Knead: Me too.
Grrr. I couldn’t deal with this right now, especially with more people from our group pouring in to have their say since their notifications must have been pinging like crazy. I’d turned off notifications about three seconds into joining. I’d chat when I felt like it.
I dealt with enough notifications from work. My flower shop had automated ordering software that allowed people to purchase after hours, either directly from us or through a larger chain that took a cut before having my shop fulfill the order. The magic of technology. The software even sent an automated change order request to my wholesaler, so I always had exactly what I needed.
I left the GoWithFriends app and scrolled through the dozen or so flower orders that had come through in the last few hours, mentally planning for tomorrow. I’d need to go in early.
Owning a business meant work never left me, but I could do this. I had to. Because admitting I sometimes dreamed of walking away from it was pretty much admitting I craved failure.
You weren’t allowed to burn out on a dream. Not when so much money, time, and effort had gone into getting you there. And not just my effort, or my time, or my money. No. My poorbrother worked on the business with me until he finally admitted he wanted out. My godfather had given me a trust fund that paid for my education, and then the start-up for the business. Even Dean, my godfather’s son, pitched in early money.
Dean now ran a small business consulting firm. He would probably have a lot of opinions on what I should do. I was supposed to have ongoing business goals or life goals or whatever. Right now, my goals were to make sure my daughter ate enough fruits and vegetables to avoid scurvy and to find a little joy in everything.
I liked working with flowers. They were beautiful, and fragrant, and the look on a customer’s face when I exceeded their expectations? There was nothing greater than that. See? Joy.
I was fine. Everything would be fine.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I smiled when I saw it was Jessica requesting a video call. Talking to her sounded a lot more fun than thinking about work. Everybody needed a friend in their life who occasionally dragged them out of their comfort zone. Jessica didn’t just drag. She strapped me into a catapult and pulled the lever. Well, when she could catch me. I hadn’t told her a thing about joining a dating app, and for good reason.
I wiped the corners of my mouth to make sure there were no Oreo crumbs left and accepted the video call. “Hi Jess. Whatcha doing?”
“I’m getting married!”
“Right now?” She was wearing a black tank top, and that was definitely not a Chapel-O-Love in the background. Nope, she was sitting on her orange couch in California, and above her, I spotted the painting of Mona Lisa in a cowboy hat with a curly mustache. I remembered the day she bought that.
“No, not right now, silly. But Simon and I have finally picked a date and a location, and don’t say you’re not sure if you can make it.”
She knew me so well. It was already on the tip of my tongue to tell her I did not have the flexibility in life (or the fixability, as Piper would say) to drop everything and attend a destination wedding. Not even for my dearest college friend. “I’m not saying no. But, um, when is this?”
“Saturday, June tenth, and it’s on Prince Edward Island. I’m having an Anne of Green Gables wedding. We’ll get to walk down Lover’s Lane and take pictures on the Lake of Shining Waters. It’s going to be a-maz-ing.” That last part came out in sing-song.
That did sound amazing. Jessica even had the flaming red hair and the wild, romantic imagination to go with it. She and Anne Shirley were definitely kindred spirits. But June tenth was less than four months away. “How will you plan it that quickly?”
“With money, darling. I’m not sure if you’re aware. But Cookie Crimes and Donut Disasters, oh, and Éclair Emergencies. They’re selling extremely well because the two of us make a brilliant team. We’re booked through the rest of the alphabet. I knew we should have started with Apple Crisp Accidents.”
“Wouldn’t have sold. Cookie Crimes was a solid starting place.”
“This is why I love you, and why I had to have you as my illustrator. You know, half the people at the publisher’s office think you’re made up. Your headshot is an avatar. You won’t do interviews. Your pen name is ridiculous.”
“I’m a florist.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It means I have a business to run. I like keeping the illustrating thing separate.” And secret. I hadn’t known it would be so blazingly successful. It was just a thing she talked me into trying with her. I didn’t think I’d walk into a Barnes and Noble one day and see our graphic novels featured on their own table in the kid’s section. Every time it happened, it killed me not to tell Piper. But then the whole store would know, and also everyone we knew, including the mailman, and I just couldn’t do it.
Someday, I’d tell her.
For now, it was just this fun side hobby. The extra money certainly didn’t hurt. I’d been tucking it away, keeping it separate as though I couldn’t quite trust that it was real.
“What happened with that offer to buy Beautiful Blooms?” she asked.
“Oh, that wasn’t really an offer. They just sent an email to see if I’d ever be interested in selling. I doubt I’ll even hear from them again.”
“You never know. Floral United is huge! I bet they’d gobble you up if you let them.”
“I don’t want to be gobbled up.” It was Hallmark movie law. The small business owner was not supposed to get excited when the big corporate chain came along to buy her out. She was supposed to fall in love with the lawyer they sent as their representative, help him find his heart of gold within, and then save her business with the help of her plucky best friend, the town rallying in her defense, and a cheery picket line.
“Where is your mind right now?” Jessica asked, smirking at me.
