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I chuckled, scratching my head. In my mind, any number of these bouquets would work for that. Flowers were great with an apology, weren’t they? It was the thought that counted.
But then I remembered a customer that Hattie had helped recently who was looking for flowers for her friend she’d offended, and Hattie had told her yellow roses were a symbol of friendship and forgiveness.
Insanely proud of myself for remembering that, I grinned at the man. “I think I have just the thing.”
I walked over to the cooler of arrangements that were reserved for walk-ins and pulled out a bright and cheery bouquet in a crystal vase. There were white and yellow roses, with the little white ball-looking flowers that Hattie told me were oddly named babies’ breath, for reasons I still didn’t understand. In large quantities, those little sprigs smelled a little bit like cat pee.
Carrying the bouquet to the guy, I held it out for him to take. “What do you think of these? Yellow roses are good for asking for forgiveness.”
“I think they look great. You’re the expert, though.”
“Right,” I said with a laugh as he gestured to the pink polo I wore on my days in the shop.
I’d been resistant at first—I’d never worn pink in my life, and I didn’t really think it was my color. Plus, I was more of a volunteer than an official employee, but Mr. Reid had insisted.
Honestly, I was pretty sure he just wanted to watch me squirm.
Well, test passed, old man. I’d taken the shirt with a smile and worn it without complaint.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” I asked.
“Not unless you also hand out relationship advice.”
“Ah, sorry, I don’t think I’m qualified for that at the moment.”
He grinned. “You need some apology flowers, too?”
“Nah, nothing like that. I’m just in a rock-and-a-hard-place situation, and I don’t think flowers will help. I’ll ring you up though if you’re ready.”
“Sounds good.”
We stepped to the register, and I tendered the sale. “Do you want to add a note card?”
I reached for the stack next to the register, but he waved a hand. “Nah, but thanks. I’m going to put them on her desk before she gets to class, and I can’t really have my name on them.”
Alarm bells went off in my head. This guy looked like he was my age, or even older. What kind of class was he talking about? Was she a high school student or something? That would be bad. Just as bad as the married man I’d helped last week, who I was pretty sure was buying flowers for his secret girlfriend. Working in a flower shop definitely had its awkward moments.
“Class, huh?” I asked, trying for casual. “You guys in college or something?”
He shook his head, looking around. “We’re both teachers at the high school. I just don’t want anyone to talk.”
“Ah, got it. Well, good luck. Hope it goes well.”
“Me, too. Thanks.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, Hattie dashed out of the back room and grabbed my arm. “Thatcher, Thatcher, Thatcher. Do you know who that was?”
I blinked down at her, ignoring the tightening of my stomach in response to her flushed look of excitement. “Uh, no. Should I?”
“That was Michael Thompson.”
“Okay…”
“Those flowers are for Stella.”
I frowned, looking at the door he’d just exited. “Your best friend, Stella?”
“Yes. She’s going to freak out.”
