“She kind of did me a favor,” Mitch offered.
“Now that woman is someone you can count on to come through for you. She’s always got everyone else’s best in mind,” Trinity said. “A true community matriarch.”
He’d only had one brief interaction with the older lady, but he could plainly see that was the honest to goodness truth. Women like Josephine Major were paragons of community pride. Much like another certain Snowdrift Summit resident he knew. “You don’t happen to know her favorite flower, do you?”
“Mitch, I know the favorite flower ofeveryonein this town.” She clapped her palms together. “Go ahead, quiz me.”
He had assumed she was kidding, but the expectant look and ready stance she took challenged him to take her up on it. He started with the only person that mattered. “Alright, what’s Faith Porter’s?”
Trinity paused, seemingly stumped right off the bat.
“I thought you said you kneweveryone’sfavorite flower,” he teased.
“Okay,almosteveryone. I know that Sarah Hart loves peonies—a tie between pink and peach—and that Holly Calloway likes white carnations so much that she uses them on all the tabletops at Cornerstone Café. And then there are the sunflowerfans, and it’s a big crowd: Ruth from In Stitches, Zeke Hart the retired fire chief, Rachel Joy, my partner here at the shop, and Matthew, my youngest son. I can keep going,” she said with a proud smile.
“Call me impressed. I don’t think I’d be able to do that.”
She gave a little laugh. “Well, I think it’s fair to say you have to memorizea lotmore in your profession than I do. And yours is lifesaving stuff. Mine’s just flowers.”
“I think we’re both in the business of trying to brighten someone’s day.”
The florist smiled in agreement at that. “I know a bouquet would absolutely brighten Josephine’s.”
“You didn’t mention her favorite flower in your impressive list.”
“Because she doesn’t have one. Says flowers are so uniquely and wonderfully made that it feels wrong to have a favorite when it comes to God’s creativity. She loves them all.”
“Then that should make my decision all the easier.” Still, as Mitch rotated his gaze about the room, the sheer number of options overwhelmed him.
Thankfully, Trinity noticed his hesitation and quickly came to his rescue. “Since she’s at the hospital and has probably already received a bouquet or two, I’d go with one of these smaller options.” She motioned toward a shelf with three bouquets that were half the size of the one she’d been assembling when Mitch came in. “She won’t have a lot of bedside space available, and we don’t want to overcrowd her room. Any of these three would be a good choice.”
Only because blue was his favorite color, he went with the cobalt vase brimming with white daisies, baby’s breath, some sprigs of eucalyptus, and a handful of yellow flowers that resembled sunflowers, but were much smaller in scale.
“I like that one, too,” Trinity confirmed. “Rudbeckias are such happy flowers.”
“How much do I owe you?” He had his leather billfold in his hands when he noticed Trinity’s attention suddenly diverted. Out the big front window and just on the other side of the two-lane street, he could see a man donning a thick canvas work jacket and white cowboy hat crossing the road, his stride falling somewhere between a brisk walk and a jog.
“Isn’t that—?”
“Spencer Major.” Trinity’s eyes snapped back to Mitch’s. “Josephine’s grandson.”
Mitch wasn’t what he would consider a very astute observer of relationships, but he could easily read Trinity’s interest as her eyes tracked the man. And when it was clear that Spencer was headed to Joyful Blooms, she did a quick once over of her appearance, squaring her shoulders and pulling in a breath that Mitch pretended not to hear.
He knew Faith was a widow and young mother, though he was only privy to a few details pertaining to her tragedy. But he didn’t know anything about Spencer other than he was related to Josephine. Still, that was enough to tell him the man was a good one. One Mitch could absolutely envision with the kindhearted florist.
The cowboy crossed the threshold into the store, meticulously scuffing his boots back and forth on the coarse welcome mat to remove any lingering bits of snow or slush. It was a quietly thoughtful gesture, one Mitch was embarrassed he’d completely bypassed.
“Spencer!” Trinity’s voice reached a completely different octave when she greeted her newest customer. “Spencer,” she tried again, smothering some of the excitement from her tone. “I think this might be the first time I’ve ever seen you in my store.”
Continuing to be a gentleman, Spencer withdrew his hat from his head and placed it somewhere over his heart, chin tipping down a smidge. “Trinity.” Even though Mitch was standing directly between them, their gazes didn’t have any difficulty meeting. The two obviously had a connection. “You’d be right. This would be my very first visit.”
“But hopefully not your last,” the florist said, wearing an optimistic grin.
“Definitely not my last.”
Mitch slid aside to give them room to interact, taking his small bouquet with him.
“I’m in the market for some flowers for Grandma.” Refitting his hat back over his dark hair, Spencer walked all the way up to Trinity’s worktable, the heels of his cowboy boots clacking across the ground in the most satisfying way.
