Page 32 of Tempest’s Torment

I shake my head. He's my neighbor, that's all. After the last couple of days, seeing a familiar face on the way out of the building was nice, nothing more. I refuse to make it more than that, and by the time Petals comes into view, I've almost convinced myself.

Cara's already halfway through a wedding order when I walk in; she’s got buckets of white roses, ranunculus, eucalyptus, and greenery covering every spare inch of the workbench. She doesn't even look up when I enter the store.

"The bride changed her mind," she tells me, her voice is shrill.

I hang my purse on the hook by the back door. "About what?"

"Everything."

That makes me laugh. "Again?"

"Called Louise at seven this morning, and Louise called me." She finally glances over. "I hadn't even finished my coffee."

"What is it this time?"

"She found inspiration on Instagram." Her nose scrunches up in disgust. "She wants everything loose and organic now." She gestures toward the flowers. "Which means I'm starting over."

"Ouch."

She nods. "My thoughts exactly." She points a pair of floral snips at me. "You're on ceremony pieces."

"What about the reception?"

"Louise is dealing with those when she comes in."

I grin. "Works for me." I pull my apron over my head, wash my hands, and step up beside her.

A fresh mug of coffee appears next to my elbow a minute later. "Thanks."

"I know you didn't sleep."

I glance at her. "I slept," I say, trying to sound convincing, but she gives me a look that tells me she thinks I’m full of shit. "Fine," I mutter. "A little."

"I'll take a little."

We fall into a comfortable silence as we work on the new arrangements that the bride wants: pew flowers, pedestals, and an arch installation. It's enough to keep both of us busy.

Louise arrives just after nine thirty and immediately starts to work on the reception arrangements while we all take turns on manning the front of store whenever we hear the bell above the door sound; although, it never seems to stop ringing: customers come and go, a delivery shows up, Cara disappears into a bridal consultation, Louise takes a call for a sympathy arrangement—her voice soft enough that I don't need to hear the words to know why.

Everything is normal, and I almost forgot about recent events. But every time I pass the front window, my eyes drift across the street, just for a second, just long enough to make sure. Nothing. No black SUV. I tell myself that's a good sign; I just wish I believed it.

"You're doing it again," Cara says quietly.

"Doing what?" I ask, my brows furrowing.

"Stripping leaves you already stripped." She nods at the stem in my hands.

I look down. She's right; the stem is bare from end to end. I stripped it clean twice without noticing.

"Sorry," I mumble as I put it down.

She gives me the softest look that I have ever seen. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

I shake my head. "Nothing's going on." I’m going to go to hell for lying so much.

She doesn't argue; instead, she picks up her shears and goes back to the arrangement she's been building, and I think that's the end of it.

"You checked the street four times this morning,” she says, looking down at her arrangement.