CHAPTER FIVE
NICHOLAS
Kavya and I stand at the old wooden bench that runs along the back wall, efficiently arranging the day’s flowers. It’s Saturday, which means plenty of foot traffic will come through, and the neighborhood art crawl starts this afternoon, so all the galleries have orders in.
“Any ideas for this photography exhibit?” I ask Kavya as I carefully grab another vase from the wobbly shelves. “Everything I try turns out like a wedding bouquet.”
Kavya shrugs as she sticks lilac branches into her vase. “They’re the ones featuring bondage photographs at the height of spring,” she says flatly and wiggles her nose, which makes her septum ring bounce. “Maybe wedding bouquets are appropriate for BDSM. Roses and ranunculus. Red and pink. Just go hard.”
I chuckle. “I think you’re right.”
Kavya is my only employee. She works full time, although I cut her off strictly at forty hours, which means I have plenty of alone time in the shop, too, burning the midnight oil to get everything done. At twenty-five, she’s technically new to the industry, but I stopped calling her an apprentice after six months. She lives and breathes flowers just like I do.
She grabs some snippers from the front pocket of her worn gray overalls, one of three identical rotating pairs that she uses as her work uniform. Kavya’s fashion is utilitarian, from her black boots to her shortly cropped curly hair and heavy black eyeliner, but when it comes to flowers, she’s exuberant.
I grab her coffee mug, refilling it along with mine without needing to ask.
“When do you think Randy’s grandson is going to stick his head in?” Kavya asks. “What time did he come by yesterday?”
“It was early yesterday, but I’m not sure when he’ll be by today. His truck is out front, so I know he’s around.”
“Weird,” Kavya says. “I still don’t understand why Randy left this place to some random dude. Even if they were related. Is he queer, do you think? Or did a straight man inherit the gayest flower shop in Buffalo?”
“He hasn’t indicated either way,” I answer, although I’m getting the sense that he’s straight.
More importantly, the risk that something could happen to the building unsettles me, but I don’t want to pass any stress on to Kavya. “He can cause a lot of trouble,” I acknowledge, remembering how Nance cautioned me, “but I promise, I’ll let you know if I think we’re going to have to move or…” I can’t even bring myself to say worse. “And no matter what happens, I’ll use every connection and favor I have in this industry to make sure you’re taken care of.”
Kavya nods. She puts her flowers down and rests her hand over her arm, where the delicate sweet pea tattoos circle her bicep. “Thanks, Nicholas. But the shop I want to work in is here. This one. With you.”
I smile, grateful for her. “Good. I feel the same way.”
The bell rings above the door, and the shop is back in action. I help a few customers up front while Kavya finishes thearrangements in the back. As I hustle around, I feel a larger presence enter the room, and somehow, I just know it’s him.
I turn, and Clay is standing halfway into the shop. He’s sporting those same jeans that fit him deviously and a worn old T-shirt for a construction company, blue fabric with faded white print.
He tightens his brow while he looks at me, and my breath hitches, the inhale slight enough that I hope he doesn’t notice. His features have a rugged cut, and an easy masculine energy seems to roll off of him. I’m rarely drawn to men on the macho side, but Clay captures my attention.
“Morning, Clay,” I tell him over my shoulder as I retreat straight back toward Kavya. “What can I do for you today?”
Clay follows, but stops at the counter.
“This is Kavya,” I say, gesturing. “And Clay.”
Kavya raises her biggest snippers. “Good morning.”
Clay grunts something back. “Sorry to bother you at work again. I didn’t realize how early you got started.”
“I try to wake up with the flowers every day,” I say cheerfully. Mariah Carey comes on the love song mix, and I offer Clay a smile. I may need to walk a delicate line, but this calls for honey, not vinegar.
“Did you have questions for me?” I ask. “Now is a fine time to talk.”
“Uh, sure.” He does that awkward shuffle thing again, which—why is that so adorable? “I guess, first, I found this with my grandpa’s estate.” He pulls a small white envelope from his back pocket. “It’s for you.”
My heart jumps. It’s Randy’s sloppy handwriting. He left me a note.
Tears well in my eyes, and Kavya reaches out, gently resting her hand on mine. I take a deep breath and compose myselfbefore I cross to the counter. “Thank you,” I say, accepting the envelope. “I appreciate that.”
I tuck it away on a shelf for safekeeping, knowing I’ll want privacy as I read it.
