Angelo taps his fingers on the battered wooden table, drawing my attention. We’re busy today, a flurry of bouquet orders coming in at once and a corporate event to prepare for. The table is covered with discarded petals and scraps of twine and greenery. “Emilia.”
His voice is soft, and I narrow my eyes at him. “Angelo.”
My boss clears his throat, bushy eyebrows lifting. “We have a photographer coming in to take some pictures. For a marketing feature online.”
“Really? That’s… great.” I glance down at my outfit. I’m wearing leggings and my favorite boots, one of Ben’s sweatshirts thrown over the top that I’ve pushed back past my elbows. I can’t actually remember the last time I washed my hair. “You know, I don’t think I’m dressed—,”
“Nonsense,” he says abruptly. “They need a person in the picture.”
We eye each other. Slowly, I wave at him. “What are you? A hologram?”
“Your boss,” Angelo says crisply. “He’ll be here in twenty minutes. You look… fine.”
We both look down. Angelo sighs, disappearing out of sight and muttering about standards at work.
Excusing myself to the bathroom, I pinch my cheeks and try to make myself look more presentable.
Definitely need to wash my hair.
The photographer doesn’t linger long, thankfully. A bored-looking guy in his forties, he snaps a few pictures of me building a bouquet from several different angles and declares himself done. “It’ll run over the next few weeks.”
A small tendril of unease snakes through me as I watch him disappear through the door as quickly as he arrived.
It’s just a marketing feature.
“Emmy,” Angelo bellows from the back room where he’s been hiding. “Take your lunch break.”
“I’m actually fine—,”
“Bring me back a sandwich. Take money from the till. One for you too.”
Rolling my eyes, I do as I’m told. I need to eat anyway, with a double shift. I won’t have time later, and I didn’t have breakfast.
Sandwiches and receipt in hand, I’m pushing out of the café when I bump into someone from the other side. The door bangs into their head, and they stumble back with a curse. “Jesus Christ.”
“Sorry—,” My eyes widen as Jared pins a glare on me, rubbing at his head. “What are you doing here?”
I’ve seen him a few times over the last few weeks at the bar, but each of us has avoided any in-depth conversation.
Ben’s brother has a real talent at making me feel… unsettled. He does it again, running his eyes over me with an assessing gazethat makes me more than aware of my greasy hair. He lingers on Ben’s sweatshirt. “Getting assaulted with a door. You?”
I press my lips together, holding up the food in answer. “Lunch break.”
“You’re working the bar today? I thought they didn’t open until four.”
“I work at a florist during the day.” I duck out of the way of a determined family charging through the café doorway. “That’s what I’m trained in.”
Something flickers in his eyes at that. “Did you make those flowers yourself? For the - for Ben?”
My heart constricts. “Yeah.”
Three days hiding in Angelo’s workroom, where he left me alone, my hands shredding as I put them together while my heart broke. “They were… never mind.”
“Tell me.” Jared falls into step next to me. “What were they?”
I clear my throat. “A story,” I say hoarsely. “Our story, I guess. It’s stupid, really.”
Silence.
