Page 15 of Because of Her

Realistically, I doubt my fading view of love is going to get me far in this industry.

Taking snaps of the floral arbour, I start wondering how I can shift some focus to special occasion flowers and standard bouquets. I already offer free local delivery, but I’ll have to find a same day courier service if I want to expand my customer base. I flip to the messages app and write a note to myself to look into Uber Couriers when muffled footsteps make their way along the grass aisle behind me.

A gruff voice coughs. “Ahh, we need to clear out, the groom is due to arrive any minute.”

I must have taken longer with the photos than intended, it’s not surprising when getting lost in my thoughts is one of my best, or worse, qualities.

“Sorry,” I reply as I wave my arm at the floral arrangements. “I was getting some snaps, but I’m done.”

Looking up, I see one of the few people that always manages to brighten my day. He looks almost unrecognisable in such dark and professional attire. Pushing his mop of sandy blond hair off his face, my cousin squints his bright blue eyes. His hand rests on his forehead, shielding his face from the sun with his hand.

“You look … different.” I laugh.

Noah looks like he belongs on the sand, like he would be more comfortable on Bondi Beach than down here in Melbourne. He was comfortable there, I suppose, until he wasn’t. The singlet and board shorts I’m used to seeing him in are gone, replaced with slimline black pants and a dark button down shirt. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing the sun-tanned skin of his forearms; the kind of glow women pay for, but it won’t last forever. We are blessed, or maybe cursed, with the same pale skin from our mothers.

My aunty moved up to Sydney back in her university days, fell in love, and never left. While I was living up there with my ex, Noah and I connected and started the foundations of a solid friendship. He hasn’t told me what prompted his move down to Melbourne earlier this year, but we’ve become closer than ever before. Along with Amira and my sister, I’d trust him with anything.

“It’s all the black I think, had to buy a whole new wardrobe.” His hands glide up and down his sides while he pops his hips and shoulders like a model.

“I’d say it suits you …” Istart.

He laughs. “But it doesn’t,” he says, finishing my sentence for me. “Anyway, we finished setting the tables if you want photos of the centrepieces too?”

I’ll never say no to more photos, so we walk across to the restaurant together. Inside has been transformed. When I was setting up, the four long tables were bare. The long centrepieces of twined dollar gum are spotted with florals. The greenery pops against the woodgrain tables. White native daisies are scattered amongst the leaves, with the occasional white Waratah. Native Australian flora is my speciality, and I’m particularly proud of what I’ve created today. The terms ‘white’ and ‘Aussie natives’ don’t typically work well together when it comes to floristry, but that’s what today’s bride had briefed. Admiring my work in the fully set reception area, I’m confident I pulled it off. I stand a little taller as I walk between the tables, taking photos of all the little details.

The winery staff have added golden charger plates, white linen napkins, and gorgeous wooden name cards to the table. The final look is something out of a bridal magazine, and not at all the rustic vibe the space usually exudes. With only my phone to take photos with, I wish I had a better camera on me. I’m hopeful the photographer not only takes some great shots but is also willing to share them with me. I add a note to track down who it is.

My text message to-do list is getting longer by the hour, and I need a better way of managing my tasks. I add researching mobile planner apps before hitting send and quickly closing out of the message. I need to see the red notification every time I open my phone if I want to remember the list is there at all.

“Here.” Noah walks back towards me with a glass of ice water. “I’d offer you wine, but we aren’t allowed to pop the bottles until the guests arrive.”

I can’t help but laugh at his suggestion of wine this earlyin the day, although the thought of having a drink with Noah sounds inviting. It’s been too long since we had a night out.

“We’ll have to have wine another time.”

“We should,” he replies, leaning back against the bar that lines one side of the event space. “I feel more settled in here, and the season is starting to calm down. We should both have some more time.”

“You’re telling me,” I scoff. Regardless of how busy or quiet the season is, Noah is a contracted employee with a secure wage. Not all of us are so lucky.

As I enter my apartment, I can smell Amira’s cooking. She makes the most delicious middle eastern meals, recipes passed down through generations with ingredients I wouldn’t even know where to buy.

“Whatever you have made smells delicious,” I call out. Hints of nutmeg and turmeric blend with something fruity, filling my nostrils. I might as well be salivating, and I don’t even know what she’s made.

Ducking into my room, I strip off my green stained work wear and slip on an old t-shirt dress. It’s so worn it’s almost see-through, and I often wear it to bed, but it’s comfy and the exact amount of coziness I need after a long day. Friday mornings always start at the crack of dawn for the flower market, and typically end long after dark. With the added wedding in today’s normal schedule, I’m exhausted. Once I was finished at the winery, I returned to open the physical shop front for the rest of the day. Customers were few and far between, but I spent a lot of time working my way down my list of tasks. Uber Couriers is still a maybe, but I found a better app for to-do lists and reminders and found a social media agency Imight be able to squeeze into the budget. Once I was in the creative mood, I started a Pinterest board of florist ‘extras’ that I want to start looking into stocking at the shop.

When I walk out of my room, I hesitate in the hall. Sitting on the couch, a comfortable distance from Amira, is Callum. I want to rush back into my room, fix my hair, and put on something far more attractive but instead, I pull at the hem of my oversized tee.

My shoulders turn down, but I force my head high, hiding my embarrassment and trying to embrace the comfort that oozes from his presence. It’s only been a week, but it already feels as though Callum is inserting himself into our circle. The picture before me feels so seamless he could have been living in the building forever. It gives me hope the years between us, all the missed moments after we parted ways, will eventually melt into nothingness. After all this time, it’s impossible to take off exactly where we left, but it’s nice for someone to have returned to my life, rather than leaving it forever. I hope we can be friends again. Close friends.

I decide to lean into the newfound familiarity and announce my presence, “Oh, hi.”

Callum looks up, and a wide smile spreads across his face.

“Hi, Rogue.”

At my old nickname, butterflies find their wings in my stomach. It’s impossible to ignore the sensation. I instinctually rub against the feeling, willing it to calm down. Although our friendship is taking a slow rebirth, the attraction and giddiness is back in full force, and I’d do anything to make sure Callum never finds out about it.

“Hmm,” I groan, feigning a sniff. “What have you cooked us, Amira?”

---