Sliding my store key into the lock, I slide the metal garage-style security gate up then unlock the glass door with theBlossomsname and hours printed in bold colors.
I don’t know why, but I’ve always loved color—in my shop, in my clothes, in my hair.
It might be cut short for practicality, but I still put the peekaboo strips of rainbow colors in my dark locks that I’ve been wearing in it for as long as I can remember.
Stepping inside the shop, I flick on the light and inhale deeply, taking in the scent of fresh flowers.
Displays placed throughout the space showcase a variety of bouquets along with some single-stem flowers so customers can put together their own bouquet if they prefer.
Lining the walls are shelves of potted plants, grow lights shining down from above, feeding them as they simultaneously showcase their vibrant leaves and brilliant blooms.
I drop my keys into my purse as I pull the strap off my shoulder and toss the bag on a shelf behind the counter, ready to get organized for the day.
I have more flowers to cut and prepare from my shipment yesterday, and the potted plants are due for watering.
But before I can decide where to start, the soft tinkle of the bell warns me that I have a customer.
“Welcome to Blossoms,” I say, turning around and leaning my forearms onto the counter as I flash a smile for my finely suited guest.
But as soon as my eyes land on the sole figure who steps inside, the corners of my mouth falter.
The tall, slim man looks to be in his early twenties with a shock of black hair that falls across his forehead, a hint of a mustache, and refined facial features that would indicate he’s of Asian descent.
None of that would give me pause, but something about his gaze sends a chill racing down my spine.
As his rich brown eyes meet mine, their depths look flat and cold, as if he’s missing the soul that might put a glint in someone’s eye.
Then, as if lit by recognition, they come to life with a burning intensity.
His lips press together in an almost imperceptible smirk.
But he turns from me without a response before I can be certain I didn’t imagine it.
He peruses the flowers I have in stock, fingers ghosting over the petals as he circles each kiosk with a casual air.
“Can I help you find something?” I offer, trying to shake the nerves that quiver in my belly. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” I add when he continues his stroll through my shopas if he didn’t hear me. I’m starting to wonder if that might not be the case. “Well, my name is Jane. Let me know if I can help.”
“You have a beautiful selection,” he finally says, breaking the tense silence after several agonizing minutes. Only then does he turn to level me with his unnerving eyes once more.
As soon as he does, I wish he hadn’t.
I can’t put my finger on it, but something about this man gives me the creeps.
Still, he’s a potential customer.
I can’t be rude just because my gut is warning me that something’s off about him. “Thank you.” I force my lips back into a strained smile.
“I would like to buy some lilies,” he says, stalking toward the counter now, his gradual pace raising the fine hairs along the back of my neck.
“S–Sure,” I stutter, my heart flip-flopping for no explicable reason. “We have some just toward the back. Here.” Stepping out from behind the counter, I gesture toward the stand as I make my way in that direction.
“I want a thousand lilies. All white,” he clarifies, stopping me in my tracks.
“Oh.” I bite my lip. “I’m sorry, but I don’t keep that kind of stock on hand. I can order it, but that could take up to three weeks to come in. Do you need them for a specific event?”
“A funeral,” he states, his tone flat, and I instantly feel bad for my initial reaction to the customer. Maybe he’s suffering from grief while I was finding him creepy.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say, pressing my palm to my chest.
