Page 18 of Finders Keepers

“Love you more Mommy,” she replies, our familiar exchange.

I open the door and step outside, forcing myself to keep moving forward even as every instinct screams at me to run back and scoop her into my arms.

I sit in my car outside of Magnolia Blooms, my hands still gripping the steering wheel. The quaint storefront with its neon pink sign stating that ‘We’re Open.’ is on full display and the flowers that are out front are beautifully crafted in unique ways. I see some purple petunias in a basket that’s attached to the front of a yellow old school bicycle, and on the opposite side of the storefront I see a big wooden wire spindle that houses an array of colorful flowers and a sign that says ‘Fresh Local Flowers Inside.’ Seeing these flowers would normally make my heart sing but at the moment it’s doing the complete opposite and my stomach forms knots.

“You can do this. It’s flowers. You love flowers, Bailey,” I whisper to myself, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes look wider than usual, filled with anxiety.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. The last time I had a job interview was before Sophie was born. Before Matt convinced me I didn’t need to work, that he’d take care of everything. Before I understood what that “care” would cost.

“It’s just an hour. Sophie is safe.” I repeat the words like a mantra, trying to believe them. Ms. Lucy is kind and genuine. Nothing like the predatory charm Matt had perfected.

My phone buzzes with a text. For a terrifying second, I think it might be him, that somehow he’s found us. But it’s from a number I’ve already programmed into my phone.

“Sophie wants you to know she’s already helped make three pancakes. One looks suspiciously like a blob with ears.”

A photo follows. Sophie standing on a kitchen chair, wooden spoon in hand, her face mesmerized as she watches batter sizzle in a pan. Something loosens in my chest.

Thank youI text back quickly then tuck my phone away.

“Okay, Bailey. One foot in front of the other.” I check my appearance one last time, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind my ear. “You know plants. You’ve got this.”

I step out of the car, the humidity immediately enveloping me. I push open the door to the floral shop the scent hits me immediately. A heavenly mix of fresh flowers, greenery, and what might be lavender candles burning somewhere in the small space. The shop is exactly what you’d expect from a small-town florist, charming and welcoming with buckets of fresh-cut flowers lining the walls. Sunlight streams through the large front windows making the space open and airy.

“Hello? You must be Bailey!” A woman emerges from behind a stunning display of wildflowers, her warm smile matching the colorful blooms perfectly. She has her dark brown hair pulled into a tight bun, silver strands mixed throughout, and she’s wearing a tan canvas apron that has the word ‘Local’ embroidered across the front with what looks like her logo in the “O” part of the word. “Lucy said you’d be stopping by. I’m so glad you’re here! I’m Mary Beth.”

“Thank you for having me,” I say. My fingers fidget with the strap of my purse as I try to focus on the flowers instead of my anxiety. “Your shop is beautiful.”

“Oh, this is nothing. You should see it during wedding season!” She guides me to a small table near the window, covered in order forms and what looks like a wedding magazine. The morning light makes the glass vase centerpiece sparkle, filled with fresh baby’s breath and delicate pink roses. “Now, let’s get the boring stuff out of the way first.” She hands me an employment form. “Just the usual, contact information, availability, that sort of thing.”

As I fill out the paperwork, she bustles around, straightening displays and sharing stories about the shop. Her enthusiasm is infectious as she works, adjusting stems and misting leaves with practiced care. “You know, I never thought I’d need help, been running this place solo for almost fifteen years. But here lately, between the regular deliveries and wedding consultations, I can barely keep up!” She comes back over to the small table and sits in the chair opposite me. “My dear husband, bless his heart. He helps when he can, but I like having this little piece of pie all to myself.”

“I’m happy to help however I can,” I say, pausing to check my phone. There’s a picture from Ms. Lucy showing Sophie with flour on her nose as she’s putting a chocolate chip in her mouth. The text reads:“Chocolate chip testing in progress!”

I tilt the screen, so Mary Beth can see the photo and she smiles. “Ms. Lucy. She’s something else, isn’t she? Your little girl is precious.”

“Thank you,” I beam with pride. “They’re apparently conducting very serious pancake experiments.”

“Well, you’re in good hands here while they do their testing,” she laughs, then starts walking me through the shop. “Most mornings, I’m here by seven, processing fresh deliveries and getting started on the day’s orders. We do everything from Get Well Soon bouquets to full wedding installations.”

She shows me the cool room where completed arrangements wait for delivery or for in person pick-ups. “This will be your domain for deliveries. Each arrangement has its delivery ticket attached, address, special instructions, that sort of thing.”

“Seems straightforward enough,” I nod, already imagining myself driving around town with a van full of flowers.

“Oh, and Bailey,” her eyes glint mischievously, “delivery is never just delivery in this town. You wouldn’t believe the stories these flowers could tell if they could talk! Just yesterday, I had Mrs. Jones send an ‘I’m Sorry’ bouquet to herself and signed it from her husband!”

I can’t help but laugh. “Really?”

“Oh, that’s nothing! This shop sees more drama than a soap opera some days. Between the secret admirers, the make-up flowers, and the passive-aggressive arrangements. Lord, the things people will put on these little cards!” She shakes her head, arranging a bunch of pink roses. “Sometimes I think we get more gossip through here than over at Judy’s Hair Haven, and that’s saying something!”

We laugh again and then she goes over the basics of processing orders with me, how to properly handle different types of flowers, and the computer system for logging deliveries. It all seems manageable, and I find myself getting more and more excited about the prospect of this new chapter in my life.

Matt never wanted me to leave the house let alone get a job. He would always tell me that a woman’s place is at home. Where she should cook, clean and wait on her husband hand and foot and make sure he wants for nothing. I always wanted to help contribute towards the bills, but that conversation was always shut down faster than a lightning strike, so eventually I stopped trying, stopped asking and just did my ‘duty’ as his wife.

“Now, don’t worry too much about the arranging part yet, that’ll come with time,” she assures me. “Though I have to say, the way you’ve been eyeing all these flowers, I bet you’ve got a natural talent for it.”

My phone buzzes again, another picture from Ms. Lucy, this time of Sophie carefully stacking a few pancakes.

“Our chef insists these are for Mommy’s special taste test later,”the message reads.

---