There is only one way in my mind for how I’m going to ensure that Violet knows she’s the one.
26
VIOLET
Arranging the row of newly potted plants that I received in this morning’s shipment, I admire how a green cactus is a safe bet. It’s green, dry, and sends the message that this is not a romantic plant. This is the plant for people who only want to give occasional attention to it.
Apparently, plants scream, but we can’t hear it. Kind of like me lately. I’m yelling inside, waiting for clarity, hoping for a fantasy. Everyone looks on with sympathy, maybe even pity for the woman who fell for the playboy hockey star. I wish I could say that I’ll prove them all wrong.
“It sucks, Nugget,” I voice.
The bird looks at me with I swear surprise that I’ve given him extra attention in the last week, but anything to keep me occupied, even if that means giving spare thought to the parrot who I’m sure wants to kill me.
The bell over the door rings, and I’m ready to throw that bell onto the street. Every. Single. Time. Hope ignites inside of me that maybe it’s Declan.
I frown when I see Connor walking in. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Geez, someone is in a mood.” He frowns.
“Sorry, it’s been a day.”
“More like a few weeks, but it’s okay, you’ll be okay.”
Lines form on my forehead. “What makes you say that?”
Connor looks around the room and drops his gym duffel bag on the floor. “Didn’t you get the message?”
“What message?” I say as I walk to my station.
“I’m here because I assume you ignored the message.”
I blow out an exasperated breath. “I’m lost.”
He begins to search my table, and he notices a pile of cards, and it grabs my attention. Tilly was working earlier, I must have missed the orders. Crap, I now potentially have clients waiting. Frantically, I lift the papers. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Today.
My eyes scan the order.
No flowers, only a card, it says for the instructions. To write on the card:
Declan, thank you for last night. My answer is still yes, Violet.
He was here. Declan was here.
My stomach sinks, and then a faint line forms on my mouth because it’s the same note from when he first came into my store, but I’m lost about what this means.
“That message,” Connor points out.
I narrow my eyes at him. “How do you know?”
“Don’t ask. It’s time to go.” He pulls out rope from his gym bag and a strip of fabric that I can assume is a blindfold.
“What the hell is going on?” I’m half curious and slightly scared.
“Trust me, I’ve been asking myself the same thing since Declan showed up for atalkwith my dad.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “He went to Ford?” That must be promising, right?
“Close up shop and let’s go.”
