Now the entire industry was almost exclusively online, excluding weddings.
He understood the why behind it. The Bloomerang website was easy to shop, searchable by both price point and occasion, pre-made vase designs and twee containers for everything from birthdays to a sick co-worker. They had a bottomless national advertising budget to ensure they were the biggest name in theindustry, owned multiple web addresses and toll-free numbers, ensuring that if one were attempting to order flowers, they would be on the receiving end of the request.The Perfect Petalhad been a Bloomerang partner for as long as he could remember, buying into the wire service as soon as it became available, although the cost of membership to the service was ever-rising.
Orders from the service were sent directly to the shop and printed automatically throughout the afternoon, although there were fewer since the industry behemoth had begun opening its own stores.
The Bloomerang-branded flower shops were a blight on more than just the floral industry. They were a clarion call, a warning to every small business of the fate that awaited them once whoevertheircorporate overlord was decided that they, too, would cut out the middleman. Most people didn’t see the invisible labor that went into every item they purchased in the course of their everyday, but he did. Ranar knew how many people were put of work when small businesses fell like dominoes, entire industries left in the hands of the corporate giants who’d bulldozed their way to be at the top.
He might have been tactless in his words to the attractive stranger, but better for her to hear honesty than be snookered in by aesthetic-driven social media, believing that this business was sustainable in the current climate. As it was, it was only Jack Hemming’s disdain for human-run businesses and chain stores that was keeping his family’s shop afloat.
He disliked being reliant on the Bloomerang wire orders, but at least he still had them coming in daily. It was more than some of his former peers could say.
On the days his father insisted on coming into the shop, as he had for more than forty years, Ranar had made it a habit to make a sweep of both the front of house and back severaltimes a day. His father had a habit of taking the orders from the printed queue and misplacing them. Ranar would find them on the front counter, on the back cutting table, on the shelves in between boxes of floral foam. Once, he’d found a request for a casket spray inside the cooler next to a birthday arrangement, a juxtaposition that nearly sent into an existential spiral until he remembered that his grandfather had not shared the same illness as his son, remaining quick of mind and sharp of tongue until his final breaths.
It was easy for Grace to give relationship advice now that she was coupled. He appreciated his friend and knew that she was only looking out for his best interests, but if she pushed the issue, he would remind her that she herself had been a workaholic with no social life not that long ago, withoutthe responsibility of caring for aging parents and a limping business.
Besides, it wasn’t as if he hadno oneto talk to.
Pinky had become a fast friend. It was nice, having someone else confide their troubles in him for a change, and really, all she needed was for someone to believe in her very attainable dreams. She was knowledgeable about plants, spoke the same language of humidity and south facing windows, possessing an adorable collection of strings of pearls and pink accented philodendrons.
Ranar had not been at all surprised when she had disclosed that she had a boyfriend, because of course she would. She was vivacious and funny, and he was positive he could tell just by the way she typed and the things she said that she would be beautiful. But the more he had learned about her partner, piecing together offhand remarks she would make, likely thinking he wasn’t paying that much attention, the more annoyed over the situation he grew.
It was silly to be jealous of a stranger.
Even more preposterous to be jealous of that stranger’s relationship with another stranger. It was a fact he reminded himself of often, not that it should have made any bit of difference. She didn’t exist here in the real world, in his world. Now she was moving to someplace new and embarking on a new chapter in her life, freeing herself of everything that weighted her down. Ranar couldn’t relate.
He was happy for his friend, hoped that she would be successful in her new adventure, and even if he occasionally wished the possibility of that meeting and seeing if they were just as compatible on the upright side of the screen as they were behind it become a reality, keeping their relationship as it was didn’t detract for his happiness for her windfall. Didn’t detract, but it did solidify the fact that she would never be more than his Internet friend.
And she’ll be happy once she moves, when she starts over again. She’s going to meet someone, and probably won’t spend as much time chatting with the random plant guy.The thought had occurred to him shortly after she had confessed that she would be selling her condo and moving to this house she’d inherited, that soon her life would be too full for chatting with him.
It made him sad, but Ranar had reminded himself that there was beauty in ephemera. Some things weren’t designed to last forever. They were lovely for a minute, provided happiness for a brief window, and then they were gone — like the flowers he sold.
He sucked a breath in through his teeth the thought, his mind flickering back to the woman who’d been in his store that day. He hadn’t lied to Grace. She was pretty, beautiful, in fact. Long dark hair to the middle of her back, full and lush like a peony at the height of its bloom.Was she really flirting with you? She couldn’t have been.
He wondered where she would be living once she moved to Cambric Creek, what her actual job was, outside of her ill-fated desire to join his ranks.
If she were single, Grace was right — she wouldn’t be for long. Not around here. Some of his neighbors were the horniest folks in existence, and her full breasts and round hips would make a fast impression the first time she went grocery shopping. Once they found out she was new to the neighborhood, that would be the end. It would be a race to see who could be the first to stick their dick into her, and she would have her pick of the neighborhood.
She’ll probably wind up with some big, muscular orc. That cyclops landscaper who never wears a shirt. Maybe a werewolf. Even if Grace was right and shehadbeen flirting with him, which he thought was unlikely, once she saw her other options, she would be sure to lose Ranar’s number.No thanks. Been there, done that, have the postcard.Everyone ought to visit the Heartache Hills once, but there was never a need to go back for a second stay.
He wondered if Pinky would encounter the same mentality when she moved to her new town — that she was fresh meat, a prize to be claimed first. He hoped she would find someone better than her current boyfriend.Too bad it won’t be you.
At that thought, Ranar turned, slouching against the coils of his tail as he tapped the computed monitor to life, quickly clicking on the DiscHorse icon. His palms itched, a desperate need to push Grace’s voice out of his head, and besides —he always sent her a little mid-day missive.
ChaoticConcertina:Do you know what I really hate?
Well-meaning friends.
They’re well-meaning, so no matter what they say and regardless of how much you
don’t want to hear it, you can’t ever really be mad at them
Because they’re well-meaning!
And if you ever tell them to stuff it, nowyou’rethe bad guy.
“But I only meant well!”
Add that to my petty list of grievances.
