Page 4 of Hers By Summer’s End

No, no, no.

Weeks of work. An immaculate specimen! It must be seen. She took one determined step forward but was once again yanked backward.

“Cece, no.”

“But—”

“It’s over.”

She watched, her stomach sinking lower and lower, as Drew paraded around the ring. As he kicked aside a wilting carnation, further obscuring her Aschenbrodel. As her last hope was plucked as ruthlessly as a daisy petal in the hands of an unrequited lover.

A man wearing a three-piece serge suit and a flashing gold fob watch climbed into the ring and seized Drew’s wrist, hoisting his arm high overhead. The crowd whistled and cheered in approval. Drew grinned, but his gaze lowered to the mat. It swept over the flower-strewn canvas at his feet…almost as if he were searching for something. Then he hinged forward and lifted her cactus dahlia from its early graveyard.

Cecelia’s breath wheezed out of her. He had it! Now he would perform the next step in their dance. He’d tuck the stem behind one ear, signaling his acceptance, and that would be that. Simple. Quiet. As Theo preferred.

Except Drew wasn’t lifting the flower to his ear. He was talking to the man—the club manager, she now gathered—whose face lit up with a glee that made Cece frown uneasily.

“What is he waiting for?” she demanded.

“What?” Theo shouted.

The club owner raised a hand for silence. The crowd, reluctant to surrender its enthusiasm, took its time. Cecelia’s bow tie became strangling. What was Drew doing?

“Congratulations to our victor,” the manager crowed. “And congratulations to all of us for witnessing not one challenge tonight, but two!”

Beside her, Theo went very still.

“It appears,” the owner continued, plucking the flower from Drew's hand and holding it aloft, “that the Fighting Florist has acquired a new contender. Not in the ring, but in the greenhouse!”

“The Fighting Florist can’t be beat,” a man shouted. “In or out of the ring!”

“You haven’t met this botanist,” Drew replied, his deep voice carrying easily through the hall. “She’s a force to be reckoned with.”

“She?” The club owner repeated in mock surprise. “You don’t mean to be bested by a woman, do you?”

Drew grinned. “Not if I can help it.”

Feet stamped on the ground. A few heads nearest Cecelia began to turn, eyeing her and whispering behind their hands. She ignored them, too busy imagining inventive new ways to strangle Drew for this bold turn of events.

“And where will this horticultural bloodbath occur?"

“Cactus Dahlia Day at the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition,” he replied, taking back the dahlia. “You may be familiar with that little fair we've got going on up at the university.”

“You’ve done some of the landscaping there, haven’t you?”

Drew laid a gloved hand over his heart. “When you see the rhododendron, you can think of me.”

Good-natured laughter swept through the hall. Cecelia rolled her eyes.

The owner gestured to the dahlia. “And what do you think of your contender’s specimen?”

Cecelia leaned forward. Despite everything, she couldn’t help herself. Her specimen was magnificent. He wouldn’t be able to withhold his praise.

Drew squinted at it with his one, unswollen eye. “Lackluster.”

A few men booed. Most laughed. And Cecelia’s blood began to simmer.

“And what message do you have for your challenger?”