Chapter 1
The camera stared at me like a one-eyed robot, cold and unblinking. I stared back. The modern bullet-shaped contraption was out of place, anachronistic even, under the painted eaves of the century-old Victorian. Flower House was welcoming and cheerful, the front porch overflowing with barrels and boxes of many-hued flowers. The security camera was the opposite.
I wrinkled my nose at the thing and stuck out my tongue. Feeling sassy, I also wiggled my hips in a childish dance of defiance.
A feminine voice crackled from an invisible speaker. “It works. No need to put on a show.”
I froze, then giggled. I’d almost forgotten there were people on the other side of the camera. My friend Deena was inside at the computer in our small office—along with the security company tech who had installed the front camera and its twin above the back door, as well as burglar alarms on all the windows.
“Good,” I replied. “Now we can finally check this item off our to-do list.”
This task had been hanging over my head for far too long. Most business owners would have invested in a security system after the first break-in—which followed the first murder on the premises last spring. I cringed at the recollection, as well as the word “first.” There had been a second murder a few short months later. Intruders, vandals, killers—we’d had them all in the short span of time since I’d taken charge of the shop. Not that it was my fault. It was purely coincidental. The incidents at Flower House very well could have happened when my old boss, Felix, was still in charge.
And how different would things be then? If Felix hadn’t decided to retire and leave his shop to me, all so he could go gallivanting off on a fanciful treasure hunt out West, I might be the one traveling the country, chasing my own dreams. I’d wanted to be a singer-songwriter, carrying the spirit of my Appalachian roots in my heart as I sang my way to the big time. Instead, my heart and my voice remained firmly planted in my hometown, where my roots only sank deeper.
Deena emerged from the front door with the security technician, a freckle-faced young man in a company jacket. As he handed me a pen and a clipboard, he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide an amused smirk.
I signed the contract and returned the pen with a bat of my eyelashes. “Thank you, sir,” I said brightly.
He handed me a business card. “Call if you have any questions, day or night.”
“Oh, I will,” I assured him.
Deena chuckled as the guy walked away, toward his car on the street. “Is there anyone left in this town that you haven’t charmed to pieces?”
I ignored her comment and pointed at the camera. “It’s like an evil eye, isn’t it? If Granny’s protection charms don’t keep the bad guys away, this camera ought to.”
“That’s the idea,” she agreed. “It’s also like insurance. We may never need it, but it’s worth it for the peace of mind.”
“Especially for Calvin,” I said. “Not that he ever complained.” Calvin was a former botany professor, who had shown up here out of the blue last spring at Felix’s invitation—except Felix, the scatterbrain, had forgotten and skipped town. Calvin stayed anyway and turned out to be a godsend. He’d rented the upstairs apartment and accepted a job taking care of the greenhouse out back, not to mention helping out with anything and everything else that needed doing in the shop.
“True,” said Deena. “I still don’t know how he could sleep at night. It never seemed to faze him that so much mayhem happened in the shop below his apartment.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “Speaking of Calvin, have you heard from him lately?”
“Yeah, I got a text a couple days ago. He still says he’s coming back. Sometime soon.”
“Good,” said Deena. She opened her mouth as if to say more, then scrapped the thought. “I better go get the café ready. The garden club will be here for their monthly meeting in less than an hour.”
“That’s today? I’ll come help in a minute. I want to freshen the blooms out here.” I moved absently toward the porch display and picked up a watering can. Lately, the mention of Calvin had been throwing me into a pensive mood. He’d been gone for a little more than a month, and the idea that he might not return bothered me more than I cared to admit.
Calvin Foxheart. I felt a grin tug at my lips in spite of myself. His name suited him. He was cute and kind of nerdy, yet brave and strong too.
Biting my lip, I pinched off a dried orange marigold blossom and crumbled the seeds onto the soil. There was a time when I wasn’t sure if I could trust Calvin. Eventually, though, he’d proven to be a true friend—and then some. Our growing attraction to each other was undeniable.
I gazed into space as the memories replayed themselves in my mind. We’d begun spending more time with each other, both at the shop and outside of work. It was fun to get to know him better. I enjoyed his company and loved the way I felt when he was near. In fact, we would have become even closer if not for a series of thwarted opportunities. It was almost comical, all the times we’d been interrupted or distracted at the exact moment we might have shared our first kiss. Whether it was an ill-timed thunderstorm, an important phone call, or a murderer in our midst, there was always something coming between us. Most recently, it was Calvin’s family, who needed his help on their farm in Iowa, while his father recovered from hip surgery.
I kept telling myself we’d surely laugh about all the interruptions someday. I tried to ignore the irrational voice in my head—the one that wondered if the universe was conspiring to keep us apart.
“Ridiculous,” I muttered. It was just life being life—unpredictable, messy, and inconvenient at times—in between all the magic and beauty.
A car door slammed shut, pulling me from my daydreams. I hadn’t even heard a car drive up, but that might have been because the motor was so quiet. If I wasn’t mistaken, the snappy red vehicle along the curb was a Mercedes-Benz. The young woman walking toward me was dressed in a matching beige skirt and sweater set—an outfit that suited someone with such an expensive car. So did her perfectly styled straight golden hair and model-worthy makeup. She gave me a friendly smile when she spotted me on the porch. But as she got closer, I saw that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. The telltale lines spoke, instead, of worry and sadness.
“Howdy,” I said. “Welcome to Flower House. Are you here for the garden club meeting?”
Her eyes flickered in confusion. “No. I was hoping to speak with someone about wedding flowers.”
I set down the watering can and wiped my hands on my corduroys. “Absolutely. Come on in, Miss…” I trailed off, in a questioning tone.
“Marissa,” she supplied.
“Nice to meet you, Marissa. I’m Sierra Ravenswood, the owner and manager here.” It still felt funny to identify myself in that way, but I figured the more I said it, the sooner it might feel natural.
I directed Marissa across the foyer that opened to the shop floor, then to the left, through the arched entryway that led to the café room. Decorated in a charming French provincial style, with polished antique furniture, a crystal chandelier, a plush velvet sofa, and painted vases bursting with sensual bouquets in every corner, the café had become an attractive destination for individuals and groups alike. The monthly garden club was one of the regular meetings that took place here.
Deena had already pushed together three small tables in the seating area next to the front window, so I chose a table near the bakery case.
“Would you like coffee or tea?” I offered.
“No, thank you.” She spoke quietly, which had the effect of requiring her listener’s full attention. Or maybe she was used to being discreet.
“You sure?” I asked. “We have some nice specialty teas: calming lavender-chamomile, soothing ginger-lemon.” I didn’t know why, but I had a feeling she could use a touch of comfort. Perhaps it was the way she kept twisting her engagement ring (which, incidentally, featured the biggest diamond I’d ever seen this up close and personal).
“Actually, that does sound nice,” she said. “I’ll have lavender-chamomile.”
Deena had overheard and appeared beside us with teacups and a miniature kettle of hot water. As she handed me a jar of honey, I noticed her eyebrows quirk expressively above her shining brown eyes. Was she trying to tell me something?
I returned my attention to Marissa, who was pouring water over the tea in her cup. I started to push back from the table. “I’ll go grab our wedding portfolio and bouquet catalogues. Be back in a jiffy.”
It might have been a stretch to call our slim binder of photos a “portfolio,” but Deena and I were optimistic—and I believed in the Law of Attraction. If you want to attract more wedding jobs, act as a wedding florist would act. At the moment, our collection included more prom corsages and anniversary bouquets than bridal photos, but it was a start.
Marissa held out a hand to stop me. “You don’t need to do that.”
I paused. “Oh, okay. You already know what you want?”
Deena returned to the table with a plate of daisy-shaped sugar cookies sprinkled with bits of edible flower petals. Again, she appeared uncommonly excited about something. Probably it was the prospect of landing a wedding client.
“Deena,” I said, “would you do me a favor and grab our price sheet?”
Marissa shook her head dismissively. “I don’t care about the cost.”
Now Deena and I exchanged a glance. It dawned on me that she must recognize Marissa. This wasn’t a surprise. Aerieville was a small town, and Deena had always been more social than I was—back in high school and even now, a decade later.
“I’ll get you a notebook,” Deena offered.
“Thanks.” As Deena left the café, I stirred my tea and asked the obvious question. “So, Marissa, when is your wedding?”
“September twenty-seventh.”
I nodded. “Lovely. Fall weddings are so beautiful. And since it will be around this time next year, you can see what’s in season now and take inspiration from what’s currently blooming.”
“It’s not next year,” she corrected.
“Oh. It’s two years out?”
“No. Two weeks. September twenty-seventh this year.”
I dropped my spoon and stared. I almost asked if she was joking, but it was clear she wasn’t.
“I know it’s short notice, but I’m prepared to pay a premium and any extra charges. Or, I should say, my parents will.” She touched the edge of a cookie. “Pretty,” she murmured.
“Um.” I wasn’t sure what to say. I wanted to ask why she was in such a rush to get married, but I knew that would be rude. Maybe her fiancé was in the military and would be leaving for a tour of duty. Or maybe she was expecting. In fact, this wouldn’t be the first last-minute wedding job I’d handled. I knew it could be done. It was unusual and challenging, but it wasn’t impossible.
She took a sip of tea, then resumed fidgeting with her ring. “The wedding and reception will be at my parents’ house, and we’ll need decorations for both. The colors are cranberry and gold. The last florist designed my bouquet with calla lilies and roses, but you don’t have to stick with that.”
“The last florist?”
“We had another florist, but she backed out.” Marissa’s eyes slid toward the window. “I’m not sure why.”
I heard the front door jingle, followed by the drift of voices from the foyer. It sounded like Deena was greeting the garden club members. Marissa pushed back her chair. Was she leaving already?
“How large is the wedding party?” I asked. “And how many guests are you expecting?”
She reached into her purse, then handed me a business card and stood up. “Taz will give you all the details. He’s the wedding planner.”
I glanced at the card and the bold-lettered name, Taz Banyan, Nashville, TN, before returning my confused gaze to Marissa. “I don’t—” I began, but she interrupted.
“You’ll do it, won’t you? I was hoping to use a local florist at least, since all the other vendors are from out of town. Like I said, money is no object.”
As I looked into her pleading eyes, I felt a strange sense of inevitability wash over me. As odd as this encounter was, and as stressful as the job might be, I knew I couldn’t say no. Of course, I didn’t want to turn down any business, but it was more than that. This was a woman in need, and where there was need, I had the urge to help.
“Yes,” I said, with a brief nod. “We’ll do it.”
* * *
We were so busy the rest of the morning, I had to put Marissa out of my mind. Between serving the garden club ladies in the café and helping a couple of walk-in customers, we had online flower orders to fill. Mondays weren’t always this busy. Then again, birthdays, anniversaries, and get-well wishes could happen anytime—and every day was a good day for flowers.
When Felix was in charge, he didn’t bother much with advertising or promotions. He was content to run a slow business, since it gave him more time for his hobbies. When I took over, I soon realized such a lax business model wasn’t sustainable. With help from Deena and Calvin, I decided to open the flower-themed café, in the hopes that it would draw in more customers. It worked, and we became busier than ever. I was already thinking of hiring more staff when Calvin announced he had to go away for a while.
As luck would have it, around the same time, my grandmother told me about a family she knew who had come upon hard times. The single mother had been laid off, and her older kids were looking for work. That’s how I came to meet Toby and Allie Johnson. All summer, Toby, nineteen, made deliveries for us and took care of yardwork. Allie, aged seventeen, worked the cash register and kept the shop floor tidy. They were good kids, if a little too timid.
I wrapped up a delivery for Toby, and told him to take a lunch break before coming back. Then I walked up front, where Allie was wiping down the check-out counter. Her dishwater blonde hair was pulled back in a headband, making her look even younger than she was.
“It’s lunchtime, Allie. I can mind the register, while you go eat.”
“That’s okay, Miss Ravenswood. I’m not hungry. Thank you, though.”
“Well, take a break anyway. Why not go outside and get some fresh air?”
Deena poked her head out of the café. “Anyone want a watercress and chive blossom sandwich? We have a few left over, and they’re best eaten fresh.”
“If Gus were here, he’d be happy to help you out,” I joked. My young corgi loved to eat, and he wasn’t picky. He was usually a fixture at Flower House, charming customers or hanging out in the office. He also liked to be at the center of all activity—which meant he was often underfoot. That was why I’d dropped him off with my brother, Rocky, before meeting the security tech at the shop this morning.
Copyright © 2022 by Jennifer David Hesse
