We look at the lady at the counter and she’s smirking at us while helping the woman in front of her. Etna and I hurry to catch up. This time we’re running for a legit reason. We wind our way through the back tables where there are people working on flower arrangements. There are rows of shelves with things I can’t identify and flowers on every single surface, and flower clippings all over the floor.
Nat disappears through a door leading outside and we hurry to follow. Out back, there are half a dozen enormous greenhouses.
“How did we miss these from the front?” I ask.
Etna points and grabs my hand. “Come on. We’re going to lose him.” Laughing, we sprint after Nat as he steps into a greenhouse door. Then we stop in our tracks.
The place is like a jungle, filled to the brim with plants I’ve never seen, but are absolutely breathtaking. Nat is just across the path, delicately touching a flower petal. I have the strange sensation he should be in a painting like that.
“Flowers tell their own stories,” Nat says quietly. “Every story is different. Every scent and color and shape. Humans have devised meanings for every flower. Bittersweet, truth; clematis, mental beauty; hyssop, sacrifice; rhododendron, danger, beware.” He flashes us an amused smile. “When you build a bouquet, you create a story. By color, you change a story.”
Nat bends over and plucks a bud off the ground. He brushes the dirt away and hands it to me. “What story do you want to tell?”
Chills race down my arms.
“What means best friends falling in love and living happily ever after?” Etna asks. “Oh, and hockey.”
Nat’s smile turns into laughter. “What colors? What’s your theme? Tell me about your wedding. About your relationship. We’ll create a story for you.”
“Our colors are dark blues and grays, and a light blue gray. We don’t have a theme; they all seemed anticlimactic,” I say.
“And the story is… simple. We’ve been best friends since the moment we met and when it came to choosing someone forever, it seemed like an easy choice.” Etna looks at me. “I’d choose Keno every single time.”
For real, tears sting my eyes as I stare into his. Fucker.
“That’s perfect. Here, come with me.”
Once more, we follow Nat. He picks a flower here and there and then deposits us on a garden bench with glasses of icy lemonade—I have no idea where they came from—and tells us to sit tight and enjoy the flowers for a few minutes.
“You’re not allowed to say things like that in front of other people,” I mutter. “Seriously, I will not cry in front of other people. I didn’t even know I was the kind of person who cries at words.”
Etna chuckles. He drapes his arm over the back of my chair.
Nat returns as if he steps out of the trees. Like he was one and then just… came to life. With him is a gorgeous, unusual bouquet.
There are deep blue flowers, the color of the night sky. The greenery can’t really be called green because they’re such a deep, dark color. Almost black. Maybe blue. Maybe green. There are wispy things that I don’t feel are living. A couple twirly sticks and these fuzzy things that are a deep green with blue in the base.
Then there are light gray vining flowers, two different varieties and shades. And some dark blue berries. It’s all wrapped in dark gray paper.
Nat hands the bouquet to Etna. “How do you feel about this story?”
Etna stares at it, turning it slowly in his hand as he looks at it from different angles. “Yes,” he says and looks up at me. “It’s perfect.”
I smile. Itisperfect. I don’t know what the hell it’s saying, but I love it all the same. “Now, tell us where we’re going to put this.”
Nat chuckles. He produces a book from thin air. No, seriously. I’m not sure where it came from and am quite certain he didn’t have it when he walked over. He pulls a table over and sits on a bench across from us. “Let’s take a look and see what speaks to you.”
CHAPTER 23
ETNA
Flights from Phoenixto DC are only just over four hours, but because of the time change, I lose half the day. Even though I leave at the ass crack of dawn, I land just before one in the afternoon on the East Coast. The suckiest part is having to head back to the airport later tonight to take a red-eye home.
I’m not actually here for twenty-four hours. Not even twelve hours. At least I don’t need to wait for luggage, so that’s a positive.
My dad is waiting for me at pickup and we drive through the DC traffic for forty minutes. Hmm. I didn’t think this through.
“How’s wedding planning coming?” Dad asks.
