Page 13 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

Mom bumps my hip with hers. “First one in always gets the coffee.”

The laugh that explodes out of my mouth is max volume—she pulls away, tucks her chin to her neck, shocked by my response. “Oh! Sorry, right!” I say, hand over my mouth, muffling the nervous laughs.

She purses her lips. “I guess you're used to me buying it. Take a ten from the register and go across the street to Buzzy's.” Her finger with its short, clean nail taps the button to open the machine. I watch as she glances over the money in the tray. I don't choke down the knot in my throat until she slips out a ten and hands it over.

“Cream and sugar, right?” I ask. My calves are twitching; I need to get out of the store.

“Make it iced, please. It's going to be warm today. Oh! Speaking of.” She stares closer at the till like she just remembered something.“Can you deposit all of this in the bank during your lunch break? We didn't have a chance yesterday. God willing, we'll need the room after all the last-minute shopping.”

“Of course. Not a problem. Be right back!” I rush out the door into the fresh, clean morning air. Bright blue sky, barely a cloud, all the signs that today will be better than yesterday—that things will be okay. I cling to those vibes with desperation.

The main street is quiet at this hour. With barely any traffic I dart across the open space without waiting. On instinct I glance in either direction to make sure no one will hit me. This section of road is on a mild slope that lets me see further to the west, towards the center of downtown, where tomorrow there'll be a train of floats rolling through under the veil of ear-splitting music.

I slow down on top of the freshly-painted yellow line. My vantage point is so good, I can see the stage in the distance where the parade will end. It's the same path every year; they'll start to the east on Bower Road in front of the library, then continue for a mile, past my floral shop, past the dolphin statue, until they head down the wide street that goes towards the beach.

It takes about an hour for the floats to march to that spot. But the town will gather before the parade begins at noon, and they’ll linger long after the winners of the float contest are announced. With the number of vendors selling glow-sticks, balloons, and snacks, the beach becomes a packed party.

People who didn't bother to attend the parade will show up after sunset to drink under the stars on the sand. I did that once upon a time, too. Not anymore. I don't like all the faces watching me.

A car horn honks in my ear. Gasping, I quickly dart over to the sidewalk in front of Buzzy's. I didn't even hear the rusty red truck coming. It's loaded with wood and supplies for the parade. The driver glares at me as he passes by, and I return an apologetic wave, saying, “Sorry!” then, because I can't shut up sometimes, “Thanks for not running me over!”

The man with his farmer's tan shakes his head at me before speeding down the hill, reminding me the day is starting and normal people who didn't stay up with insomnia are waking now. I hurry into the coffee shop. There's no line, but as I wait to pay, two people enter, then a third. After Buzzy hands me my drinks, a fourth person holds the door open for me so I can leave. The street has several cars parked along the sidewalk.

I can't stop myself from glancing at each vehicle; searching for the blue Jaguar that was parked here yesterday. Jordan's car isn't anywhere I can see, though. Why would it be? Yesterday was the first time I sold him flowers. We're not the only florist in town, people can get bouquets at the grocery store as well. This area clearly isn't his normal go-to.

And then I'm slipping down a funny thought wondering,will I see him at the parade tomorrow?

I still can't believe last night. One of the reasons I didn't sleep was because I couldn't turn my brain off. The bridge accident hadn't frightened me at the time. But later, alone in the dark, my paranoia became a master at reminding me I could have died. I understand why Jordan blocked me. It's harder to understand why he was sofuriousat me, though. The way he gripped my arm, trying to yank me out of my car, is stuck in my mind like a knife.

It draws a contrast to how Dezmond dared to grab me. His hand was like a disgusting spider I wanted to slap away. He brought pain. Thinking about Jordan's fingers holding me tight brings new things. Warmer things.

If I wasn't holding the coffee cups, I'd brush the spot on my arm where his fingers clutched. “I'm back,” I say as I push the Windy Garden's door open with my shoulder. The bell dings. My mom, who is clipping leaves off long stems splayed out on a box, looks up. The way she smiles at me— the legit joy in her face—reminds me where I need to focus.

“Thank god,” she laughs, standing up and setting her shears on the counter. “My head hates me.”

“If your caffeine withdrawal is that bad, maybe you should ease up on the coffee.”

“Don't you dare suggest that.” She takes the icy plastic cup, the straw flooding with light tan liquid as she inhales. Her eyes close in satisfaction. “Oh, that's good. The suffering is leaving as we speak. If only every problem could be solved by coffee.”

“Right. But it would cost more than a few dollars if it did.”

“Then we'd sell that instead of flowers and be rich,” she teases. “People would have a reason to give us dirty looks, for once.”

It's just us in the store. There's no reason for her not to say it, but I still tense up. “Let's stick with flowers. We did pretty good yesterday.”

Her smile fades as she picks up my mood. “Yeah,” she agrees, rushing to move past her joke. “I got a call while you were gone. The deliveries are on their way. Wasn't sure they'd make it, but the boat got in last night. They'll be here on the truck in half an hour.”

“That's great,” I say. I stare at my drink while my mind sprints down a tangled path. The boat she's happy about could be the one that cut off my trip to confront Dezmond. My mom is giggling about flowers while I'm reliving the burst of adrenaline as I gunned my engine, the excruciating slam of the seatbelt across my shoulder, and bruises created by Jordan as he blocked my way with an abrupt turn of his steering wheel.

There's nothing to stop me. I run my free hand over my opposite arm, tracing the place he held me in a vice. The bitter scent of my coffee tickles my nose. Iknowit will be too hot, I swear I know, but I drink it anyway. The mixture of delicious sugar burns over my tongue. Sweetness melding with blistering needles.

I need to learn to stay away from temptation that creates such pain.

I take another sip.

Hours flow like glue as I watch the clock. Between people picking up orders and making new ones on the spot, I barely find time to breathe. I think it'll never end. Then my mom gives me a hard poke in the ribs, passing me a metal box under the counter. “The bank,” she reminds me, voice low, for my ears only. “Then get yourself something to eat. You look pale.”

“Yeah, I'm super hungry,” I say with a laugh. She checks my face, but I look away before she sees something I don't want her too. My eye concealer is fading from my sweat. She'll know I'm exhausted if she looks close enough.

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