“Maybe. Haven’t decided if she’s worthy or not, I’m keeping my options open.”
I snort a laugh. We’re going through a lot of roses this summer.
The chirp of a parrot reminds me that there is a bird in a cage in this place, not by choice.
“I’m a hostage,”the bird parrots.
Connor laughs and glances at Nugget. “That animal is hysterical.”
I shudder from the realization that I’m never alone here. “He isn’t helping my phobia, but he belongs to the landlord, and the parrot isn’t going anywhere. Just a shame I can’t keep the blanket over his cage for longer periods.”
“Oh, baby,” Nugget chirps. I sigh from exasperation.
“When are you going to bring a guy to our house?” Connor asks.
Great question. There hasn’t been anyone, well, not since that night in Chicago with Declan.
Declan.
The man with a foul mouth who leaves filthy memories in my head.
He worshiped my body like it meant something but left as if I was nothing.
Shaking my head, I focus on my nephew.
“If you bring a guy over, it will divert the attention away from me. I’m going to lose my mind if my dad tries to let me throw another party. I know his plan. Try and be relaxed, get my friends on his side so they only want to hang at our house. It’s going to kill my dating life.”
Pulling some ribbon off the spool, I smirk to myself. “I think that’s the idea. Boohoo, your parents let you throw awesome parties that I hear girls talking about when I pick up a coffee at Jolly Joe’s. Just trust me, you want that kind of dad. Growing up, I had rules on top of rules and couldn’t tell my parents anything.”
Our parents divorced, with my father being the major parental figure. For the most part, I shouldn’t complain, except for the fact that I lived in the shadow of Ford’s stellar career and his young fatherhood that was a constant point of contention between him and our dad.
“What did you do about the rules?”
“Waited until college, let loose like an animal, and made questionable choices,” I state matter-of-factly before I point a finger at him. “Which you willnotdo.”
Wrapping the silver ribbon around the rose, I’m kind of relieved that I’m closing up early today. There was a Saturday-morning rush, a wedding delivery, and an hour of chasing a supplier for a delivery time on my fresh orchids arriving next week.
Connor indicates with his watch that he wants to epay, but I wave him off. “Family discount,” I say. He gives me his signature grin and begins to turn, but I clear my throat. “Forgetting something?”
He reaches for the sunflowers that I packed with green paper around the stems. “Keeping me out of trouble, Aunt Violet?”
“No. Your dad would kill us both if one of us forgets to bring your mom the dozen sunflowers that your dad wants hand-delivered.” I tilt my hip out.
“Did you add an extra one from me?”
“Of course.”
My nephew has moves, I’ll give him that. Every time Ford orders Brielle flowers, Connor adds an extra flower, brings it to Brielle, and ensures she knows that the additional flower is from him. She turns to a puddle of goo every single time, while my brother just smirks with pride. It’s ten times more extreme now that she’s pregnant again; I heard there were tears last time.
“You’re the best. See you at the party.”
I offer a short little wave. “Yep.”
Watching him leave, I sigh as I lean against my counter and scan my shop. A wave of satisfaction hits me, because The Flower Jar is mine. Well, for the most part. I had to lease the building, but I designed the interior space, manage the administration, and other than a few part-timers helping me out, I’m here pretty much six days a week. I can check off the box marked “small business owner,” and I’m having a blast doing it.
But career is only one aspect of life.
Looking through my window, with gold stenciled letters on the glass, I see that Main Street is busier than normal, probably because it’s tourist season. Illinois summer puts everyone in a good mood—until winter hits us. We sometimes improve in mood around February, with Valentine’s day, before spring rolls in, which keeps us on our toes with unpredictable weather.
