I leaned the bike against the wall and lifted out the last arrangement—white peonies and pale green hydrangeas. I left Trevor and took the last of the deliveries inside to Lila.
Her space was open and light-filled, with high ceilings, painted brick walls, and wide-plank, white oak floors. The studio was like Lila’s portfolio in miniature. Vintage brass fixtures. A reclaimed farm table she used as a desk. Fabric swatches fanned across a side table like a deck of oversized cards. The whole room smelled like linen and sandalwood.
Lila was at the table with her laptop open and a stack of paint chips in front of her. She looked up when the door creaked.
“Good morning,” I said, setting the vase on the console table by the entrance.
“Oh, those are beautiful. Is that the Annabelle hydrangea?”
“It is. Last of the season. Figured you’d appreciate them before they’re gone.”
Lila came over and adjusted the vase a quarter inch to the left. “How’s it going with the Morrison wedding pieces?”
“It’s been stressful, but Grady helped yesterday. He’s promised to come by today too. It’s nice to have free labor.”
“Is that all he is?” Lila’s eyes twinkled at me.
“Very funny.”
“Go. You have centerpieces to make.” She waved me off and went back to her paint chips, already lost in whatever room she was building in her mind.
Trevor was waiting by the bike, ears up, ready for the next stop.
“That’s it, buddy. Home.”
His tail wagged once, politely, then trotted politely next to the bike as I pedaled back up Harbor Street toward the shop, the October sun warm on my face and the sea air scented with woodsmoke.
4
GRADY
This time of year, I only opened the shop for a few hours in the morning. Today, a dad came in looking for a board for his twelve-year-old’s Christmas present. We’d talked for a while about beginner boards, fin setups, and what size his son would need by spring. He’d left without buying anything but promised to return before the holidays.
After I closed up, I walked to town, thinking about Esme and the Morrison wedding centerpieces. Maybe if I showed up and refused to leave, she’d accept my help.
When I reached Wild Petal, the CLOSED sign was up, but I could see Esme through the window, moving fast between the cooler and the worktable, arms full of white roses. The shop looked like a florist’s warehouse had exploded inside it. Every surface was covered, with greenery spilling off the counter, ribbon and wire and floral tape scattered across the table.
Trevor spotted me through the glass and immediately got up, tail wagging, and he trotted over to the door.Oh, Trevor. You’ve got no poker face, I thought. When it came to Esme, neither did I, but at least I didn’t have a tail to give me away.
Esme looked up and smiled when she saw it was me, then hurried over to let me inside.
“What are you doing here?” Esme asked, tugging at her green apron.
“I was thinking about you—wondering if you needed any help with the Morrison order.”
She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind one ear. Her face was void of makeup, looking dewy and fresh-scrubbed, other than a meal of yellow on her cheek. Most likely pollen. I’d have liked to brush it away for her but didn’t dare touch her. I never wanted her to feel violated or frightened by anything I did. But sometimes my imagination went there anyway.
“You’re so sweet to come by,” Esme said. “As you can tell, I’m in the weeds. Or flowers, as the case may be.”
“I’ve got nothing going on this afternoon. The shop’s depressingly slow.”
“I’d love to say no, but that would be foolish.” She picked up her water bottle, shaking its contents. “I’ve done twelve centerpieces. I need eighty. The bride wants them to match exactly, which isn’t really possible. But she’s the type to notice every detail. You’d be surprised how particular some brides can be. She’s the worst I’ve ever had.”
I made a face. “That sounds hard.”
“These young brides have watched too many wedding videos on the internet.” She reached for her tablet to show me a photo of what the bride wanted. “White roses, white ranunculus, cream spray roses, seeded eucalyptus, and dusty miller for the base greenery. Even though she makes me want to roll my eyes, I need the money, and this is the biggest order I’ve had all year.”
“You’re a saint, Esme Taylor.” I took off my jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. Cuttings were scattered across the floor in back of the counter. I found the broom leaning against the cooler and started sweeping.
