I’d been worried that nobody would sign up, but all twenty spots filled up within a week of posting the signup form on social media. It’s surprisingly fun, teaching newbies how to do something that’s become second nature to me.
“Don’t be afraid to take risks,” Noah chimes in from his spot beside me at the front of the shop. We’d pushed aside our usual displays to make room for folding tables and stools for those who couldn’t fit around the big workspace we typically use. “If somethingdoesn’t work, you can always redo it. There’s nothing wrong with a little trial and error.”
“That’s why I have five kids,” Brenda Owens, a woman who graduated high school two years ahead of me, chimes in from the back of the room, and everybody laughs.
“Sure,that’swhy,” my parents’ next-door neighbor, Millie Jenkins, chimes in. “Has nothing to do with that fine husband of yours.”
“Guilty,” Brenda chuckles.
I grin, wondering how it’s real life that I get to do this for my job. I’m havingfun.
“Noah’s right,” I tell them. “Trial and error is a good thing. Play around with different blooms and colors until you get something that feels right.”
I’d purposely put out a wide selection and let everybody choose their own flowers and greenery, rather than teaching just one arrangement and having them follow me step by step to put it together. I want people to leave my classes feeling like they learned how to make something beautiful out of whatever they have available to them.
We also go over the less fun parts, like trimming stems, the best water to help bouquets last longer, and what kind of vase works best with different types of arrangements.
“This isn’t as easy as it looks,” a deep voice grumbles to my right. My younger sister, Georgia, rolls her eyes at our brother.
“Itoldyou,” she scolds Aiden. “If anybody could do it, we wouldn’t need florists. Put some respect on our sister’s name.”
I laugh along with the rest of the room, but secretly, I’m pleased. Georgia and Aiden have always been thick as thieves, and I’ve always felt a little bit left out when it comes to our sibling unit. It’s not often that she takesmyside instead of her twin’s.
“Be nice, children,” my mom chides from the table next to them, where she stands elbow-to-elbow with my dad. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet this evening, his eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down in a permanent frown as he focuses on his arrangement of hydrangeas and fern. It’s a bit lopsided, but I don’t tell him.
It means the world to me that my family showed up to support Noah and I at our first class. At every turn, they’ve proven that I had nothing to worry about when I was so terrified to tell them I wanted to quit my job and open my own shop. They’ve been nothing but supportive, just as I should have expected all along.
What I hadn’t expected, however, was for Declan’s mother to show up tonight. I hadn’t looked closely at the signup list beyond confirming that all twenty slots had filled up, so I was shocked when Sasha walked through the door. We haven’t had the chance to chat much, but I think she’s enjoying herself.
“I’m not so sure I’m doing this right,” Mr. Davis calls out from his spot in the middle of the room. I haven’t seen him much since opening day, when he stopped by to check out both shops. He’d been blown away by the progress that had been made in his old building, and he had left with a bouquet for his wife, Lydia, that I refused to let him pay for. I owed him everything for taking a chance on me and my dreams, and for giving me a place to bring them to life.
“You’re not,” Mrs. Davis assures him without taking her eyes off her own arrangement, which admittedly looks a lot better than his. “Stick to your day job, hon.”
“I don’t have one,” he reminds her. “I’m retired.”
By the end of the class, twenty bouquets sit proudly on the tables in matching cylindrical vases. Twenty-one, if you count the one Noah and I worked on together.
“Great work, everyone,” I tell the class as people gather their things and begin filing out with their flowers clutched in hand. “Don’t forget to add some of that flower food when you get home.”
It takes a few minutes for the room to clear out. Everyone wants to thank me and chat for a bit, which I love. It seems like everyone had a great time, and a few people have already asked me to host another class.
On her way out, Sasha stops beside me and nervously tucks a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. “I had a lot of fun,” she says, and though she seems a bit uncomfortable, her smile is sincere.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her since Declan told me about his childhood and everything that Sasha put him through. He said that he doesn’t want me to think poorly of her, and I really don’t want to, but it’s hard to look at her and not feel a pang in my chest at the thought of a little dark-haired boy whose mother didn’t properly care for him.
But she’s still Declan’s mom, and I want her to like me.
“I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself,” I tell her honestly. “Thank you so much for coming.”
She nods, then her eyes dart toward the shop next door before flitting back to me. “I hope I’ll be seeing more of you. Have a good night, Elsie.”
“You too.”
Once the shop has cleared, Noah sets to work putting away flowers and cleaning off the tables while I stack the stools by the back door. When I step outside, looking for something to prop the door open with so I can carry the stools out to the greenhouse, I notice Declan sitting on the stone bench along the back of the building. He looks up and smiles when he sees me, my favorite soft smile that he reserves just for me. His Elsie smile.
“Declan. Hi.”
“Hey, you.”
