“Aw, Micah,” he said, voice soft as velvet. “I knew you remembered.”
* * *
Maybe twenty minutes later, after a few completed sales that nearly restored my faith in humanity and a “reggae-inspired remix of ‘Uptown Girl’” that destroyed it again, I turned to Leandra.
“This is ridiculous. There’s no need for both of us to be here. I’m gonna go grab something to eat, and when I come back, you can go home.”
“Really? I was gonna duck out to your apartment to pump in a minute, but if you’re sure…”
“I’m sure. I don’t have any orders to do this afternoon, and I can break this down by myself.” I motioned toward the plants and the buckets of flowers, which were nearly as full as when I’d arrived.
“Oh, that would be amazing!” Leandra said. “I could let Jared take the girls to the playground, as planned, and I could go home andnap.”
I snorted, kissed her on the forehead, grabbed my wallet, and ducked out.
I scarfed down a hotdog, then bought myself a frozen coffee drink at a little booth that Moira fromFanaillewas running. I sipped it slowly as I strolled back toward the tent, enjoying the warm sun and thinking about the week ahead with a little bit of dread. Leandra wasn’twrongin saying I was too busy for my own good. I was going to be flat out, between supply runs and arrangement prep in the mornings, working up quotes and meeting with clients during the day, and dealing with billing and invoicing at night. It was a good thing on the one hand, but a—
“…Micah Bloom!”
I was cutting through two rows of back-to-back booths, on my way back to my own, and I paused when I heard my name spoken. From where I was standing, there was nothing visible but the empty alley between the white canvas backs of the booths and the hard-packed dirt of the parking lot. There wasn’t a soul in sight, let alone anyone talking to me. And I thought for a second I’d imagined it, but then the voice came again.
“Well, stopletting himbother you! The last thing we need is for people to think there’s any animosity between us andthat man.”
“Even if there is?” Constantine’s voice was subdued but unmistakable, and I realized that I’d stopped behindhisbooth, so the person he was speaking to must be…
“There isn’t,” Angela said stoutly. “Animosity means acknowledging that he’s competition, and he’s not.”
“Come on, Mama,” Constantine chided gently. “You’re kidding, right? Not competition? Weren’t you complaining just yesterday about how he won that wedding contract you were hoping to get? The one for Senator Whatshisname?”
I sucked on my drink and tried not to betoosmug about that particular win.
Marissa Corcoran, stepdaughter of Senator Marcus Turnbull, was getting married next Valentine’s Day, and it was going to be the wedding of the year, no doubt. She’d opted to have it over at the Scarlet Maple Inn, one of the hottest wedding destinations in the area, and thanks to her step-daddy’s need to appeal to the voters, she was committed to using only local vendors for everything from her dress to her cake to her flowers.
I’d had no doubt my designs would blow anything the Rosses came up with out of the water—they used better-than-average stock, yes, but their designs were ridiculously basic—but I also knew that an eye-catching design wouldn’t guarantee me a win when Ross Landscaping had loyal supporters at the Scarlet Maple just like they had in O’Leary.
I’d needed ashowstopperdisplay at a bargain price, so I’d sourced celestial-pink roses through my floral supply house. They were gonna cost a fuckingmint, but were sure to be eye-catching and unique. I’d also deliberately cut my bid low, so low I was going to take a huge loss on the contract, because I knew the publicity I gained would be worth it.
And the strategy had worked. The bride’s mother had signed the contract yesterday, and the Scarlet Maple Inn had added me to their website as the florist of record for the job.
“He didn’t win it. He stole it,” Angela said, “right from under our noses. You should have seen the waythat manswaggered into the Scarlet Maple like he owned the place. He’s not competition. He’s athief.”
“You can’t steal what’s not yours in the first place.” Con sounded so tired I nearly felt bad for him.
Partying all night did that to a person, I reminded myself.
“And what about the contract at the Crabapple Bed and Breakfast? Thatisours. Or it was. Dana Cobb’s managing the place now, and she told meMicah Bloomapproached them with a bid for the arrangements for the guest rooms. They haven’t officially signed it yet, but it’s lower than anything we can quote.”
“Wait, I don’t understand. How can he be charging that much less when we have our own greenhouse? Wasn’t that investment supposed to cut costs?”
“It will in the long-term, but in the short term…” Angela hesitated, then said firmly. “I took out some loans.”
“What?” Constantine’s surprise was closer to betrayal. “Against the business?”
“It was the only option,” Angela said matter-of-factly. “We needed the greenhouse in order to stay competitive in the floral market.”
“But why do we have tostayin the floral market? Why can’t we focus on landscaping, like we used to when Dad was alive? Mama, I know we’ve talked about this in the past, but I’ve been doing research and I’ve taken a bunch of online classes. There aren’t a lot of really goodlocallandscape designers.”
“Constantine.”
