“Let’s get going, then. You need to eat, and I’m ready to have something other than a quickly scrambled egg and reheated takeout,” he says. I blush again, and he chuckles. “She should be at the shop in about an hour, right?”
It takes an embarrassingly long time for me to be willing to leave my tiny apartment with Rhett next to me, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. A few people look at us as we walk to a small cafe a couple blocks the other direction from my shop. He doesn’t seem to mind any of it, though, sitting on my side of the table as he tears through two entire chicken salad croissant sandwiches in the time it takes me to finish picking at my own veggie bagel sandwich.
When we finally get to the shop’s street, I frown. Despite being nearly an hour late to open up Blush & Bloom, the lights are off and the sign is flipped to closed. Nerves eat away at my stomach, crowding out my throat, but I try to think and breathearound them. Rhett holds my hand the entire time I get the front of the shop open and then sort through what inventory I have and everything that needs to be replaced and adjusted since being gone for nearly a week.
My breath catches in my throat as I walk into my work room. Rhett squeezes my hand, a silent sentinel and beacon of warmth. The tables are all cleaned, exactly the way Billie always leaves the shop—even when I’m closing everything with her. The orders for today are on the back counter, ready to start. Today’s pickups are in the cooler. Only one order from the weekend is left, a note scrawled in Marilyn’s stilted handwriting on the order tag saying the person never came to get it. Without a word, I pull the custom slip off of it and bring it to the front of the shop. Hopefully someone else will buy it before the flowers wilt in another few days.
I manage to work another fifteen minutes, Rhett leaning against the table within touching distance of me, when the silence becomes too overbearing.
“She’s never late. Or, at least, she texts if she got caught up doing something that will make her late.”
I pull my phone from my apron, but my phone is still bare of any notifications at all. I send a text to her. I don’t know if it’s what I’m supposed to do, but I can’t stand the thought of not seeing her while all of us are awkwardly circling the elephant in the metaphorical room with us.
Hope you’re ok.
Crap, that’s probably too callous sounding in just text.
Can we talk? When you’re ready.
The messages are marked as delivered. I stare at the screen for a long minute, but they don’t flip over to read. I sigh and drop my phone back in my apron.
Rhett hums and pulls his own, tapping a message.
That thread of melancholy under my sternum grows stronger, making tears burn behind my eyelids. I quickly blink them away, trying to ignore Paxton’s emotions entirely. I grab new buckets of amaranthus as well as pine and silver spruce boughs, arranging the table wreaths with more expedience than artistry, my thoughts scattered.
“Baby girl?” Rhett asks after a few minutes.
My gaze cuts to him. His lips are set in a heavy frown, concern radiating from his entire body.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Billie flew back to California.”
She left? A grief I’ve never quite felt settles between my ribs, making every breath hurt.
“Oh.” The word comes out too quiet, too shaky. “She didn’t text me.”
If she didn’t plan on coming back, she would have texted me, right? To at least let me know I need to finally put together a job listing for someone to take over the retail portion of the shop? I chew on my lip, trying to breathe through the mix of emotions.
Rhett grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. “We’ll figure it out.”
I nod. That ever-present melancholy weaving through my chest makes a lot of sense now. God, all of this is so messed up, and I don’t have any idea how I’m supposed to be handling any of it. I want to comfort Paxton, his sadness a weight on my soul, but am I even allowed?ShouldI be allowed? Does Billie going back to California mean they’re not together? I can’t even finish the thought without that grief twisting deeper.
The bells chime from the front of the shop. I suck in a deep breath and close my eyes, slowly finding my center. If I could survive an entire week dealing with an absolutely debilitating pre-heat, I can handle a customer in my floral shop. The shop I love and have created with my own sweat and blood and tears over the last half year.
Rhett follows a few steps behind, his hand still laced with mine, ready to stay out of sight if it’s a customer needing a custom quote. Though I suppose he doesn’t have to anymore, does he? I freeze just as I cross into the front room, nerves closing off my throat.
Dad leans against the counter, his hands in his pockets, his ankles crossed. His gaze takes in all the small changes I’ve made since he was last here right before Billie started working with me. When he turns to me, his shoulders are tight, but his eyes are only full of worry.
“Carys bug,” he says. “You’re all right?”
Rhett squeezes my fingers, keeping a half-step behind me. Dad’s eyes flick to him before refocusing on me. I give him a shaky smile, and he blows out a breath.
“You have time for some coffee?” he asks.
“Of course. Let me go grab my bag.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll pay.”
