yes, I have a vague idea of what a turnip looks like.” Denny couldn’t hold back the sarcasm.
Her Bachelor’s in Plant Sciences from the University of Cambridge was on display on the wall right behind her, along with a dozen other certificates, including one in Plant-Based Nutrition that was probably laughing at her.
“... they grow from the ground…”
“I’m aware of how plants work.” The tremble in Denny’s voice edged towards desperation. “But, again, I sell flowers—ornamental plants—, not vegetables.”
“Turnips are flowers!”
“They’re… really not.” Although Denny had to admit that this lady’s adamant conviction was instilling some doubt. Perhaps turnips were flowers. Perhaps the earth was flat. Perhaps she liked men. Who knew, at this point?
“They are!” Another stomp. Denny shuddered inwardly. “They’re all sorts of colours, few inches tall, and they bloom in spring! I saw them with my own eyes! And Cathy says this is the best time to plant them!”
Reality screeched to an abrupt halt as a horrifying thought dawned on Denny.
“I’m sorry…” She paused for a second, because it was so absurd she almost felt stupid for uttering it. The woman’s eyebrows arched impatiently. “Do you by any chance mean… tulips?”
“Oh my god, call them whatever you like, who cares? Do you have them or not?”
Denny’s polite facade glitched. She took a long, deep breath, shoved her frustration behind a genial smile, and proceeded to direct the kind lady to what she was looking for.
Five minutes later the woman was out of the door, laden with bulbs and muttering to herself about certain people’s incompetence.
Rocco appeared at Denny’s side.
“I don’t know how you never lose your shit with these lunatics,” he said, with that adorable accent made of softened consonants and nonexistent H aspiration.
He had the Customer Wisdom notepad in his hands, which suggested that he’d probably been transcribing the nerve-rattling dialogue that had just taken place line by line to turn it into a TikTok skit.
The woman most definitely belonged in their WHYNSUA blacklist: We Hope You Never Show Up Again.
“Neither do I, honestly.” Denny scrubbed a hand down her face, groaning into it.
The exhaustion of the long day had finally caught up with her.
Customers like this left her drained, mentally and physically.
Her legs were shaking from the prolonged effort to stay polite and composed.
On the inside, all she wanted to do was scream.
And maybe break something. Alternatively, just crying in the bathroom for ten to fifteen minutes would also do.
Today she didn’t have any time to spare for such a luxury. She needed a coffee, a hot shower, and her bed, not necessarily in that order, but she’d have to settle for the coffee for a few more hours.
“Denny!”
The door burst open, bell chiming violently.
Denny winced at the sudden disruption. A short guy in a suit stormed in.
It took her a second to recognise him, dishevelled as he was.
He was one of her favourite regulars: he bought fresh flowers for his prissy girlfriend every week.
It wasn’t like him to appear anything but impeccable.
“Hey, Julio.”
“What are those flowers that Miriam fell in love with last time?”
“Tiger lilies. What happened?”
“She wants to leave me for some bloke she met on Tinder.”
Denny exchanged a glance with Rocco. Neither of them liked Miriam: they’d only met her twice, but the more they heard about her, the more convinced they were that this guy deserved so much better. Denny had a very personal bias against people who used Tinder behind their partner’s back.
“She said that to your face and you still want to buy her flowers?”
Julio’s face fell. “You think it’s lame?”
The problem didn’t reside in the flowers. The problem was that Miriam was, at best, a petty manipulator. At worst, she was breaking Julio’s sweet heart for fun.
“Julio… Would you leave Miriam for another girl?”
The look of outrage on Julio’s face answered before he did. “Of course not!”
“Would you even consider having a profile on Tinder?”
“No!”
“Why?”
“Because I love her!” Julio paused, his indignation fizzling out fast, replaced by a spark of awareness. “Oh.”
Denny rubbed his shoulder. “Still want those tiger lilies?”
Julio gulped, looking conflicted, but then confidently set his chin. “Yes, please.”
Denny heard Rocco facepalm. She would’ve done the same, if Julio hadn’t been right in front of her. It wasn’t up to her to lecture a customer on his regrettable decisions, though, so, she ruefully got to work.
If she remembered correctly, Miriam’s favourite were pink tiger lilies. She mixed them with some baby’s breath and a few butcher’s broom branches. It was a shame that such a beautiful bouquet would be wasted on such an ugly person. She mourned every plant that ended up in undeserving hands.
When she was done, Julio complimented her artistry, as usual, and, as usual, brought his phone to the reader without even looking at the price.
“Thank you, Denny. You’re the best.” He gave her a despondent smile, then grabbed the receipt and strode to the exit.
“Julio, the flowers!”
He lingered in the open door, turning back to wink at her. “Keep them!” Then he was gone.
Rocco leaned against the wall, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jeans. “You should charge people for your wisdom. A wisdom you never apply to yourself, but still…”
Denny chose to pretend she hadn’t heard the second half of the comment.
“He bought the flowers, didn’t he? Can you find a vase for them, please?
I should get cracking.” It was getting late and she had to drive all the way to Richmond, decorate a whole chapel, and drive back home.
The pile of month-end paperwork on her desk could wait another night.
Just one more. This was the last time she was putting it off.
“I’ll nip to the loo and then I’m off to the wedding venue.”
“Sure, boss.”
Denny bit her lip, watching Rocco huff and puff while pushing a newly arrived cactus out of the way of the vase display like he was moving Mount Everest. Hire the tall Italian kid, she’d told herself. He’ll help you with the heavy hauling, she’d told herself.
Rocco was a darling and never shied away from hard work, but he wasn’t exactly a powerhouse, bless his heart.
Then again, he wasn’t a gym rat like her.
To be fair, Rocco’s talent resided elsewhere: he was an ace content creator, and since he’d taken over Tansy’s Garden’s social media pages, their follower count had skyrocketed, along with sales and sponsorship proposals.
Even Grandma said Rocco was a gem. Besides, he loved plants as much as Denny did, which was unusual for a man his age.
“Are you sure you don’t mind closing?” Denny asked him one more time while loading the last couple of planter boxes in the back of the van. “I’ll be fine, shut up.”
“Don’t forget to check Mira before you go.”
“The nerve of you telling me to not forget something! Did you grab dinner?”
“I’ll eat when I get back. Shoot, I can’t find the van’s keys.”
“Seriously, boss?” Rocco got the van keys from the hook under the counter where they always were and tossed them to her.
“Cheers! Mira’s codes are in the notebook under the—”
Rocco closed the doors for her, rolling his eyes in that dramatic way of his. “I know! Quit babying me and go do your thing!”
“You are a baby.”
“I’m nineteen.”
“Exactly.”
Rocco could have pointed out that Denny had been nineteen herself just a few years ago, but chose to simply hand her her travel cup and a sandwich. The cup was hot, meaning Rocco had somehow found the time to make her coffee and a sandwich without her noticing. He really was a gem.
“See you on Monday.” Denny gratefully patted his shoulder. “Buzz me if you need anything, yeah?”
“Oh my god, go! And drive safe! And eat!”
* * *
Autumn was rounding the corner. The air wasn’t chilly yet, but Denny’s witchy senses had been tingling for days. She could feel the weather changing.
She wasn’t a real witch, although her mum always joked that she must have some kind of magical powers to be able to heal everything she touched so effortlessly.
Sure, she preferred to turn to plants and natural remedies when she was sick, and, yes, she checked the moon before sowing, pruning, and repotting her plants. But she wasn’t a witch.