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After he hung up, he sauntered back to the house with his hands stuffed in his pockets. As he passed me, his sad voice took me by surprise. His usually manly, confident, and often sexy voice disappeared, stripped by me breaking his heart. “I don’t agree, but if that’s what you need—we’ll try it your way. Bye, dulce rosa.” His eyes focused on the ground and wouldn’t look at me.
My heart shattered at the slamming of the door behind him. Would we make our way back from this? I needed space, but now I feared the chains I shackled around my heart would hurt worse than all the pressure I lived with on a daily basis.
18
TEDDY
I stared at the cluster of roses in the vase inside the floral cooler of the shop, then at the sharp thorns running down the green stems. How could something with a bloom so breathtakingly beautiful at the head be so deadly below? Simply attempting to behold the beauty would mean risking my skin slicing open from those thorny little knives poking out of otherwise unblemished, green flesh.
The deep red color of the bouquet was supposed to be the sign of love, or some shit. But that was the risk with roses—and love—wasn’t it? They weren’t perfect. On the surface, things were beautiful, like nothing could mark it. But living below were layers of thorns and complications, waiting to kill your heart on contact.
The analogy suited my depressed mood well. Thoughts of Mia ruined me this week during spring break. Even though we were taking a step back, my love for her, with all its difficulties, wouldn’t simply go away because of inconvenient complications. I’d fight for her and us because she was mine, and we were worth it.
The trouble was, I didn’t know if she felt the same anymore.
In my periphery, I saw movement, but the clicking of heels hit my ears first. “Oh, hi there. I’m so sorry, I must not have heard the door chimes. I figured with it so close to closing time, I wouldn’t see another customer today, so I was in the back cleaning up. What can I help you with, sir?”
The floral shop owner came out from behind the counter and walked up to me. The petite brunette with big blue eyes and a perky gait wore an apron with Flowers help the soul bloom embroidered across her chest. A floral mini dress under the apron stopped mid-thigh on her legs and her heels stopped clicking against the floor tile when she came to a stop next to me. Her name tag read Tara.
“Hm, red roses. Are you in love?” She blinked at me several times. Her face was ivory and bright, with flushed cheeks and pink lips, and naturally long eyelashes. Pretty, if I was looking, which I most definitely wasn’t.
“Um. Yes.” My eyes fell. If anyone saw me here, it could spell big trouble for me, which was why I arrived just before closing time, when the street was darker thanks to the sun still setting early at this point in spring.
“Well then, if you’re looking to buy roses, I can give you the end of the day special. A dozen red roses for forty dollars. That’s about twenty off the usual price. It’s a steal.” She reached into the cooler for a bouquet.
Yeah, just what I needed. My lawyer would go ape shit if he found out I bought roses. I wasn’t the stalker on campus, but buying roses would look pretty incriminating.
“Actually, we just broke up. Temporarily. I hope. It’s just a little break, she said.”
Her eyes rounded like saucers. “Oh, you poor thing. You know what? I’m such a romantic sucker for a man who makes up after a fight with a bouquet of roses. I can knock another ten dollars off the price for you.”
I deflated in front of her, slumped shoulders and all. Jeez, I couldn’t even get the woman I loved a bouquet of roses to say I was sorry. Would I ever be able to buy Mia flowers again? Here I was, a former Navy SEAL, and I suddenly wanted to cry in the middle of a small town floral shop. Maybe all the romantic English lit books from Mia’s class finally knocked my testosterone filled soul down a notch or two to the sappy side.
Tara pulled a hand up to her mouth and gasped. “Oh, my God. You look so sad. She’s allergic to flowers, isn’t she? You broke up and you can’t even send her a roomful of flowers for fear of sending her into anaphylaxis shock. In that case, honey, how about chocolates, or candles—oh, I just got a shipment of teddy bears in?”
“Jeez, no. I don’t need anything. Listen—Tara—I came here only for information.”
Her gaping mouth snapped closed, and she slowly backed up toward the counter. “Oh. Okay. My mother was right. I always jumped too far ahead of things.”
Now I felt like a dick. I watched her take her position behind the counter, next to the register, as folded her hands on the countertop. “How may I help you, sir?”
I took in a deep breath and sighed out. Looking around the shop, with its cheerful interior—matching the sunshine of Tara, presumably—I hated it. My dark mood at the moment needed to get out of there, fast. I rushed three steps forward to face her across the counter.
“I was wondering if you recalled selling single roses to anyone in particular the past few months?”
Her head jerked back. “Um, what?”
“Yeah, you see, someone has been leaving single stem roses on my girlfriend’s car the past couple of months. I figured they might have purchased them here, since you’re the only floral shop in town.”
“Gosh. Is that why you broke up? Maybe if you bought her flowers more often, she wouldn’t leave you for this other guy.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for the patience of whatever saint oversaw that category. “Tara, please. Can you recall selling single roses to anyone?”
“Hm. I see a lot of customers through here each week. Something as specific as that I’d remember. It’s not often someone wants just a single rose, well unless they’re in high school. Those silly boys gotta start somewhere. But back to your question. Would I be violating some sort of confidentiality with my customers if I said yes?”
I frowned. “I think that rule only applies to doctors and attorneys. These are flowers, Tara, and if you have information, you’d be helping to solve a mystery on campus.” And save my life, and I’d owe you big time, I silently prayed.
She hesitated, like this was some big deal, which it was to me. “In that case, no. Selling a single rose here and there isn’t what my regular customers purchase. And I’m pretty sure I’d remember someone buying a single rose a few times. My mother always told me that upselling is the name of the game. She’d probably say to me if someone buys a single rose, sell them a bud vase. They buy a bud vase, sell them a teddy bear to go with it. If they buy a teddy bear, sell them a candle—”
