“Right. Sorry, The Colonel. I bet you run this place, huh.” Snuffling my palm, he licks my wrist once, circles, and lies at my feet.
Perry chuckles. “Only for the past eleven years.”
“Is he yours?” Straightening, I carefully step over The Colonel and mosey toward the counter.
“Sort of—he mostly belongs to Blooms & Baubles. Mom found him out back sniffing around the dumpster when he was a puppy and brought him into the shop. He made himself right at home, and he’s been here ever since.”
“Does he spend the night here?”
“Oh no, he comes upstairs with me.”
“You live above the shop?”
“In the second-floor apartment, yes. We used to rent it out—well, technically, my grandparents used to live in it back in the fifties and sixties, before they had my mom and bought a house down the street. After they moved out, they started leasing the upstairs apartment, but when Mom sold the house last year to finance her relocation to Florida, I moved in. Saves me a bundle on rent, that’s for sure.”
Brushing my fingers across the pockmarked counter, I examine a display of hand-drawn greeting cards for sale next to the cash register. I wonder what Perry’s apartment is like. Filled with green, growing things, I bet. And quirky art prints to match his offbeat personality. Unbidden, heat rises into my cheeks. Why am I imagining the details of Perry’s living space?
“So it looks like we have some time on our hands. How would you like a tour of the shop?” he asks.
I look around the snug space filled with flowers and shelves full of trinkets for sale. “There’s more?”
“There’s the back. Want to see where the magic happens?” He pumps his eyebrows suggestively and I laugh.
“I thought you made your flower arrangements here.” I motion toward the narrow space behind the counter lined with cabinets and bins of flowers. “That’s where you made mine.”
The tips of his ears turn pink. “Some of them, I do. But the larger orders require more space. Come on.” Curiosity nibbles at me, and I follow him through the door marked Employees Only into a spacious, brightly lit room.
Inside, a massive, square worktable scattered with leaves and stray petals stands in the middle of the open space. Bins of flowers crowd beneath the bar-height table along with a pair of metal stools. A long wooden counter runs the entire length of two walls, and above the counter, shelves filled with colorful ribbons, vases, and baskets stretch to the ceiling.
A chill tickles my neck, and I notice the pair of glass-doored refrigerators hugging the wall to my right. They’re the step-in kind you might see in a grocery store or gas station, and they’re filled with even more flowers. And, tucked in the far back corner of the room, next to a tall filing cabinet and gray metal door, a cramped desk holds a clunky laptop, a wire lamp, and various stacks of papers.
The scent of flowers is stronger than in the front of the shop. I inhale deeply and imagine I’m standing in a spring meadow instead of a windowless back room.
Perry leans against the counter next to two vases holding bouquets wrapped in airy white tissue paper. “I just finished up the last couple arrangements that need to be delivered tonight before I tackle a big wedding order for tomorrow. One of them is for our longest-running customer, Mr. Johansson. Every year for the past forty-seven years, Mr. Johansson has ordered a bouquet of long-stemmed roses for his wife on their anniversary.” He peels apart the tissue paper of the nearest bouquet, and I marvel at the velvety red blooms nestled among stunning evergreen leaves.
“She’s a lucky lady.”
He retucks the tissue paper into place. “She died seven years ago.”
“And he keeps buying them?”
“To keep her memory alive.”
“That’s…” I clear my throat. “To experience a love that lasts beyond a lifetime. Hard to imagine.”
“You don’t know anyone who’s had that kind of love? No one in your family?”
“Well, I was raised by a single mother. Don’t know who my father is, and I only met my grandparents once.”
“What were they like?”
“Religious fanatics.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. When my mom got pregnant in high school, they kicked her out. She reached out to them when I was five, hoping to mend fences, and we went to see them. I don’t remember much, except for them calling me ‘the daughter of a whore’ and telling us they didn’t want her sin in their life.”