The next day is more of the same. I don’t hide out in my office or the greenhouse, but I stick to the back counter, assembling bouquets in the smaller space and cashing out customers out of view from the big window.
All the while, Noah casts knowing looks my way. He’s tried to broach the subject a few times, asking if there’s anything I’d like to talk about, and wondering if I’mreallyokay. Apparently, I’m not as subtle as I thought. Each time, though, I shut his questioning down. I’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to talk tosomeoneabout what went down with Declan and I at the wedding, but now that I have an easy segue into it, I can’t bring myself to do it. Once I speak the words out loud, the spectacular way we crashed and burned – and the fact that it was entirely my fault – becomes real.
I’m not ready for it to be real.
“Got any plans this evening?” Noah asks offhandedly, just before closing time.
“Making tea and doing a puzzle, probably.”
When Noah doesn’t respond, I look up to find him staring at me with a bemused look on his face.
“I’m sorry, are you twenty-seven or eighty-seven?”
“Shut up.” I toss a broken stem at him and it bounces off his forehead and onto the floor. “It helps me relax.”
“And what is it that you need relaxing from?”
I look down, busying myself with the arrangement of peonies and roses I’ve been working on for the last half-hour. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; arranging bouquets is usually second nature. Today, none of them are turning out quite right. It doesn’t matter how many times I rearrange the different hues of pink or add some sprigs of baby’s breath.
“Let me help,” Noah says gently. He rounds the counter and nudges me out of the way. He deftly reworks the arrangement, plucking a few of the blooms out and rearranging others until he’s achieved the look I was going for.
“Showoff,” I mutter, though I can’t help but smile. I knew hiring Noah was the right decision, and he’s done nothing but prove me right time and again. I make a mental note to give him a raise soon.
If he notices I haven’t answered his question, he doesn’t point it out. Instead, he puts the arrangement in the pink depression glass vase I’d scored thrifting a few weeks ago, adds some water at the small sink in the back of the shop, sprinkles in a bit of our favorite flower food and disappears into the walk-in storage to keep it cool for the night.
The clock on the wall behind the register tells me it’s closing time, so I set to work moving all of the display bouquets and other arrangements into cold storage. With Noah’s help, it only takes us a few minutes. I try to ignore the pang of disappointment. Being here with Declan just on the other side of the wall is torture, but so isgoing back home to a quiet, empty house. A place that, for a time, had been filled with laughter, and companionship, and a kind of intimacy I’d never known before. A sense of home that, for the very first time, I found in another person.
I miss him. It’s not the first time I’ve realized it today, not even close. I know it won’t be the last.
Before I have the chance to pull up a seat and get comfortable at my pity party, I hear the bell over one of the doors ring. Though it’s past closing, I welcome the distraction. I flip the lights off in the storage room and round the corner, putting on my best customer service smile.
“Hi, how may I –”
I stop short when I see the group filing in through the front door. Grace, Olivia, Cam and Ty are here, and judging by the grave looks on their faces, they didn’t stop by for a social visit.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“I called them,” Noah says from beside me. I glance over to see his arms folded across his chest and concern etched into his handsome face. “Well, I texted them, if you want to be specific.”
“Texted them for what?”
“We’re staging an intervention,” Grace declares.
“Noah was concerned about you,” Olivia says a bit more diplomatically. “We’re here to talk and help however we can.”
My eyes narrow on my favorite employee as I remember all the times I spotted him with his phone in his hand over the last two days, tapping away at his screen and looking put out about something. And hereIwas worried abouthim.
He shrugs, completely unapologetic.
“Ty and I are here to grab Noah and take him with us, if that’s what you prefer,” Cam says.
“Or we can stay,” Ty adds. There’s a softness in his gaze that I’m not used to seeing. It makes the backs of my eyes sting. “Your call, baby girl.”
“What are the chances I’m going to get out of this?”
“Slim to none,” Cam says cheerfully.
“Zero,” Grace amends.
