“Thinking of you?” Jayme supplies.
“Yes.” I blow out a breath. “Thinking of you.”
She smiles.
I stuff my hands in my pockets.
“Lucky woman,” she says offhandedly.
“Who said it was a …”
She laughs a full laugh and I realize what I just said and laugh along with her. “Yeah. It’s a woman.”
“I didn’t think you were getting these for Truck.”
“You’d be right about that,” I assure her. “I’m trying not to think about him most days at this time of evening.”
“How about yellow and pink roses with some wildflowers?”
“That sounds pretty,” I tell her. “I’ve never bought a woman flowers.” I look around the shop. “Well, I had to get a corsage for prom. But I think my mom got that for me.”
“I imagine she did. Most moms do that for their sons.”
Jayme gets busy, walking through the shop, plucking flowers from buckets and placing them on a table just behind the counter. She cuts the stems and wraps them in brown paper. Then she stuffs a packet of some sort in with the flowers.
“That’s flower food. Angie …” she smiles softly. “The woman you’re giving these to will know what to do with that. I’m sure she has vases at home.”
“Are you sure?”
“Most women have vases—sitting empty—in their homes. It’s like we’re just waiting for someone to buy us flowers so we can fill them.”
“Really?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. That’s why I bring flowers home sometimes for Shannon and for myself.”
“That’s sweet.” I don’t know why, but I ask her, “Any other pointers?”
“About women?”
“Yeah. I’m in over my head.”
“You’re a good man, EJ. Just be yourself. Women might seem complicated. What we really want is to be able to trust someone and rely on them. Not all of us, of course. I’ve decided I’m going to be a cat lady—or a dog lady. That part I’ll figure out down the road. But I don’t need a man.”
“You can buy your own flowers,” I say.
“Exactly. I’ve got my friends. I don’t need a man.”
“I don’t think Angie needs me,” I tell Jayme. “I just want her to want me.”
“Well, good luck with that,” she says, sincerely. “In my experience, flowers never seem to hurt a man’s cause.”
She sets the bouquet on the counter and I pay her. Then I grab it, hopping back into my truck and driving over to the Dippity Do. It’s always a gamble as to whether Angie will be at work by the time I’m off. Some days she wraps up work early and leaves to be with the boys if she doesn’t have any appointments.
Today, it seems, I’m in luck.
I walk into the salon, carrying the bouquet.
Laura’s head lifts first. Angie’s focused on the woman in her chair.
