He’s taking forever to read this letter. I dissect his expressions hoping for a clue to what’s going on in his head. He gives me barely anything because he has a very good poker face, which I assume was learned from years of body guarding. His jaw flexes and mine does too. His eyebrow twitches and I twitch mine. And then abruptly his eyes cut to me, and he grins because he was watching me from the corner of his eye the whole time.
Well.
He turns away from me to finish the letter, and I roll my eyes.
The bell above my shop door chimes, and my attention is forced away from scrutinizing Will’s every move to see my favorite and most challenging customer stroll in. “Buckle up, Buttercup! I’ve got an order for you that’s either going to make you cry tears of joy or distress. We’ll see.”
Ms. Mabel, my grandma’s best friend of more than fifty years and also the woman who helped raise me and my siblings, steps through the door—floral print dress clinging to her voluptuous form and swaying lightly at the hem. She’s breathing heavily, like she power walked here, and has her leather purse clutched to her ample breast.
“Good morning, Mabel! What sort of order—”
I’m cut off when suddenly the shop door flies open like a saloon door. I half expect Mabel to whirl around and draw a six-shooter from a garter under her skirt.
“I need fifteen flower arrangements in colors of pink and white by tomorrow night!”
“Damn you, Harriet! I got here first,” Mabel huffs.
“Don’t curse at me. It’s not my fault you dawdled.” These two have been bickering since I was born. Not sure what started it, but I’m confident it will continue until they’re both in their graves. Maybe even past the grave. Mabel will haunt Harriet’s burial site, drawing inappropriate pictures on her gravestone, and Harriet will retaliate by bringing in a heavenly choir to sing at the top of their lungs around Mabel’s resting place.
Mabel puts her hands on her hips and scowls. “I’m in charge of flowers for the ladies’ tea. And I want purple flowers.”
Harriet, with her chest heaving under her very appropriate gray A-line dress that perfectly matches her gray tightly coiled hair, fully enters the shop. “Standing up from the table in the middle of our planning session and running for the flower shop the second Deloris mentioned needing arrangements doesn’t make you in charge of flowers.”
“Now, ladies,” I say in a soft tone. “There’s no need to argue. Mabel, put down that rose. Respectfully, if you smack Harriet with it, you’re going to have to buy it.” Mabel harrumphs and resheaths the rose into its rightful bucket. “How about I put your names in a hat to decide who’s in charge? Or better yet, we can do half the arrangements pink and white and half purple and white.”
“Or,” Mabel says as she inches toward the door, her leather support loafers squelching lightly with each step. She puts her hand on the door handle and continues, “We can put it to a vote at the planning committee. I’ll go tell them! Nice to see you back in town, William!” She flings open the door and makes a mad dash through it, heel-toeing it past the shop window and down the sidewalk.
“That dirty cheat! She’s going to promise Deloris the use of her dining room for bunco night if she votes for her before I get there.” And out she races in a dash of bland grayness.
With a smile on my face, I turn back to the store, nearly jumping out of my skin when I see Will staring at me.
He levels me with a look so potent I think I’ll fall flat on my back.
“My answer is no. I can’t be your dating coach.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Will
Annie’s hands go to her hips. “Well, for the record, I thought it was a bad idea at first, but why do you think it’s a bad idea?”
I can think of a million and two reasons. But the first and most important is that I’m miserably attracted to Annie and need to stay as far away from her as possible over the next month. I haven’t been able to get her off my mind since last night. I even dreamed about her.
Damn that dream.
I absolutely can’t get involved with her. Not only because she’s Amelia’s soon-to-be sister-in-law, but because Annie represents everything I avoid. Commitment. Relationship. Longevity. My brain sees her and superimposes a big Nope! sign above her head. Absolutely not.
“Because,” I say, wishing that was enough of an answer. “Have you never seen the movies like this? The woman always has to do a bunch of shit she doesn’t like to do, like go to places that make her uncomfortable, change her style, and step outside of her normal world. And then, by the end of the movie, the guy falls in love with her and everything gets complicated. No, it sounds like a terrible idea. Not to mention I’m opposed to the whole love thing. I don’t want a relationship with anyone ever—and why are you smiling at me like that?”