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He really did.
Need me, that is.
In one minute, I’d told him what the weather was going to be like in both destinations, which would determine his styling choices, and given he had meetings and both work and casual parties to attend, I ran through a list of wardrobe and travel essentials.
New luggage, new wardrobe, gifts for work associates, and a new skin care routine... because he needed that too.
All in a day’s work.
Tuesday’s appointment was with Megan Morano Properties. I would often do staging for them for photoshoots or open listings. Nothing major and certainly no full furnishing jobs, but personal touches and tailored marketing were more my forte.
This particular job was for an exclusive residential suite with a very particular target demographic. Of course, they needed it for a personal viewing on Friday.
Megan handed me the client list of those viewing the property. “Can you handle it?”
I knew exactly what I had to do, and that little business card that had been burning a hole in my wallet for weeks burned a little hotter.
“Of course I can,” I said, confident and reassuring.
And with a belly full of butterflies, I found myself walking into Bloom, hoping like crazy that a certain florist with his perfect name was working.
That he was single and that he slotted somewhere toward the queer end of the Kinsey Scale.
“Good afternoon!” The lady behind the counter smiled brightly as I opened the door. She was the same woman who had helped Keats the other day andnotthe person I wanted to see. Her name tag declared her to be Lina.
I tried not to show my disappointment. “Hi,” I said, walking up to the counter. “I was in a few weeks ago with a fairly specific order. The guy who helped me was great. I was hoping he might be in today.”
She stared at me for half a second and I could see it in her eyes when the penny dropped. “Oh, the breakup flowers!”
I chuckled. “That’s one way to put it. But yes, that’s me.”
She smiled. “So, did the flowers work?”
I nodded. “Message was received and understood, yes.”
“Good, good,” she said with a nod. “So, oh, the man who helped you...”
“Keats.”
She seemed surprised that I remembered his name. “Yes, Keats.”
“Not a name one forgets,” I added.
“No,” she murmured, but there was the beginning of a smirk there too. “He’s out the back. I’ll just grab him for you.”
Oh. He was here.
My stomach was suddenly full of butterflies, which was ridiculous. My heart was a little jittery too.
What the hell?
Then the staff-only door swung inwards, and he appeared. Tall and as handsome as I remembered. His blue eyes were bright, and his smile was wide, and my heart jittered a little harder.
Christ, get a grip.
“Hey,” he said, wiping his hands on his apron. “You’re back. Lina said you had a specific request. Need another bouquet of murder flowers?”
I laughed. “Ah, no. A rather specific request, yes. No murder flowers this time.”
