“It’s fine,” June said. “Row, Shar wants a mural painted on one of the walls at the store. Can you do one like you did at the nursery?”
His brows shot up. “Me?”
Juniper nodded. “It was Tahira’s idea. She pretty much copied it for her plans for the new section.”
I winced. “I didn’tcopyit. I just...drew something similar.”
Rowan turned to me, brows raised in surprise.
Leanne chuckled. “I could tell she liked it since she was willing to bathe in manure to get a picture of it.”
Rowan was still looking at me, all puzzled like. I was pretty sure this was the first time he’d made eye contact with me all evening. I honestly couldn’t figure this guy out. First, he’s all grumpy, then supportive, then he ignores me, then does a double take about me admiring his art. I shrugged. “I didn’t know it was yours at the time, but yeah, I wanted something like that piece for the store.”
“Hey! I have a fab idea!” Gia said, clapping her hands together. “Seriously, I’m, like,brillianthere. Rowan can paint the wall at the store; then we’ll go to the nursery to take pictures of the Lily pieces for the store’s social. Because then the promo pictures will have the backdrop of the big mural, which will tie into the little mural for the store. It’s, like,cohesive, you know?”
I tilted my head. Actually, that was abrilliantidea. I wished I’d thought of it. I did see a problem, though. “Rowan hasn’t agreed to dothe mural.” And with his attitude toward me tonight, I was thinking that he’d probably say no on principle.
“He’ll do it,” Leanne said. “He’d do anything for Shar.”
“You want to let me answer myself?” He was clearly annoyed. When none of us said anything, he sighed as he ran his hand over his head. “Fine. I’ll do it; tell Shar to give me the details.”
Gia beamed. “Excellent. I think all four of us girls should model the clothes. We’ve got two people of color, one whiter-than-white redhead, and me—sort of ambiguous Mediterranean-y. Rowan, how good are your photography skills?”
We discussed plans for the shoot while we finished our succulent arrangements. Mine turned out okay, I guess. This was nothing like what our Bloom entry would be like, but I was getting better at working with plants. And more than anything else, the night was a success because focusing on floral design kept my mind off Matteo.
I found myself alone in the greenhouse later with Rowan while we put away the garden tools.
“Yesterday I was a mess,” I said quietly, not looking at him. “You really did me a solid by bringing me home. And letting me vent.”
He shrugged as he slid a plastic bin off a shelf and dropped the tools in.
“You sure you’re okay with helping us out at Lilybuds?” I asked. “Both the mural and the photo shoot? It would be so great for Shar.”
“Yeah. Shar’s been good to me.” He slid the bin back on the shelf. “I’ll see you later, Tahira.” He left the greenhouse.
I was glad that he was willing to do this, for Shar’s sake, but even though I loved the idea, I felt weird about working with Rowan on it. Doing another project with Rowan Johnston was either brilliant or a disaster waiting to happen. Nothing in between.
14
THROWN OFF BY A GRAY SHIRT
For the first week after the implosion of what I considered my most serious romantic relationship ever, I didn’t mope, whine, pout, or moan about it. At least not to others. I did when I was alone, though—especially at night, when I was used to getting that last text or call from Matteo before bed. Or when I saw something amazing on Instagram and had an urge to message him about it. When my mind did wander into the memories of his lips on my neck, or the way he’d said good night in Italian, I’d remind myself that yeah, he was probably really into me, but he was into my Instagram follower count more. The strategy worked. Sort of.
Matteo, on the other hand, wasn’t taking the breakup as well. Or so I’d heard—I still had him blocked everywhere. But apparently, he told Gia to tell me he wasn’t seeing Alyssa anymore, and that he wanted to talk to me. She told him no. Repeatedly. Then she blocked him from being able to contact her anywhere except for the family WhatsApp, and he knew better than to set off his aunts and grandmother again.
I took Rowan’s advice and stayed as busy as possible to keep my mind off Matteo. I worked a lot. Shar took me to Friday-night prayers at the jamatkhana in Niagara Falls while Gia and Juniper watched the store. But mostly, I absolutely killed it with my Bloom preparation.After cramming all week, I’d consumed pretty much all the reputable information on the web about floral design and sculpture. I knew which plants were best as focals and fillers in an arrangement. I knew when most flowers bloomed, and which ones would survive being shoved into chicken wire. I even watched this reality show about floral installations three times through. I’d filled my sketchbooks and the art app on my iPad with hypothetical designs for the competition, using everything I’d learned about form, line, space, and color. I was hoping we’d settle on our design soon so we could start building the frame, but Rowan insisted that we needed to make some prototypes first.
I had a ton of questions as I inhaled all this information, but I had excellent teachers. We had a group chat set up for our team, and every time something stumped me—like if an African violet would work with marigolds, or if we had access to Japanese forest grass, Rowan and Juniper would hop on with answers immediately. We talked in the group chat for a while about the Bloom rules, too. The internal framework for the sculpture could be something we made or bought, and could be practically anything at all, as long as it was covered with flowers. We were allowed to build the frame ahead of time, but all the plantings had to be added on the day of the competition at the festival itself, so people could watch us make it. The judging would be focused on those principles of floral design I’d been learning about—line, color, space, scale, depth, and so forth, as well as diversity of plants. Basically, they wanted a lot of plants and flowers covering a thing in a unique and pleasing manner.
Gia was helping out, too, in her own way. While she wasn’t as concerned with rules and the technicalities of the competition, she had a great eye for color, and she had some ideas for what we could make for the actual sculpture. Rowan shot down those ideas, though. Too bad—I thought a sneaker or a Birkin bag could be cool.
Monday morning, I had my appointment with Dr.Johnston, Rowan and Juniper’s mom, at her clinic on Main Street. She had amillion questions for me: whether I’d had an allergy test before (I had), whether I had asthma (also yes, but I’d pretty much grown out of it), and how often I took over-the-counter antihistamines (pretty much daily since getting to Bakewell). She told me about a new, stronger prescription drug, then prescribed it.
“I should apologize for not introducing myself to you yet. I’ve seen you in the yard with Juniper and Rowan, but I’ve stayed back. Juniper says I embarrass her.” She smiled warmly.
I liked Dr.Johnston. She was friendly and listened, and she looked like a grown-up June.
“It’s cool,” I said.
