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1
DELILAH
Iadd another soft pink peony to the bouquet I’m working on, followed by two springs of lily of the valley. Taking a step back, I admire my work. The lovely spring arrangement is sure to make Mrs. Handler smile. Her husband, Frank, ordered these for their upcoming anniversary.
They’ve been married for fifty-five years, which is mind-boggling to me. What’s even more astonishing is that they still look at each other as if they can’t believe they’ve been lucky enough to spend so many years with their best friend.
I ignore the painful thump of my heart at the thought of trudging back to my studio apartment, alone. Always so alone. Grams has been gone for almost a decade now, and my mom… Well, she split as soon as I wasn’t her legal responsibility anymore. In fact, she left a little earlier than that, but I don’t want to go down that path of bitterness. Not this early in the morning, and certainly not without coffee.
Shaking my head of those thoughts, I focus back on the beautiful flowers giving off a fresh, sweet, and delicate scent. I close my eyes and call to mind the garden my grandma had growing up. It was a gorgeous sanctuary with flowering vines crawling up a lattice archway, leading to a rainbow of plants and flowers. The last time I was there, I–
“Wrrrrr-chrrrrr-crreeeeeech!!”
The most awful, ear-splitting sound rips me away from one of a handful of good memories I have of my childhood. It starts up again, and I huff out an irritated breath. It sounds like metal scraping against metal mixed with nails on a chalkboard and a healthy sprinkle of random whirs and bangs to complete the cacophony of chaos.
I stare at the wall I share with the restaurant next door, frowning as more obnoxious noises fill my otherwise peaceful and pristine shop. What the heck is happening over there? I know the place closed down a few months ago, which I must admit, I wasn’t too sad about. It made the whole block smell like raw fish and salami.
This new development, however, might be worse.
When a jackhammer roars to life, shaking the flowers in the bouquet I just put together, I decide I need to go have a stern talk with whoever is disrupting my day. This level of noise is unacceptable.
Taking a deep breath, I wipe my hands on my black apron with the shop logo on it in pink. Blushing Blooms. This shop is my pride and joy, and I’ve worked my ass off over the last five years to save up enough money to get the business off the ground. I can’t have anything driving my customers away.
I step outside, breathing in the cool morning air, knowing it’ll warm up by mid-morning and then be downright sweltering by late afternoon. Just another beautiful spring day here in Clearwater, Oregon.
A saw whirs to life, making my blood boil. Can’t I even appreciate nature for one single, solitary second without all that racket? I’m aware I’m not in the best mood as I stomp toward the storefront next door, but whoever is in here deserves my wrath.
I grab the door handle, yank the damn thing open, and step inside, taking deep breaths to try and calm down. The saw is still running, making a wretched sound as it strikes metal, sending sparks into the air around it.
The man operating the saw is… massive. There’s just no other word to describe him, and I’ve only seen his back. The gray t-shirt he’s wearing does nothing to hide the muscles tensing and flexing in his back and shoulders. The piece of clothing clings to his frame, slightly damp with sweat. Why is that making me… shiver? What is happening to me? It’s like I’m hot, cold, and clammy all at the same time.
Blinking a few times, I remember why I’m here. The shock fades into anger as I rest my hands on my hips.
“Hey!” I shout, attempting to get the man’s attention. No response. “Hello! Excuse me, sir?” I’m shouting to be heard over the saw, and growing more frustrated by the second. “Mister! Stop for a freaking second!” I plead. “Stop with all the ruckus!”
As soon as the words leave my lips, I realize the man had already shut the machinery off, thus making me look like a crazy lady shouting into a silent and mostly empty store.
He turns around and… holy wow. My eyes crawl up his body, taking in his scuffed work boots, the jeans hugging his muscular thighs, and that shirt, stretched across his chest and abs, giving me quite the show even if it’s entirely by accident.
I continue my survey of the sculpted statue of a man in front of me, observing his giant shoulders and arms, corded with muscles and swirling with ink. And then there's his face. A dark, closely cropped beard covers his chin and cheeks, which only makes his brown eyes pop all the more. He looks… rugged, and certainly over a decade older than my twenty-two years, but I also get a strange feeling of… safety?
The man quirks up an eyebrow, his gaze locked on mine. “Ruckus?” he asks, throwing me off guard.
“Uh, yeah,” I mumble, blinking up at him. Stay focused! My inner voice chastises me. I nod my head, fresh determination flooding my veins. “Yeah,” I say with more confidence. “There are other stores around here, you know. This noise affects all of us.”
The man stares at me blankly, then folds his arms over his broad chest. “Is that so?”
I nod, then cross my arms, mirroring his stance. “Yes.”
“And you’re the representative for all the other shop owners in this strip mall?”
I scowl at the stupidly handsome man, still unable to read his facial features at all. “I’m representing myself, and I’d like to inform you that you’re being too loud.”
Another blank stare.
“So,” I continue, feeling the need to fill the awkward silence. “If you could keep it down in here, that would be great, and we won’t have any other issues.”
This earns me a scoff, which I guess is better than a totally emotionless face. At least it lets me know he’s listening.
