Page 12 of Hers By Summer’s End

“Oh.” Mr. Edgewood blinked. “Hmm. I don’t really…”

“I have an idea.” Drew continued, and Cecelia could have sworn the crowd held its breath as one. “Seems to me Miss Townsend and I are both invested in the upcoming Cactus Dahlia competition. What if the loser forfeits one entry into the contest?”

“How many entries are you allowed?” Mr. Edgewood asked.

“There’s no limit,” Drew said. “I intended to enter all seven classes, though I cannot speak for Miss Townsend.”

Every head turned toward her.

Crafty, crafty man.

“I also planned to enter all seven classes,” she lied. The crowd erupted into conversation, loudly debating the odds. Cecelia took advantage of the distraction, leaning across the table. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Leaning into the spectacle,” Drew whispered back. “Your idea, remember?”

She stared at him for a moment.

So be it.

She held out her hand. After the briefest hesitation, Drew took it, and she shook it once. “It’s a deal.”

She had barely settled back into her chair when Nancy placed a carefully penned list of questions in front of her, then another before Drew.

“The three minutes begins now,” she said.

Cecelia scanned the page, her brows rising before she could stop them. These were no ordinary questions hastily dreamed up for a party. They required observation, a genuine familiarity with another person’s life. The sheer existence of such a game irritated her.

It also happened to favor her enormously.

Drew's life was practically a matter of public record. The newspapers had delighted in chronicling every exploit of the Fighting Florist, and Cecelia happened to be an unusually attentive reader. Her own life, by contrast, was gloriously uneventful—at least until this summer.

He didn't stand a chance.

“Time’s up,” Nancy said, whisking the slates from their hands. “Shall I read the first question aloud?”

“At once!” Mr. Edgewood bellowed. “My God, this is exciting.”

Nancy called for silence once more. “Mr. Sutton, the first question is for you. What was the topic of Miss Townsend’s lecture at the Tacoma Horticultural Society last November?”

“The Vascular Anatomy of the seedling of Dahlia pinnata,” he answered without hesitation, punctuating it with an infuriatingly smug smile.

Cecelia’s jaw dropped. Attendance had scarcely exceeded a dozen botanists from across the region. She hadn't imagined anyone outside those walls remembered the lecture existed. She snapped her mouth closed.

“Correct. Miss Townsend, who defeated Mr. Sutton at his first Seattle Smoker?”

“Jack Greb,” she blurted, far louder than intended. “Otherwise known as the Greenville Giant.”

“Correct. Mr. Sutton, which newspaper described Miss Townsend as abrasively brilliant?”

“The Puget Sound Post,” he replied. “Though I believe the new editor later apologized.”

That gave her pause. The apology had occupied barely a half-inch at the bottom of the final page. Hardly headline material. Still...it had been printed. It wasn't impossible he'd read it.

“Correct. Miss Townsend, how many greenhouse panes did Mr. Sutton lose in the March windstorm?”

She froze.

She knew the answer, but she hadn’t learned it from the newspapers. Theo had mentioned it in passing while lamenting how long the repairs had delayed Drew's spring planting. If she answered correctly, would anyone wonder how she knew? Would Drew? She glanced around, noting every expectant face fixed upon her, and finally muttered, “Seven.”