“Ohh.” She peers at me with round eyes. “What made you pick that one?”
“In any flora fortune, one particular stem usually stands out to me above all the rest, sort of a lynchpin for the magic, which I call the queen. This is your queen—romantic with a dash of excitement. Love arrived unexpectedly for you.” I select grevillea as the greenery to fill out the arrangement, but magic responds with a phantom cicada hopping along my left wrist. Shuddering, I put it right back. I pluck purple statice instead and, having arrived upon the right combination, am immediately overpowered by vivid sensation.
Warm winds ripple over my skin, carrying a looming shadow I instantly recognize. I look down at the floor, and where hardwood is supposed to be, there’s asphalt, a puddle of rainwater reflecting a bold pair of eyes that know me all the way to the end. Instead of hearing his voice, I’m given the visualization of it—drizzling honey, each letter that spills from his mouth linked together, lovely amber words glittering in the sun. I see the notes of Alex’s laugh swirl around me, hear my name tumbling through his mind, desperate and heady as a kiss, and swallow hard against the thud of my heart in my throat.
When it all fades, I blink rapidly and catch myself before Iswoon, hoping that none of what I just experienced is scribbled across my flushed face. To magic, I give my fiercest side-eye. Absolutely none of that was necessary! Or wanted!Please just give me tasty desserts.
Magic hums from leaf to leaf in my bouquet, satisfied and balanced. The energy I pick up from it isI’ll do what I want.
I clear my throat. “What I would do, ordinarily, is get some wire and—”
“Mom?”
I look up. Alex isn’t watching me, thankfully. He’s watching Kristin, who’s gone misty-eyed.
Oh, no. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no.” She shakes her head, dabs her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s... the bird-of-paradise. Daniel brought me those on our third date.” She fans herself to dry the tears. “It was a special date, at a little diner in Hillsdale, Pennsylvania, the halfway point between Sandusky and Philadelphia. We’re going to be living in Hillsdale, did I tell you? The diner has amazing French toast, and I just think it’s so romantic how we fell in love halfway between my city and Daniel’s. I knew, then, at that third date, that he was somebody I needed to know better. Somebody who would become important to me.”
I melt. “He has excellent taste in flowers.”
“And these.” She taps the statice. “These were in my bouquet when I married Alex’s father.”
My mouth goes a bit wobbly. “They meanremembrance.”
“I didn’t know that.” A fluttery laugh. “I picked them because I liked the color.” She reaches for the flowers, which I pass to her. “You’ve got a real eye, you know.”
Kristin crying makes me want to cry, and her proud wordscertainly don’t help. I pull myself together. “Thank you. What sort of flowers did you pick out for your bouquet this time around?”
She hand-waves, frowning. “Originally, I thought I wouldn’t need any, that I’d just keep it simple since this wedding is so last-minute.”
My thoughts zigzag. I’d assumed that, like her cake and venue, she’d already had her floral decorations squared away. Very carefully, I venture, “Originally? Does that mean you’ve changed your mind? Because, if you have...” I gesture to the arrangement I made for her, letting the unspoken offer linger in the air.
I’ve never done arrangements for a wedding before, partly because I don’t have enough inventory for big events, but also because brides would naturally want to choose their own flowers, and I’m not an ordinary florist.
But this is different. This isKristin.
Her mouth opens, eyes shining with hope. “It wouldn’t be too last-minute?”
It’sextremelytoo last-minute. Plus, an event like this one would clean me out—between this and May Day, my garden will be empty, which means no more flora fortunes until it all grows back. I glance at the fundraising meter on our whiteboard, recollecting Mr. Yoon’s skepticism. Our investment in the lot has left us hemorrhaging money and we need to recoup our losses before we collapse.
I decide to seize the chance.
“I’ll do your bouquets and boutonnieres. I can do aisle flowers that double as reception table flowers, the arbor if you have one.” I try to think of other wedding necessities. “The flower girl basket.”
She plasters a hand over her mouth. “You will? You’re sure?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask for with such short notice, and I’m willing to pay extra—” She stops as she reads my face, a small smile forming. She knows exactly what I want. “Would two thousand cover it?”
Luna gasps.
I grin, reaching for Kristin’s hand. Give it a firm shake. “It’s a pleasure doing business.”
I’m afforded a brief glimpse of Alex, watching us with unbearable tenderness in his expression, before his mother throws her arms around me and pulls me in for a hug. I close my eyes against the brush of her hair on my cheek, her familiar scent—Happy, by Clinique, and cocoa butter lotion. Although I can tell that Kristin sincerely loves my flowers and wants me to provide this service, there is something else in this hug, too. It feels like atonement. Regret for pushing Alex and me apart. Love flares inside me, so much of it that some escapes through my tear ducts; I wipe it away with the back of my wrist as we finally part. She wipes away her own, sniffs, then pats my shoulder in silent communication that she knows I understand. That she loves me, too.
“We match.” She feathers her lily of the valley against the one inked into my skin. “Tattoos!” She tosses a short-lived, knowing smile up at her son. “Alex, I bet you like those.”
