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“She sounds perfect then, right?” Quade is still on to my sense of reservation.
“Yeah. But in all honesty, she knows she’s too talented to be mindlessly assembling pre-designed bouquets for the showroom, so she kind of does her own thing here and there. And I totally appreciate everything she’s doing. I just feel like I need to keep an eye on her.”
“Hey, honey, this is your perfect opportunity to practice what we’ve been talking about, right? Letting go of micromanaging everything and everyone around you.”
“I know. You’re right,” I say with some emotional fatigue, but no resentment. He is right. For a change.
“Of course I’m right Cookie. Help yourself by letting others help you.”
I’m really rolling my eyes at that one.
“I’ve gotta grab this call. Talk to you soon,” he says before bailing off the line.
‘Of course I’m right Cookie’…how dare he patronize me. I’ve known Quade for almost twenty years and have never once told him that I could squash him like a bug. His friendship is everything, but at the same time he’s so miniscule that I feel like driving over him with a steamroller.
I yank open the door of Fiona’s Flowers in full rage mode, ready to storm in, see to whatever needs to be done before close, and then get out quickly before I bite some poor, undeserving employee’s head off. So much for the Om, and ice cream. All that good is out the window after five minutes on the phone with my sweet, generous, loving, make-me-wanna-puke ex-husband.
The sheer loveliness of the showroom puts my mood in check, as I enter to find Maxine’s handiwork on every shelf in sight. Okay, I yield. The kid’s got a real talent.
“Hey Maxine.” She’s in the back doing her closing cooler-work. “Got those sketches for the Hoffman wedding ready for me?”
“You bet,” she answers, a little too cheerfully for my tastes. “Everything’s in this envelope here,” she says, pulling a file folder out from under a stack of fulfilled orders.
Maxine continues bustling around as I flip through the folder. She’s learned to back off and let me look over her projects without trying to sell me on anything. As per usual, her work is excellent.
“Looks good Maxine. The sunflowers and sedum are a nice touch, very much in keeping with the barn theme. It’s all gonna look fabulous once we get it put together.” Maxine beams with satisfaction, but I don’t need my compliments going to her head. “I’m gonna place my supply order from home tonight, so I’m outta here. See you tomorrow,” I say as I slip out the back door in an already improved mood.
I pick up a roll of sushi for dinner and head straight up to my home office with it, feeling my energy steadily increase from no-longer-pissed to genuinely enthusiastic. Although I get the bulk of my supplies from the more local Florist Distributing Co, I use Big Bo’s down in Florida for specialty flowers you can’t find in Iowa.
By the time I was released from this afternoon’s harrowing therapy session, I felt so bedraggled that I almost forgot about my looming phone date with the master of orchids. There’s something about Bo’s down-home personality that calms me to no end, and I can hardly contain a slight, crooked smile as I dial the all-hours order line he gave me.
“Big Bo here,” he answers in his deep, husky voice.
“Fiona Turner here,” I respond with a hint of tease.
“Well…hello there Fiona Turner. I was about startin to wonder when my favorite midwestern gal was gonna call me up for some orchid action this spring.”
I don’t realize that I’m giggling like a schoolgirl, until I happen to wheel my chair around and catch a glimpse of my grinning reflection in the ornately framed mirror hanging above my grandmother’s turn-of-the-century English bureau. “I guess I just couldn’t resist any longer.” No sooner than the words leave my lips, I hear the thunderous rumble of Bo’s bassey chuckle welling up on the other end of the line.
“Rumor has it I’m pretty hard to resist,” he grinds out in his best bedroom voice, which may be the very best there is. Anywhere.
I’m a busy woman, too busy according to everyone I know, and I really have no time for this ridiculous song and dance every time I order from Bo. But then, I don’t do it often…and it humors me at some primal level of simmering womanhood I haven’t felt in decades. Well, barring those few weekends I spent with The Beast. But that doesn’t count…in the eyes of the Lord.
“So,” I clear my throat in an attempt to redirect our conversation toward productivity, “what have you got for me this time?” Did I just say something suggestive, again?
“Well now, lemme tell you all about that. I have got the biggest…most impressive…most gigantic…most unbelievable…blossom selection I’ve ever had to date.” I’m almost doubled over in hysterics as Bo continues. “I mean I’ve got more different colors of everything than you can shake a stick at this year. Whatta you want darlin? Anything you want, I’ve got it for you. Right here right now.”
I notice that I’m fixating on a vision of what Bo might look like. I truly believe I’ve never met any human being like him in my life, and it’s impossible not to wonder.
“For now, I’ll take ten flats of the purple orchids and twenty flats of the white,” I reply, once I manage to reinstate minimal composure.
“Aw, this time of year…those’ll sell out in no time.”
“You’re probably right, but if they do…I’ll just have to call you up and order some more.” I know I’m flirting now, against my better judgment, but I don’t see any other way out of this situation. And anyway, what harm could it do with a guy I’ve never met and never will?
Again I can hear Bo’s muffled laughter, and I feel an expanding heat when neither of us says anything for almost a minute. “Well,” he starts in at last, “let’s hope sales are real good for you then.”
I giggle flirtatiously, in order to prevent another possible silence that feels more intimate than anything I need with a random Florida hick I order flowers from. Funny how silence has that effect. All of our flirting adds up to little, by comparison.
