“You can stop that,” I try to put on my best, soft voice.
She rings it again.
“Ma’am,” I plead, “I apologize. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Well, I’ve been here for five whole minutes.”
“Again,”Ring,“I apologize.”Ring,“How can I help?”Ring.
The sound of the ding goes right through my skull, making my teeth ache as I grind my molars together.
“And I thought this was the best florist in the city.” She rolls her eyes.
Ring.
I snatch the bell off the counter and launch it behind me; the little metal object smashing into a vase and shattering it to pieces.
For a few long seconds, we stare at each other before a loud, rather boisterous laugh bursts from her. Her hand slaps down on the counter as she bends at the waist to continue laughing. Shock keeps me from making a sound or moving an inch, but I am wondering if I should call for help or something.
“Sorry, sorry,” she wipes the tears from under her eyes, a big grin pulling her mouth up and sinking even more lines in at the corners of her eyes. “You’re perfect.”
“Huh?” I shift uncomfortably.
“I never know how people will react,” her eyes are twinkling, “but yours is by far my favorite. I hope you weren’t fond of that vase.”
I look behind me, wincing at the glass scattered across the floor and the little bell sitting upside down in the middle of it.
“I’ll cover the cost of it,” she continues, “I’m actually here for my granddaughter.”
This entire exchange has left me beyond confused.
“She’s getting married, and well, the bride to be—love her to pieces, would die for her—can be a bit of a handful at times. She doesn’t mean it, but when she’s stressed, she gets a littlesnappy,if you know what I mean.”
I soften a little, “I mean, I can understand that. Who wouldn’t be stressed about their wedding?”
“I want to make sure the people we hire can handle their own.”
“So the ringing was you testing me?” My brows meet my hairline.
“Something like that,” she grins, “I’m trying to take a bit off her plate and offered to sort the flower arrangements and bouquets.”
“Right,” I nod, trying to keep up.
“She really is a wonderful human,” the woman continues, “She doesn’t mean it.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, do you have availability for a wedding in three months?”
I cringe as I pull out my diary and flip through, wondering if I can fit something in. “How big?”
“She wants the chapel decorated, an arch, aisle ends, her reception hall and centerpieces, six bouquets, four for the bridesmaids, one for her maid of honor and then her own bouquet as well as pins for the groomsmen, six in total that side too, five groomsmen and the groom.”
That’s a lot of work and a lot of money.
“What’s the budget?”
“No budget,” she waves her hand.
