I slid into my car for the morning drive with Sunny in the passenger seat, her tongue happily lolling out the window while I practiced taking deep breaths to calm myself, but it didn’t work.
The bank was quiet, and the air from the AC was too cold. I slid my credit card across the counter, forcing my smile to stay steady while the teller processed the cash advance to the maximum limit.
Three thousand dollars!
The number flashed on the receipt, black ink on white paper, and my chest tightened. Another layer of debt was added to my already wobbly tower.
The teller, a sweet woman with kind eyes, gave me one of those looks—the kind you give someone when you know they’re drowning but don’t have a rope to throw them. I hated it. My cheeks burned as I shoved the envelope of bills into my purse, nodded a thank-you, and walked out before she could offer sympathy.
Sunny wagged her tail as if this was just another errand, but as I gripped the steering wheel, the envelope heavy in my lap, I couldn’t shake the pain pressing down hard against the back of my eyes.
By the time I unlocked the shop door and turned on the lights, my headache had sharpened into a dull throb. The familiar scent of roses and eucalyptus greeted me, but even that comforting perfume couldn’t quite soothe my swirling anxiety.
I set my bag on the counter and pulled out my planner, noting that Marianne had updated her order for Friday’s party—table centerpieces, a cascading arrangement for her staircase, and enough blooms to make her backyard look like spring had exploded overnight. Usually, I’d be excited about a project this big. Instead, I found myself staring at the list of lilies, tulips, and greenery until the words blurred.
A sudden wave of dizziness made me grab the counter. I blinked hard, waiting for the world to settle. My first thought was simple: hormones. Probably just the start of my period. Except… when I really counted back, my stomach dropped. I hadn’t had one since before the cruise.
The memory hit me like a slap. That morning in Hawaii, I shoved the tiny silver foil packet into my purse, promising I’d take it later when I got to Arizona.
Except I hadn’t.
My hand tightened around the edge of the counter, knuckles white. Panic coiled low in my belly, sharp and hot, and for a moment all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears.
No. I shook my head. I couldn’t go there, not yet. Not when I had work to do.
I forced myself to move, to cut stems with quick, precise snips, to tuck pale yellow tulips into a vase. When the bell above the door jingled, I nearly jumped. A woman with a frazzled smile stepped in, asking for a cheerful bouquet for her sister who’d been admitted to the hospital.
“Something sunny,” she said, fingers fidgeting with her purse strap. “She hates hospitals.”
Finally, something I could handle. I pulled out bundles of daisies and sprigs of baby’s breath, letting the simple rhythm of arranging flowers calm my nerves. The woman chattered about her sister’s stubbornness, how she’d probably try to sneak out of bed before the nurses cleared her, and I laughed at all the right moments.
Grateful for the noise and distraction, I focused on the flowers. For a moment, I could pretend the bouquet was the only thing that mattered.
The shop door chimed again as I tied the last ribbon around the get-well bouquet. I figured maybe the woman had forgotten her keys, but then I saw Martin’s familiar figure filling the doorway.
“Morning, Lilly.” His voice slid across the room like grease on glass, that smile of his too smooth, too practiced.
I set an arrangement aside and reached for my purse, already feeling the tremor in my hand. The envelope of cash sat heavy in my palm, and passing it to him felt like peeling off a layer of my own skin. Three thousand dollars—money I didn’t have but had borrowed anyway—disappearing in a blink.
Martin’s fingers snatched it up quick as a fox, sliding it into the inside of his coat before I’d even finished letting go. He didn’t bother with a receipt; he just scribbled something on his clipboard, his head bent like he was doing me a favor.
“There we go,” he said casually, pen scratching. “You’re square now. I’ll make sure your new order is processed. Flowers’ll be here this afternoon, just like always."
I forced a smile, though my stomach tightened into a hard ball. Something about the way he tucked that money away, like he was hiding it from the world, nagged at the back of my mind.
"Good,” I managed, though the word stuck in my throat. “I’ll need plenty of time to get her order ready.”
He tipped his hat, gave me one last oily grin, and sauntered out as if he owned the place.
The door chimed behind him, leaving the shop too quiet again. I lingered there a moment longer, hands flat on the counter, trying to shake the unease. But with so much riding on this weekend, I couldn’t afford to second-guess him. I had flowers to arrange, orders to fill, and bills that wouldn’t pay themselves.
So I pushed the worry down deep, like I always did, and went back to work — pretending my world wasn’t balanced on the edge of crumbling.
Later in the afternoon, the delivery truck finally rumbled away, and the last box of flowers was stacked inside. My head felt like it was splitting in two. Every throb pulsed behind my eyes, sharp and relentless, until even the softest light in the shop made me wince. I sank into the chair behind the counter, pressing my fingertips to my temples.
Sunny curled up at my feet with a sigh, as if she knew I needed the company. The silence pressed in, too heavy and close. My purse mocked me, empty and lighter.
Three thousand bucks lighter, and no receipt to prove it.
