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JONAS
As an adult, I have never celebrated Valentine’s Day. Not in the sense of buying flowers and chocolates and gifts for a person I care about. My mom and sisters do not count in this equation. I’m strictly thinking of romantic interests. Considering the only other woman I thought of romantically never reciprocated, I never bought her anything.
For the first time, Valentine’s Day is a big deal.
After I leave Autumn’s apartment, I drop Spartan off at home and head to work. I relay my plan to Dad when I get to work and he tells me to take a half day so I can get everything done in time. I debate with him a moment, but give up after he tells me he will close the garage for the day if I don’t.
Twist my arm.
Before arriving at work, I pictured the day going by slow. Excitement has me jittery and on edge. So, when lunchtime rolls around, I freak out. I let everyone take lunch, with plans to leave when they return.
“What if I don’t get everything done in time?” I ask Dad.
“Most of the stores are right next to each other. Unless you have no idea what you’re getting, you’ll do just fine.” Dad pats my shoulder. “Proud of you, son. And I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy. You deserve it.”
“You trying to make me cry, old man,” I tease.
“Would be a beautiful thing if you did. Shows how much they mean to you. Never be ashamed to show how you feel.” Dad gives my shoulder another pat. “I’ll be done in a bit. Then you get out of here and surprise those girls.”
Dad takes his lunch and returns in no time. When I try to protest his twenty-minute break, he shrugs and tells me he ate. Conversation done. I finish the car I’m working on then prep to leave. After the tools are back where they belong, I ditch my coveralls and wash up.
“Sure you’re good with me heading out this early?”
Dad shakes his head on a chuckle. “If you don’t get out of here, I’ll spill your secret plans to Autumn.” He reaches for his phone.
The second time I brought Autumn and Clementine over for family dinner night, Dad gave her his number in case she ever needed help and she couldn’t reach me. She reciprocated. Not only did the exchange shock me—our relationship still so young—it stirred up new admiration for my father. A man I hope to live up to.
“God. Fine. I’m leaving.”
“Enjoy your weekend,” Dad shouts as I exit the back of the garage.
“You too. Buy Mom some flowers.”
I hop in the Jeep and drive toward the mall. Every store I need to hit is within a mile or two. And since it’s still early in the day, traffic is light. Altogether, I have five stops. Only one stop will be challenging. So, I make it the first.
The second I set foot in the store, I question every reason behind the choice. But when a woman walks up to me and asks to help, I breathe a little easier. She asks open-ended questions and lights up when an idea strikes. In less than thirty minutes, I swipe my card as she bags up my purchase.
With an extra bounce in my step, I leave the store and go to the next. Fifteen minutes later, I exit the mall with the hardest part of my shopping done. I am in and out of the next stop faster than either shop in the mall. When I reach stop four, Shelly greets me with a goofy smile.
“Feel like I haven’t seen you in years,” she teases.
“Were you not just at my house last weekend? I swear you hung out, ate the food I grilled, and chatted with my girl.”
A breezy smile kicks up her cheeks. “I love how happy you are.”
The last time I remember blushing is middle school. So, the sudden heat on my neck and cheeks comes as a surprise. “Thanks, Shell.”
After a quick hug, she slips into business mode. “What can I get for you?”
“Obviously, I’m here for flowers.” Shelly rolls her eyes at me. “But I don’t know what flowers Autumn likes. Or Clementine. I’d prefer to not get roses.”
“Too cliché?” she jokes, but continues. “Do you want to get the same for both of them?”
“No. Think it would be nice for them to have flowers they call their own.”
Shelly taps her lips for a beat before her eyes light up. “Wait here.”
She dashes around the floral shop so quickly it dizzies me. After stopping at several bins, she meets me back at the counter. One hand overflows with flowers while the other holds greenery. This is why I come here. Because Shelly and Elizabeth, Cora’s mom, don’t mess around when flowers are involved. I love their passion and how easily they can make an arrangement look like art.
