There’s a rustling sound, then a small, familiar voice on the line. “Mommy?”
“Hey, bug. Why aren’t you asleep?”
“I was waiting for you. Jude said you’re fighting flowers.”
I laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in my shoulders. “Something like that. I’m almost done, I promise. Did you brush your teeth?”
“Yes. And I put Frida on my pillow.”
“Good girl. Go to sleep now, okay? I’ll be there soon to kiss your forehead.”
“Okay. Love you, Mommy.”
“Love you too, Maisie.”
I hang up and shove the phone back into my pocket. I paste the smile back on my face and walk back out to the floor.
As I suspected, my client still hasn’t made a decision. After what feels like hours, I finally give in. There’s no way we can keep doing this.
“Okay, Clara,” I say. “Why don’t you sleep on it? I can hold these samples for you until tomorrow morning.”
She looks relieved. “Would you? That would be amazing. I’m just so tired, my brain isn’t working right.”
“It’s no problem. Go home, get some rest.”
Finally, she leaves. The lock clicks shut behind her at 11:30 p.m.
I sag against the door, a groan escaping my lips. The shop is a disaster. There are stems and clippings all over the floor. Water is spilled on the counter. Vases are strewn about like casualties of war.
“Shit.”
I pull my phone out. I missed the date. The dinner. The chocolate tarts. I haven’t texted him all evening.
Amber:I am so, so sorry. I got stuck with a nightmare client and just got free. I missed everything. I’m so sorry.
I stare at the screen, waiting for the typing bubbles to appear. Nothing. He’s probably asleep. Or annoyed. Or both.
I shove the phone away. I can’t deal with the guilt right now. I need to clean up this mess before I can even think about going home.
I start gathering the rejected bouquets—roses, hydrangeas, eucalyptus—they all need to go back into the cold room or they’ll wilt by morning.
I make trip after trip, my feet aching, my back screaming. The cold room is frigid, blasting me with arctic air every time I open the heavy door. I’m shivering by the time I make the final trip, balancing three vases in my arms.
I’m setting them on the metal shelf when I hear it.
Knock, knock, knock.
My heart leaps into my throat. Who is here at midnight? The lights are on, so maybe it’s the police checking on the open business? Or?—
I hurry out of the cold room, closing the door behind me. I walk to the front door and peer through the glass.
Eli.
He’s standing on the other side of the glass, his breath puffing in the cold air. He’s wearing a heavy wool coat over a dark sweater and jeans, a beanie pulled low over his ears. And he’s smiling.
A wave of relief washes over me so strong it makes my knees weak. I unlock the door and swing it open.
“Eli? What are you doing here?”
