Rowan shook his head. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves? I’ll get a Band-Aid.” He went into the greenhouse, returning a few seconds later with a first aid kit.
Gia came back then, arms swinging and eyes dancing. “Let’s get to this, because I have a date later.”
“Not sure you should be dating the competition, Gia. Cameron’s on Addison’s Bloom team,” I said.
She waved her hand. “I can be sportswomanlike. C’mon—flower arranging now, talking about my boo later.”
Rolling his eyes, Rowan lifted two urn-looking pots onto the table. “Okay. We’re going to start with cut-flower arranging. The Bloom is, of course, for live flower sculptures, but you need to learn the basics first. We’ll make chicken wire frames like we will for the competition.”
He instructed us to shape the chicken wire into balls. Gia made a face as she struggled with hers. “Ugh.” She dropped it on the bench.“It’s sharp. Look, I’m bleeding. Oh God, do I need a tetanus shot? That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”
I didn’t see any evidence of broken skin on Gia’s hands. “Gia, don’t be dramatic.” I tossed her a pair of garden gloves. I wasn’t wearing any because I assumed working with fiddly chicken wire would be tricky wearing heavy leather gloves.
It was so typical Gia to feign a minor injury to get out of doing something she didn’t want to do. Like a “twisted ankle” before we started basketball in gym class, or “sore eyes” before our grade-ten math exam. But this wasn’t supposed to be something she didn’t want to do. I was irked—she was my best friend, and this competition was extremely important to me.
“You’re not going to get lockjaw from brand-new chicken wire, anyway,” Rowan said.
“Lockjaw?”Gia looked horrified. “What the heck? That sounds like some sort of medieval torture disease. Who said anything about gettinglockjaw?”
Juniper raised a brow. “You did? You said you’d need a tetanus shot. A tetanus shot is to prevent lockjaw.”
Gia seemed so disturbed I decided to deflect. “Are those the flowers we’ll be working with?” I asked, pointing to the bucket.
“No. It’s a litter of kittens,” Rowan said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Wow. I see you brought your manners again,” I said. Then I sneezed. Several times.
“Row,” Juniper said. “Don’t be mean. We need to work together all summer. You okay, Tahira?”
I waved my hand. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I can handle it. Glad it’s not kittens—I’m even more allergic to cats.” I sneezed again. Of course.
Somehow, without anyone else insulting anyone, or cutting themselves with chicken wire or wire cutters, we continued with the lesson. Gia and I each put our chicken wire balls in the pots, then arrangedthe flowers into the wire, in what was supposed to be a pleasing design. While we worked, Rowan explained the elements of floral design: line, color, form, space, and texture. I’d of course studied that on my own the past three nights—I’d gone even further and studied eight principles of floral arranging, too. But watching someone design in a video and actually doing it myself were completely different.
It was harder than I expected. My fingers were scratched up and itchy, the stems didn’t sit the way I wanted them to, or they were too weak and snapped when I wanted them to behave. Flowers lost their petals, or had too many leaves, or they didn’t fill the chicken wire. Despite mainlining florists on YouTube, I felt like I had no idea what I was doing. I couldn’t stop sneezing, and my eyes were so watery I could barely see. I’d taken an antihistamine, but I guess what was strong enough for walking the garden wasn’t quite enough for actually handling flowers.
When I was done, I took a long look at my first-ever flower arrangement. It was unbalanced, wonky, and looked nothing like the image in my head. It was in no way good enough to get anywhere near New York City. My hands were sore, and I had a huge headache. And I couldn’t stop sneezing.
It was going to be a long, painful, sniffly summer.
11
MATTEO AND THE FALLS
Our disastrous first lesson ended with Rowan handing me a roll of chicken wire to practice sculpting on my own and the phone number for his mother’s medical clinic, suggesting it might be wise to find out if there were any stronger antihistamines available. I was grateful—I needed all the help I could get.
Saturday, June, Gia, and I worked, and Shar had a much-needed day off. But whenever I wasn’t helping customers or arranging stock, I had my face in my phone, reading and watching instructional videos on floral arranging. Friday’s lesson had taught me one thing—I had a long way to go if I wanted to be anywhere near good enough to make a splash at the Bloom.
But Sunday...Sunday was mine. Matteo’s brother had agreed to lend him his car, and we had a full day planned at Niagara Falls with Gia. We planned a shoot at the falls themselves and one at the cheesy tourist trap Clifton Hill district. These photos would be the only #powercouple content for a while, so they needed to be amazing.
I was on Shar’s front porch at ten when the blue Mustang GT drove up. My skin erupted in goose bumps even before Matteo turned onto the driveway. I was so happy to see him. He parked and got out of the car with a grin.
He wore oversize tan pants and a green and gray sweater vest over a white T-shirt, along with his usual silver chain around his neck—and he was gorgeous. Every time I saw him in person, I had the same thought—I was so lucky he was mine.
“Oh man, it’s good to see you, Tahira,” he said when he reached me. I was enveloped in his arms. His mouth was on mine seconds later.
Mmm...this. This was exactly what I needed to take my mind off the store, my FIT application, and figuring out how to be a champion floral artist in six weeks. Just Matteo’s candy-flavored mouth on mine. I closed my eyes and sank into the kiss.
“You two are face-sucking already?” Gia clomped loudly up the porch stairs. “Man, I forgot how much I never see your lips unstuck together.”
