Jessica is standing in my doorway in a white sundress and sandals, her hair styled into perfectI-just-woke-up-like-thiswaves.
"Beth!" She says with a big, warm smile. "I was hoping you'd be here."
"It's my shop," I say. "So."
"Right! Of course." She laughs. "That was silly. I just—I've heard such amazing things. Lots of people say you're the best florist in town."
Luna has gone very still next to me, her coffee arm frozen halfway to her mouth.
"What can I help you with?" I say, because I'm a professional. And I can now proudly say I pay a quarter of rent thanks to my flower arrangements. I'm not going to throw scissors at anyone.
"Well." Jessica clasps her hands together. "I know this might be a little... I mean, I hope it's notweird—"
It is already really weird.
"—but Grant and I are starting to think about wedding flowers. And I really wanted to come to you first."
Luna puts her coffee down. Very carefully.
"You want me to do your wedding flowers," I say, slowly lowering my floral shears.
"If you're open to it! I totally understand if it's too much. I just thought—you know, we're all adults, and your work isincredible, and I really believe in supporting local—"
"Your wedding. To Grant," I say.
"Yes." She nods, her bright, expectant smile holding steady through two agonizing seconds of dead air. "We're thinking September. Theme-wise, we were thinking garden party. Lots of greenery. Maybe peonies? I've been looking at Pinterest."
She pulls out her phone. She's scrolling through a Pinterest board.
I look at Luna. Luna is looking at me.
"I'll think about it," I say.
"Of course! No pressure." She puts the phone away. "Honestly, I'm just so glad we can benormalabout everything. I know the situation is... a lot." She does a head tilt, rescue-dog look. "But it's so nice that you've landed on your feet."
"Thank... you," I say.
"Being on your own," she continues. "It can't be easy. Especially during wedding season." She puts her hand on my arm and I feel my whole body go still, with the only exception being my elbow pulling back an inch before I can stop it.
What the fuck is happening?
"And I've been meaning to say—Grant feels terrible, you know. We both do. What happened between us, it just... happened. We never planned it." She gives my arm a sympathetic little squeeze, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to reflexively karate-chop her in the wrist. "But I'm so glad we can be mature about this. I really, truly hope you find your special someone soon, Beth. You deserve that."
Let me get this straight: she's inmyshop, touchingmyarm, making sure I know how sorry she feels for me?Wow.
"As a matter of fact, I have." I say.
I hear it leave my mouth.
I know—Iknow—I should stop here.
"Oh?" Jessica's eyebrows go up.
The last time I tried for a bluff, I told a recruiter I was an Excel prodigy just to escape a soul-crushing consulting job. He immediately marched me into a back room for a skills test, where I spent thirty agonizing minutes failing to link two simple cells. Eventually, I just grabbed my bag and left, enduring the walk of shame past his desk, eyes glued to the floor, before I could get home and block him on LinkedIn.
So my brain knows it shouldn't be doing this. But standing here, a victim of Jessica’s pity, my pride decides to take the wheel and drive me straight off a cliff.
"I'm seeing Pack Leroy, actually."
