After one last teary bow of the head towards the grave, she walked away with the other women.
‘It was a beautiful service. You’ve done brilliantly to get through the week, and especially today,’ said Isla.
‘And just look at the glorious sunshine. Ada is shining down on all us,’ shared Martha, who slowed down and pointed to a poster tied around the wooden post with string. ‘By the way, what are you going to do about that?’ she asked Florrie.
They all stared at the poster, which was for Flowers in Bloom, the annual Heartcross competition that attracted garden enthusiasts from far and wide.
‘Aunt Ada loved that day of the year. And everyone loved to see what she had created,’ said Florrie.
The competition was so popular that it had been televised on numerous occasions, with the competing Heartcross residents eager to showcase their gardens and win the coveted first prize. But it had been very difficult to compete with Ada, who had won every single year for the past three decades.
‘But as for this year … I’m really not sure. Maybe it’s time to pass the baton on,’ added Florrie thoughtfully.
‘Or maybe you should enter the gardens at Rose Cottage in memory of Ada,’ suggested Dolores. ‘Those blooms meant the world to her. She grew those gardens from bare, uneven land, which took a lot of blood, sweat and tears. And Ada always loved seeing the joy and appreciation on the faces of the community and tourists as they walked through the gates.’
‘And, of course, the love of gardening was how she met her wonderful husband.’ Martha chuckled. ‘I was there that day. They were competing against each other in a floral competition. Ewart was the clear favourite, Ada the underdog. He thought he had it in the bag, but little did he know who he was up against! Ada won, Ewart walked over to congratulate her, and the rest is history. They created the gardens together at Rose Cottage and Ewart often worked in The Vintage Flower Van. That pair were made for each other and grew together. I think you’ll meet the man of your dreams through your own love of flowers,’ Martha said sagely.
‘The only men who ever come into Buttercup Barn to buy flowers are already in a relationship. They buy for their wife, or their girlfriend, they send roses on Valentine’s Day or anniversaries. Failing that, they’re there for wedding flowers or funeral flowers, so the chances are pretty slim.’ Florrie smiled.
‘You mark my words, the love of your life has something to do with flowers, and possibly The Vintage Flower Van. I can feel it,’ argued Martha.
‘As much as I love you and your psychic powers, I’ve been a florist for a very long time now, and I haven’t met anyone.’
Martha looked her straight in the eye, the intense gaze unnerving Florrie for a second. ‘That’s because your heart hasn’t been open to love.’
Martha’s words resonated with Florrie and she felt a tiny shiver ricochet through her body. There was no denying she’d guarded her heart in recent years. Why wouldn’t she? It had taken her a long time to piece her broken heart back together after what happened … after Tom’s betrayal.
She remembered the very afternoon that they’d first met like it was only yesterday…
* * *
It was the last day of her uni term before the summer break and Florrie was sprawled out on a picnic blanket up in the sand dunes on Castle Sands Beach, which was the best spot to overlook the turquoise sea. As usual, the waves were breaking around the rocks in the shallows, causing a blue-white lace to foam over the shore. The sun was high in the sky and the beach busier than usual, with holidaymakers dotted up and down the golden sand and surfers catching the big breakers out in the water. She glanced at her watch and then looked up to find that he was right on cue. Tom Houston walked onto the beach and towards the usual rock where he peeled off his shirt, put on his goggles and strolled straight into the sea without flinching. The rest of the university swim team were right behind him but her gaze was fixed on Tom, who was as powerful as the waves and moved through the water effortlessly. His shoulders were broad and his tanned skin glistened. Florrie couldn’t take her eyes off him. There was something about Tom Houston that she’d always found captivating. He was perfect.
It wasn’t long before Tom waded from the water. He must have sensed someone was watching him because he glanced up towards the sand dunes. He was looking straight at her and though she was looking straight back at him, she knew, thanks to her sunglasses, that he couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure she was staring in his direction.
It was the perfect way to spend the morning before her last lecture.
A couple of hours later, Florrie was standing in front of the vending machine outside the lecture theatre looking in dismay at the bottle of water stuck between the glass and the coil. She was about to walk away when out of the corner of her eye she saw a sudden movement. She jumped at the sound of a fist hitting the glass.
Thud!
The bottle dropped and Florrie looked sidewards then upwards straight into eyes of Tom Houston. He bent down, retrieved the bottle and held it towards her, and she took it from him, his touch sending an unexpected shiver down her spine.
He was standing close to her, making her heart beat faster. Up close, he was everything she’d imagined him to be. His skin was tanned and smooth, his hazel eyes mesmerising, and the aroma of his aftershave caused an eruption of goosebumps over her entire body.
‘Thank you,’ she said, hoping her voice sounded relatively normal.
‘You’re welcome. I can’t have anyone dying of dehydration with only one lecture to go.’ His eyes were fixed on hers and he didn’t break her gaze.
He made her nervous.
With a rapid heartbeat Florrie twisted the lid off the bottle and went to take a drink, completely missing her mouth. Feeling like a fool, she looked down at the wet patch on her T-shirt, then wiped the water from her chin with the back of her hand.
Tom didn’t try to hide his smile. ‘Were you watching me this morning, Red?’ he asked in his posh Scottish twang.
She avoided the question, unwilling to admit that she’d been watching him, even if he already knew. ‘Red?’ she quizzed.
He pointed to her long red hair. It fell to the middle of her back and was dotted with beads. Embracing university life, Florrie had her own style going on. In addition to the beads, she was also wearing all the colours of the rainbow. Her jeans were baggy and rolled up at the ankles and had coloured flowers embroidered down the side of each leg. Her feet sported bright yellow Crocs, her T-shirt was orange and her cardigan crimson.
