Laughing, I flush yet again.What is wrong with me?“Yes. I am…well, I guess I am the Bloom Babe,” I tease, doing a curtsy with a flip of my worn shop apron. “This is what I do. What I see in my head has to come out some way. It was this or awful artwork of some kind.”
“Hmm, it must be beautiful up there,” he comments, reaching out to tap my temple. Turning a little, he spreads his arms at all the flower arrangements and plant displays that fill my little shop. “To create all this to get out what is in your head. I bet it stays beautiful up there.”
For a moment, the whole world goes still. Outside the snow slows, lights go muted, and all I smell is Jasmine. It is just him and I standing here. My heart feels as if it is rabbit hopping in my chest. I can barely catch my breath as he reaches out, brushing some fallen hair from my brow.
“Sissa will love it,” the little girl with bright eyes and dark hair shouts.
Just as fast as it started, the moment ends. As it should.Why would a man come to a flower store with his kids and flirt with the shop girl? Why would the shop girl be foolish enough to flirt back?
“Sissa would, indeed,” the man agrees, smiling at her.
“Christmas,” the little guy says, his eyes big as they take in the large, pine tree shaped display.
“That’s right, Nibs. Mama loves Christmas but we’re going to celebrate her birthday first though. Let’s do it. It’s perfect, thank you,” his voice is warm as he turns his attention back to me.
It’s uncomfortable the way he smiles at me, the way it makes my heart continue to gallop. Ignore it.I move past them to grab the bouquet. I am stunned when he moves too, his big hand pressing to the small of my back as his big body brushes against mine. Another flutter of my heart that almost aches hits me.He’s got a wife and kids. Shut that shit down, Nova!
“Let me get that, honey,” he hums, his voice close to my ear. “It’s so beautiful.”
Stepping back as if the brief contact had shocked me, I bow my head. I cannot look in his eyes. I am wrong for getting so fluttered and flushed over a man I should not. A married man. With adorable children. Not to mention good taste. Celebrating a holiday birthday that others often forget,plusPeter Pan tendencies? Yeah,definitelygood taste.
“Thank you. I do notdoChristmas usually but...this was in my head.”
Turning to head to the counter, I gather a few things to wrap the bouquet. Butcher paper, a canvas bag, and some ribbons. Setting the big bouquet on the battered wood counter, good-taste dad beams a bright smile at me. I start to return it before I notice the two littles at his side. They whisper to each other, giggle, and smile up at him with obvious adoration.
“They have your smile,” I tell him as I wrap the flowers,careful as I tie a big, red bow around the milk glass vase.
“Heard that before. My sister hates it,” he puts a hand up, whispering behind it towards me. “I continue to torture her even when I am not there to do it. What more could a little brother ask for?”
I stare at his bright smile, his sparkling green eyes, as I process his words. Sissa. His sister.Nothis wife? The cute little lost boy and girl are not his children, but his niece and nephew. I am never that sort of lucky.
“Uh…I uh…I think my brother might say the same thing,” I respond.
“Who would ever want to torture you? Someone who makes a place beautiful with her flowers, and that little smile you keep hiding from me.”
I am never,ever,this sort of lucky. “Mybrother would. Long story. With words not appropriate for little lost boys and girls,” I tease with a shrug as I glance at the cute little face smiling up at us.
“Well, you know,” good-taste guy grins up at me. “Once we wrap this gift up, I am taking my niece and nephew out to watch the tree lighting. Then it is all the pumpkin pie we can shove in our faces. Want to tell me about it all over pie and Christmas lights?”
As if the invite opened a door to a wave of ice-cold air, I am hit. Hit with memories of Thanksgivings and Christmas tree decorating with my brother. With my mother and father. I am cold down to the bone as I shake my head, shoving his wrapped gift across the counter stiffly.
“No, no thank you. Have a good night, folks. I am closing now, if you could just…” I swallow back a lump of pain as I brush past them to flip the closed sign over. Steeling my spine, I open the door to usher them out.
Unaware of the tension sparking in the room, the two littletykes rush out towards the street. Outside I can hear Christmas carolers. I start to panic. They work their way down Main Street towards the center of town. Where the huge holiday tree is about to be lit. They cannot stop here. I cannot face any of them again. Not again.
“Hey, I apologize if back there I was too forward,” the kind, handsome, good-taste gentlemen states as he hesitates at the door.
All I can see are twinkling lights and falling snow. Everything else is a blur. I turn my head away in shame when I see that he clocked the tears. No. No! I am not going to fall apart again. Least of all with a witness.
“Hey, honey, is there something…is everything ok?”
“Yes. I am fine. Please go. Have a good evening.”
I start to turn before a warm palm presses to my cheek. He tilts my head back up towards him, his eyes searching my face. It is the strangest thing, but it feels as if I cannot hide from those eyes. Not my pain or my petty anger, not my grief of my emptiness.
“I will be at the tree lighting. Offer to listen still stands. At the park. Or over coffee. Right here and right now, if you need. I am a good listener, honey.”
For just a moment, I stare back at him, smiling. I bet he is. “No. Thank you but it's not something I want to talk about. You have a good night, Peter Pan,” I tease with a sorrowful smile.
