Page 38 of Finders Keepers

I maneuver through the cool room, checking order slips and carefully transferring arrangements from the cooler to the delivery van. The gentle hum of the cooling system provides a soothing backdrop as I work methodically. Five deliveries today, not too bad considering the gloomy weather.

I pause my loading when Mary Beth appears at the cooler door. She watches me work for a moment, a gentle smile on her face.

“How are you feeling about the deliveries today, Bailey? Not too many, but that’s good for your first run.”

“I think I’ve got it,” I say, carefully positioning a vibrant arrangement of sunflowers and daisies in the van’s cargo hold. “The addresses are all programmed in my phone.”

She nods, leaning against the doorframe. “Just so you know, sometimes folks invite you inside to help place the arrangement. Especially the older customers or for special occasions.” She adjusts her glasses. “Just use your best judgment. If something feels off, you can always say you have more deliveries waiting.”

My stomach tightens slightly at the thought of entering strangers’ homes, but I force a smile. “Got it.”

“Oh, and when you get back,” she continues, “I’ll need your help prepping tomorrow’s arrangements. We’ve got that big wedding order coming up, and those centerpieces won’t build themselves.”

“Yes ma’am. Sophie’s at Ms. Lucy’s until three, so I’ve got plenty of time.” Even though I’m missing my daughter like crazy I know she’s in good hands.

Mary Beth’s eyes soften. “That little girl of yours is precious.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling a genuine smile spread across my face.

“You’re doing good, Bailey. Real good and I’m here if you ever need to talk”

I nod, grateful for her kindness but still cautious about getting too comfortable. A couple weeks in this small Texas town, and I’m still looking over my shoulder, still startling at loud noises, still wondering if Matt will somehow find us.

“Thanks, Mary Beth. I’ll be back as soon as I can to help with those arrangements.”

“Thank you.” She waves at me as I close the vans door and climb into the driver’s seat.

The rain hasn’t let up, but I don’t mind. There’s something peaceful about it.

The first four deliveries go smoothly, a birthday arrangement at the Urgent Care, anniversary flowers to the bank manager, a sympathy piece to a funeral home, and a cheerful mixed bouquet to the elderly care facility. I check my last delivery slip and input the address into my phone. It’s not far from where I am now, just a few streets over in one of those charming older neighborhoods with big oak trees lining the sidewalks.

Rain drums steadily on the van’s roof as I drive, and I find myself humming along to the radio. The wipers keep time with the music, and I can’t help but smile. Even on a dreary day like this, there’s something special about delivering flowers that keep this smile on my face.

I slow down as I approach the house, double-checking the address against my slip. It’s a cute craftsman-style home with what looks to be an overgrown garden.

I put the van in park and make my way to the back doors. I carefully lift the arrangement, a stunning mix of blue hydrangeas and white roses, from the holder the vase was placed in. The card tells me they’re for a Mr. Locke, and I shield the flowers with my body as I hurry up the walkway to avoid the steady drizzle.

The small porch offers welcome shelter, and I take a moment to check the arrangement one more time. Working with Mary Beth at the flower shop has taught me to be meticulous about the details. I press the doorbell and hear it chime inside, followed by the slow shuffle of footsteps.

The door opens to reveal an older gentleman, probably in his mid-eighties, with kind eyes and the purest white hair I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a maroon cardigan despite the warmth of this dreary summer day, and his smile reminds me of Ms. Lucy’s, warm and inviting, with that same gentle wisdom in his eyes.

“Hello,” I say brightly, brushing a few raindrops from my sleeve. “I have a delivery for Mr. Locke.”

His face lights up when he sees the flowers, weathered cheeks crinkling with joy. “That would be me, dear. Come in, come in, you’re getting soaked out there.”

I hesitate for just a moment, Mary Beth said to use my best judgment about entering homes, but his grandfatherly demeanor helps put me at ease. Plus, the rain is starting to pick up again, drumming steadily against the tiny porch roof now.

“Thank you,” I say, stepping into a cozy living room filled with photos and well-loved furniture. The air smells of coffee and something sweet. “These are from Magnolia Blooms. Where would you like me to set them?”

“Oh, those are just beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, hands clasped together at his chest. “Right there on the coffee table in between those two chairs would be perfect. My Laura always loved hydrangeas.”

I place the arrangement carefully on the indicated table, noting the black and white wedding photo prominently displayed on the worn wood surface. A much younger Mr. Locke stands proudly dressed in his Sunday best beside a beautiful woman with a simple but elegant wedding gown, her veil trailing behind her down the weathered steps of a small brick church.

“Today would have been our sixtieth anniversary,” he says softly, answering my unspoken question, his eyes never leaving the photograph. “I order flowers every year, just like I used to bring them home to her. Mary Beth always knows exactly what to create.”

My heart swells with emotion, and I force myself to swallow past the lump forming in my throat.

“The blue hydrangeas matched her eyes perfectly,” he continues, reaching out to touch one of the blooms gently with trembling fingers. “She used to tend the most beautiful hydrangea bushes in our front yard. Haven’t had the heart to maintain them since she passed five years ago. The garden just isn’t the same without her singing to the flowers every morning.”

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