“Back for more flower-based remedies?” I ask, reaching for some delicate baby’s breath. He’s the only person in town who buys roses by the dozen and calls them medicinal.
Dr. Brooks wanders over to the cooler, opens the glass door with practiced ease, and selects two bunches of long-stemmed roses. Then he chooses two glass vases. He brings them to the counter, setting the vases down with a precise thunk.
He says, “Prescription roses for Mabel Jensen. Her arthritis flared up again. And one bouquet of apology flowers for Mitzy Carlton. I may have implied she was being obstinate during her blood pressure check.”
His apology bouquets keep me in business.
I snort. “I’ll whip up something that says ‘forgive me’ without also saying ‘you were wrong.’”
As I wrap the bouquet, Jenna slips in through the side door, quiet as a diamond thief avoiding trip lasers. She leans over the counter with a grin. “So…what’s the story with this mystery rose?”
I glance at her, feigning confusion. “What rose?”
“Maisie….” she draws the syllables of my name out like she’s pulling taffy. “Don’t play dumb. I heard it from Essie, who heard it from Nora, who saw it on her morning walk and called me before I’d even finished brushing my hair.”
“Oh. That rose,” I murmur.
Her smile grows. “The one Beau definitely didn’t leave outside your shop last night?”
“I alreadyasked him about it.”
Jenna squeals. “When? Where? How? I need details, Maze.”
“I saw him on the sidewalk outside not too long ago. He didn’t come in. But I needed to return his jacket he left here the other night, so I ran out to catch him.”
Jenna lights up with smug satisfaction.
I ignore her, trying to sound breezy. “It wasn’t a full conversation. Just, ‘Hey, did you leave a rose?’” as if I didn’t care.”
“And?”
“He denied it.”
Jenna tilts her head, eyes widening with curiosity. “Was it a furtive denial, a guilty denial or…”
I interrupt. “More of a neutral denial. Calm. Almost too calm.”
She croons. “Interesting. And how did you feel about that?”
My stomach does a little flip flop. “Relieved?” I offer. “Maybe? I don’t know. Disappointed?”
“Both,” Jenna declares in an I-solved-the-riddle tone of voice. “You wanted it to be him.”
“Maybe,” I mumble.
Behind me, there’s a soft, deliberate rustle and a small cough. Dr. Brooks. I’d forgotten he was still standing there.
When I glance back, he’s watching me with that perceptive, almost amused look he wears when he’s about to drop wisdom disguised as small talk.
He clears his throat, “Well, as I always say, a mystery rose is better than a dozen apology bouquets and a patient who bakes me brownies.”
I blink.
He adjusts his glasses and gives me a dry look. “Maisie, everyone’s talking about you and Beau. You’re thetown’s favorite subplot. I try not to eavesdrop unless it’s medically relevant, but let’s just say…if what I’ve seen and heard counts for anything? That man’s not just fixing porches.”
Then he nods once, matter-of-fact, and gathers his bouquets, turning to leave the conversation behind as though it never happened.
The bell above the door jingles loudly, forceful enough to alarm Peaches and make her scurry under my work bench. Dr. Brooks, just feet away from the exit with his bouquets in hand, is forced to sidestep as Tess bursts through the door, nearly bumping him into the display of chrysanthemums.
