CHAPTER THREE
NICHOLAS
It’s him.
That gray-eyed, grumbly man is in my flower shop.
“What do you mean, you own it?” I blurt out, but no sooner do I hear the words than I put it together.
That man is Randy’s grandson. The scowler from the ditch is the man who just inherited the building.
No wonder his frown and heavy brow elicit such an emotional reaction out of me. It’s the same lovable sourpuss I saw on Randy’s face every day.
Right when I thought today was back to normal, regulars flitting in and out and the music mix hitting gold, he walks in. I was humming to myself and wrapping bouquets with twine, making the best of this year’s diminished shooting star supply, and then Diego came in for the date night flowers he gets his boyfriend every other Thursday, and now this wildcard.
I’ve been telling Sue and Nance not to worry. Randy’s grandson isn’t going to ruin our lives. If Randy left him the property, he must have known what he was doing.
Well the truth has arrived at last. And while a ditch-bath isn’t the best start, at least we can only go up from here.
“My name is Clay,” he says. “There used to be an old man who lived upstairs.”
“Your grandfather, I know. I’m Nicholas.”
He doesn’t betray any emotion, but it takes him a second to reply. “You knew him?”
“Yes, for years,” I say, summoning a smile as I think about Randy, a total character if there ever was one. My heart still aches to remember he’s gone. “On top of our business relationship, we were friends.”
The door opens, and Lucinda sticks her head in. She’s got all three pit bulls with her, and they’re tugging on their leashes outside, sniffing the street.
“Sorry, Nicholas!” she says. “Afternoon book club! I’m running late—do you mind?”
I walk over to the counter and grab the bundle of bouquets, which I hand off to Lucinda at the door.
“Thanks!” she says.
“I went overboard on the geraniums for you.”
She laughs. “My wife will be grateful.”
I give her a little wave and turn back to Clay. His nose wrinkles slightly, and I wonder if it’s in response to Lucinda’s mention of her wife. If he’s homophobic, he’s in for a hell of a time.
The twinkling notes of an old song fill the air, The Bee Gees, “How Deep Is Your Love.”
“Your grandpa had many friends in town.” I consider Clay, wondering if Randy had an entire secret life that none of us knew about, a family that kept in touch with him. “What was your relationship with him like?”
“I didn’t have one. The first I heard of him was last week.”
“Oh, I see.” He shared the information pretty flatly, not much emotion in his voice. I try to hold it lightly, not sure what it means to Clay, although it makes me wonder what motivatedRandy to leave him the building despite never reaching out. “I’m sorry for your loss, either way,” I offer.
“Yeah,” he says. “You, too.”
It must be a particularly odd sting to lose someone you didn’t know about, a relationship ending right when it begins. My heart goes out to him.
“So you’ve inherited the building,” I offer brightly, assuming the best as I steer us back to business. “What’s your plan?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he says. “You want to keep renting this place?”
“Sure thing,” I answer. “I’m happy as a clam here.”
