Page 5 of A Bouquet of Dreams

She had so many ideas for her future flower shop! Workshops, for one. She’d seen other floral shops host workshops in the evenings. Customers would pay a basic fee; the shop owner would provide the flowers, food, and drink, and demonstrate a basic recipe. That, she had learned through many trial-and-error moments as she honed her design skills, was the key to mastering floral design—following a process. Then, in her mind’s eye, the customers would create their own arrangements, and Claire would act as a roving teacher, helping them improve their bouquets. To point out beginner’s mistakes (Don’t choke the flowers!). To gain confidence in their own style (Give it a try!). To not be afraid to follow their gut (If you love it, go for it!). Recipes were meant to guide, not to stifle, innovation. There was plenty of room for experimentation with flower arranging.

Now and then, Claire practiced teaching the workshop as she imagined herself with the attendees in the class—reminding novices to always cut stems at an angle, to start with foliage because it gave structure to an arrangement. Then add the focal flowers, the larger blooms. Next came the fillers. She promised herself that she would never criticize anyone’s creation. She would suggestways to enhance their work, but it was their work of art. And all art should be respected.

That’s what Rose Reid had taught her, and she’d never forgotten.

Two years ago, working late on a warm June night, Claire finished an arrangement—assorted dahlias, snapdragons, Astilbe, yarrow, and red gaillardia for a pop of texture, all arranged in a bright orange ceramic vessel. She took a picture, studied it, stood back to look at the bouquet, and felt a spiral of pleasure deep into her bones. Stunning. So beautiful, so appealing. Someone, besides her housemates who really didn’t appreciate flowers at all, should see this.

So she entered the photograph into a local floral contest ... and she won! It was something she’d never thought she’d do. Truth be told, she used to make fun of Rose for entering so many contests. Rose would tack her awards on her front window display, and now Claire wished she could take back all those snarky comments about what she called Rose’s trophy shelf. After Claire’s first win, she got hooked. Competition fired her up. She entered another and another, increasingly competitive contests, and she kept placing, if not winning. And now she was a finalist in the Savannah Blooms contest—the best and biggest one in all of Georgia.

four

The flower that follows the sun does so even in cloudy days.

—Robert Leighton

Claire was dreading the next two days. Torture.Sitting in a low-budget hotel conference room with marginal air-conditioning, punctuated by tedious breakout circles to practice skills. And it was all done by a Christian company, of course, because MaryBeth only trusted and supported Christian businesses. Even the wholesalers she ordered flowers from were all Christians. Claire was a churchgoer, but sometimes MaryBeth made church out of everything.

Claire looked through the notebook she’d been given. First lecture: “Why Customer Service Is Important.”

Ridiculous. That topic did not need a full hour lecture. Claire could stand at the podium and deliver the answer in less than one minute. Customer service is important because flowers wouldn’t get ordered without it. Check.?

Breakout circles were planned after each lecture to role-play customer service strategies. Attendees’ name tags had a color code to show which circle they belonged to, each one led by a professional in the industry.

Okay, Claire thought. That sounded more promising. She liked the idea of gleaning good ideas to handle customers from other attendees. After all, they were in the trenches, like she was. Customers weren’t easy! Essential but not easy.

She flipped the page to the second lecture: “How to Improve Customer Service.”

A defeated sigh escaped her lips.Thiswas why MaryBeth had sent Claire to this conference—to work on improving her customer skills. She’d have to pay attention to this lecture. MaryBeth would want a full report on the topic.

Claire turned the page and realized that the entire rest of the day would be spent answering that question. Each lecture took a different piece of the topic:

“Strengthen Customer Service Skills” (Right.That’s why she was here.)

“Adaptability” (So maybe ... she could use a little flexibility polishing.)

“Clear Communication” (She did communicate clearly! Too clearly. It was the very reason MaryBeth was often annoyed with her.)

“Work Ethic” (Claire had a sterling work ethic.?)

“Knowledge” (Who knew more about flowers than her???)

“Thick Skin” (A particular strength of Claire’s.???)

Then she spotted something in the conference notebook that made her nearly laugh out loud. Tonight, after dinner, a Christian magician was going to perform for the attendees, with an emphasis on flowers.

If MaryBeth knew of this, she would have a conniption. She would say that a Christian magician was a self-canceling phrase and all magic belonged to the devil. Claire would try to tell her that magicians used tricks of illusions, that everything they didcould be explained, but MaryBeth wouldn’t buy it. Claire wasnota fan of magicians, not after knowing one rather well. She’d skip the show tonight. She’d rather go foraging.

A high-pitched squealing noise from the microphone onstage made everyone cringe. A nervous-looking woman stood behind the podium with a stack of notes, waited until the audio feedback was fixed, and then started the conference with a timid welcome. After five minutes of listening, Claire decided that nothing was new to her, so she started doodling ideas for a dramatic flower arrangement that had been rumbling around in her mind. She was an avid student of the Victorian era and its emphasis on symbolism in flowers. She kept a notebook of flowers that were common in Victorian prints. On her notepad, she sketched tall, dark fritillaria persica, black hellebores, and parrot tulips with their bulbs and roots still attached—the unexpected touch. It was a technique that Rose liked to use. Surprise the eye.

As Claire finished the sketch, she squinted her eyes to assess it. Stunning. This bouquet would be so perfect for a wedding—if Same Day Delivery might ever have a client who had a desire to astonish.

“Why keep the bulb and roots?”

Claire looked up. Unbeknownst to her, a woman seated next to her had been watching as she sketched. “This is for a wedding reception. The bulb means new life, the roots symbolize the growth of life.”

“I like it,” the woman said. She seemed young, like Claire, with fuzzy brown hair that framed a wide, innocent-looking face. She gazed at Claire with admiration in her eyes. “It’s unexpected.”

Yes. Yes it was. That was the thing about working with flowers—they surprised Claire every single time. Claire smiled at her and read her name tag:Sophie. “Thank you, Sophie. I’m Claire.”

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