“Ah, the elusive tattooers,” he jokes. Despite our close proximity, Noah hasn’t actually met the guys next door yet. It had been a busy week, and when we had any downtime, I was busy showing Noah things I hadn’t had time to get to on the Friday before. The guys had also been busy with clients, so the timing just didn’t work out.
And, sure, maybe I was avoiding Declan after my embarrassment over getting caught ogling him without his shirt on. Even now, I can feel my cheeks heat at the memory. I just hadn’t expected so manymuscles. The tattoos were expected, but equally distracting. I wanted to inspect each one of them up close, run my fingers across them and find out what they are and what they mean.
“Elsie?” Noah prods from behind me.
“Sorry. Here, take this.” I hand him the package so I can grab my keys from my purse and unlock the shop door. “I promise we’ll pop over sometime this week so I can introduce you.”
The bell over the door announces our arrival to the empty shop and I smile. No matter how many times I’ve walked through this door over the last few weeks, and all of the weeks leading up to opening day, I never get tired of the feeling ofrightnessthat washes over me every time I cross the threshold and see my life’s dream laid out before me. This shop has given me another sense of home I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
Home, for me, isn’t just the town I live in. It’s a collection of tiny moments that make me realize I’m right where I’m meant to be. It’s the cries of seagulls on my favorite beach. The smell of lavender when I step out my front door in the summertime. The way Olivia and Grace’s arms link with mine while we walk down the sidewalk.It’s there in every “hi, Elsie” from my friends and neighbors when I’m out running errands, and each sip of crisp chardonnay at Carmichael family dinners.
I didn’t have this feeling when I walked into work at my dad’s store, or the years before that at college, a school I only went to because it’s what was expected of me. This feeling of home away from home – of finding a sense of purpose and belonging in my career, not just my personal life – is brand new to me.
“Earth to Elsie,” Noah calls out. I look over and catch him grinning at me over his shoulder as he carries the misplaced delivery across the room. “What were you –whoa.” He slips on something near the door adjoining the two shops and nearly loses his footing, his feet windmilling beneath him like the Road Runner for a few seconds. Somehow, he manages to both stay upright and hang onto the box.
“Are you okay?” I hurry over, stopping short when I see the water spread across the black and white tile. It’s seeping from beneath the door Noah had been about to drop the package next to.
“I’m good,” he assures me. “That, however…” He tilts his head, gesturing toward the water. “That doesn’t look good.”
“It does not,” I agree.
“Shit,” Noah sighs.
“Shit,” I echo. My unexpected curse has Noah whipping his head toward me, a goofy grin on his face.
“I love when you get feisty.”
I roll my eyes, grinning back at him. “Go set that down somewhere. I’m going to call Sean and let him know something’s leaking next door.”
I grab my phone from where I set it on the work table and find Sean’s number. I click on his name and wait, listening to it ringwhile I watch Noah try – and fail – to mop up the water with paper towels.
I make a mental note to bring in a stash of old towels in case something like this happens again, while simultaneously praying something like this never happens again. Though in a flower shop, where things can get messy, it’s probably a good idea in general to have old towels on hand. One of the many things I’m learning as I go.
“Hey, it’s Sean,” a recorded voice says in my ear. “Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.”
At the sound of the beep, I say, “Hi, Sean, it’s Elsie. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I just got to the shop and there’s a bunch of water coming from underneath the door between our two places. It’s, um, kind of a lot. I’ll try calling back in a bit. Okay, bye.”
I hang up and toss my phone town onto the tabletop, groaning. “This is not good.”
“The fact that there’s water leaking,” Noah asks wryly, “or that you now have to call Declan?”
He sounds a little too amused for my liking. I glare at him, which only makes him laugh. He grabs my phone and holds it out to me, raising his eyebrows as if to say,you know you have to.
I know he’s right, but the thought of calling Declan has my palms sweating. We haven’t really talked since opening day, the night we all went out for dinner and drinks. We’ve said hi in passing a couple times since then, like earlier this week when he was eating lunch on the old wrought iron bench in the backyard and I went out to check on my orchids. I would have timed it differently had I known he was out there. I nearly jumped out of my skin at his “Hi, Elsie” in that deep, gravely tone of his.
“Call him,” Noah prods.
“Fine.” I scroll through my contacts list, looking for the number I have yet to use. Declan has been in a group chat with Sean and I since we first signed our leases and had to coordinate construction, but he hasn’t chimed in much, and usually only when Sean asks him a direct question. I can’t help wondering if he’s not a big texter in general, or if he just doesn’t want to talk to –
“Hello?”
The way my heart stutters at the sound of his voice is, quite frankly, embarrassing. My body is a traitor when it comes to him, my pulse racing and palms sweating every time we make eye contact or say hello. My nervous system doesn’t know the difference between being near Declan and being chased by an angry bear, apparently.
“Hello?” he says again. His voice is rougher than usual, like he’d just woken up. I have a brief flash of Declan waking up shirtless with bedhead and my mind goes blank.
“Declan, h-hi,” I stutter. “I, uh…” I look to Noah for help and find him doubled over, laughing quietly. I smack his arm and he stands upright, wiping tears from his eyes.
“The water,” he reminds me through a wheeze. “Tell him about the water.”
