“It is. Am I parked illegally?”
She glances at my hand. “No wedding band.”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you new here or just visiting?”
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“I’m Mrs. Eunice Periwinkle. And you are…”
“Griffin Renshaw.”
“Pleasure is all mine. What brings you to town?”
I want to get this show on the road but the lady is positioned strategically between me and the flower shop. “I own the flower store.”
“Ah, the new owner!” She leans in like I’m about to give her the nuclear codes. “Will you be making big changes?”
I have no idea how I got sucked into this conversation. “I am on a tight schedule. Nice meeting you.”
I attempt to walk around her and like an awkward two-step, she matches my movements until she finally lets me get by. “See you again soon,” she vows.
Can’t wait.
I study the flower shop’s exterior. The place is larger than I’d expect for a small-town business. Someone has framed the front window with glittered paper hearts, each one scribbled with a name in crayon.
The window displays an array of colorful flowers in what appear to be antique vases. Through the glass, I catch a glimpse of a woman spinning in circles near a bucket of roses, her ponytail swinging like a metronome. She’s singing loudly enough that I hear her through the closed door.
I check my watch, steel my expression, and step inside. The bell over the door jingles.
And just like that, the whirlwind turns and smiles straight at me.
Chapter Eight
Ruby
The door opensand I bring my dance to an abrupt stop. At least this time I don’t have music blaring. I also don’t have earbuds in. The music is in my head.
“Welcome to Oopsie Daisies!” I call automatically, reaching for a bundle of pruned ranunculus. “We’re running a special on?—”
My words die when I see him.
The guy from Sweet Peak Café. Dark coat. Crisp shirt. No smile.
Oh no. Maybe my parting comment about getting unstuck, stuck with him.
“Can I help you?” I ask, though it comes out more like a squeak. Keeping my hands busy, I wrap the flowers in bright pink paper and toss outthe detritus.
He glances around like he’s inspecting an alien planet. “You must be Ruby.”
I wipe my hands on my apron, leaving a green smear across my belly. “In the flesh.”
He tilts his head as if I’m a curious creature he’s never encountered before. “Griffin Renshaw.” He says it like an announcement. “I left several messages.”
My brain stalls. “You’re the?—”
“Owner,” he finishes. “For now.”
