Chapter One
Ruby
The problemwith singing into a chrysanthemum at full volume is that strangers assume you’re unhinged.
I’m twirling between bouquets like I’m in my own music video, belting, “Sugar, sugar! Ba-da ba-da bump bump!” when?—
“Excuse me!”
I nearly jump out of my skin. A wide-eyed woman in a puffy coat stands in the doorway. She’s a bit older than I am, maybe the other side of fifty. She’s from the city. Her shoes are the giveaway.
I fumble for the volume and turn it down. “Oh, hi there!” I say, smoothing my skirt back into place.
“Sorry to startle you,” she says.
“Oh no, not at all. I was just adjusting my hearing aids.”
That part comes out rehearsed, mostly because it is. It’s easier to explain insanely loud music that way. I pop a finger to each ear and wiggle them like I’m tuning something.
“Oh, I see.” Her whole demeanor shifts and I’m no longer insane, just hard of hearing.
Truth is, I hear just fine. I just can’t stand a quiet, empty shop.
“Are you open?” she asks, checking the sign on the door.
“Yes, of course. I’m just not used to seeing customers.”
“Um…sorry?” she says, retreating and nearly toppling the sunflowers.
Sometimes I have a hard time keeping my thoughts inside my head.
“I mean, this early in the day,” I add, cranking my smile up to megawatt. “How can I help you today?”
I see her inner debate:Leave while I still can, or give this another shot?
“We have a special on a dozen carnations this week,” I say gently, like I’m coaxing a skittish puppy.
“Well, my daughter is getting married, and we need several bouquets plus a few arrangements.”
Music to my ears. A wedding order would cover a month’s expenses. Not the last three months, but it’s a start.
“Here in Silver Pine?” I ask.
“That’s right.”
“Who’s your daughter?”
“I doubt you know her. She’s in the process of moving back after many years.”
“Try me.”
The woman seems put off. City folk prefer getting straight down to business.
“Not from around here, then?”
“Boulder,” she replies, confirming my suspicion. To her credit, she’s trying and failing to keep up with my usual stream of consciousness.
“Wait, is your daughter the woman who’s opening the gallery next door?”
