Her brows lift. “Yes, that’s Tessa.”
I spring forward and hug her. “Wow, congrats!” This time, the excitement is real. I’ve only met Tessa briefly, but I justknowwe’re going to be fast friends.
“Err, thank you,” she says, peeling herself away from my embrace. “I suppose Silver Pine is still the small town I grew up in.”
She must see the avalanche of questions forming behind my eyes because she says, “Wedding.”
“Right!”
I pull out the folder of bridal packages we offer at Oopsie Daisies.
Unlike yours truly, Clara was impossibly organized. There’s a folder for everything. I glance up at the ceiling. “Thanks.”
“What’s that?” she asks, following my gaze.
“Oh, just thanking Clara for being so organized.”
“Who’s Clara?”
“The owner. I’m the manager,” I say.
“Is she upstairs?”
“The eternal upstairs.”
The woman sighs and flips through the book. A vein throbs at her temple. I tend to have that effect on new people. Clara used to say I’m “a lot.” She meant it in the best possible way. I miss her every day.
Tessa’s mother says, “Well, your prices are certainly competitive, and I love these arrangements using indigenous flowers.”
I glow a little. Designing those is all me. “It’s what sets us apart. We specialize in Colorado florals, unless the client wants something more exotic.”
The phone rings, but when I see the number, I let it go to voicemail. Again.
Instead, I head to the worktable and trim stems off a batch of red roses, making a mental note to order more. With Valentine’s Day coming up, we’ll be ready with roses, arrangements, and balloons. Not to mention the event of the season. Timberline Inn’s Valentine’s Day cotillion. The dance will be the highlight of the inn’s soft opening and the whole town is going to be there in support.
Tessa’s mother brings over the folder, asks a few questions, and settles on a generous wedding package. Clara would be thrilled. She leaves a deposit, and I tell her I’ll be in touch with details.
Mrs. Periwinkle strolls in, adjusting her bright red hat. “I’ll be right with you, Mrs. P.!”
I keep my tone cheerful, but all I can think about is the phone call I sent to voicemail.
Chapter Two
Ruby
I’m mentally calculatingwhich bills I can pay when Mrs. P. materializes directly in front of me. For an older woman, she moves as stealthily as a mountain lion.
She leans forward, dropping into her well-known conspiratorial whisper. “I hear Oopsie Daisies has a new owner.”
It’s a miracle it took this long for the word to reach Mrs. P. The letter from the lawyer arrived last week.
She continues, “That’s what the ladies at the post office said. A nephew of Clara’s. He’s a hotshot finance guy in Denver. Word is he’s going to ‘evaluate operations.’” Her air quotes are practically audible. “And mark my words, Ruby, men who wear suits don’t appreciate dahlias.”
After she leaves, I return to trimming roses, but thestem shakes in my hand. The phone rings again, and I glance at the number. Denver area code. The same one that’s called all week. Maybe if I don’t answer, the problem will go away.
Call me the queen of wishful thinking. I let it go to voicemail.
Later, when the shop’s quiet, I finally listen to the messages. A deep voice fills the room.
