Page 36 of Sing Sweet Nightingale

I really wanted to taste what was creating the delectable scent I smelled the other day. The cinnamon bun I ordered was devoured in less than a minute, it was that good.

If I’m not careful, I might get addicted. Not a bad thing, in my opinion. Mother always cut sweets out of my diet. Pretty sure I haven’t eaten real sugar in over five years.

The nursery is easy enough to find since I only have to make two turns to get there, and Calliope, the friendly girl from the bakery, was very helpful with directions. The road has no sidewalks or lane markings but is paved. It twists a few times before Daisy’s comes into view.

When Tobias mentioned a nursery and gardens, I had pictured generic rose bushes, neatly graveled paths, and rows of plants in plastic pots like atHome Depot. Maybe a small wooden greenhouse for the more exotic plants. Something simple.

Daisy’sis not that. The greenhouse is massive. Beautifully curved panes of glass form a birdcage-style dome at least two stories tall. The structural beams are painted white, the shape standing out amongst all the varying colors surrounding and filling it.

Even from the parking lot, I can tell the greenhouse is filled with exotic blooms in a rainbow of colors. Vines crawl up the walls and twine around lattices.

Surrounding the opulent greenhouse are gardens of potted and planted flowers. Wild in nature but somehow tamed to stay within their borders. A few people meander down rows, picking and snipping flowers and placing them in woven baskets.

Off to the side, away from the center of activity, is an adorable two-story house painted white to match the greenhouse right down to the climbing vines on its walls.

There’s a hand-painted sign at the entrance that readsDaisy’s Gardens.

Bypassing the outer gardens, I head straight for the greenhouse. The closer I get, the clearer the inside becomes, and I notice butterflies flitting about everywhere—not just the basic tiny gray and brown ones, but giant orange monarchs, vibrant blue and yellow ones, and purple and pink ones. They float through the air like bubbles.

I’m so busy gawking at the butterflies I almost run into the woman standing at the entrance holding an empty basket in her hands.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I was so focused on the butterflies I didn’t see you.”

“It’s okay. That happens to me sometimes, too,” she says in a soft and wispy voice. “I’m Daisy.”

So, this is the elusive Daisy.

Daisy extends out her hand in greeting, and I accept it, marveling at the green ink filagree vine tattoos spiraling up and down her soft brown arms. I notice they reach all the way up her neck and down her thigh. Her torso, which I’m sure holds more tattoos, is hidden under a light wash denim overall, the shorts cut almost daisy-duke style. How appropriate for someone named Daisy. She even has flowers tied in her hair. Daisy is the epitome of a flower child.

This town is filled with extremely unique and interesting people. I didn’t even see a tattoo parlor in town, so she must have gotten those done somewhere else.

“I’m Lottie. I’m new to town, and Tobias said I should come check you out.”

“That was awfully sweet of him. He’s my brother-in-law, so he feels the need to tell everyone to come here.”

Daisy smiles shyly and giggles so faintly it sounds like chimes tinkling in the wind. Her abnormally green doe eyes widen with delight as she grins at me.

“Have you come in for something special today? Or did you want to take a look around? I’d be glad to give you a tour. Normally, I hide within the greenhouse tending to the plants, but my brother forced me to stand here and greet customers today. Says I need to be more ‘social'.” She uses air quotes and rolls her eyes playfully. “I would love an excuse to not stand here anymore.”

She looks at me expectantly; honestly, I could use her help.

“A tour and help picking a bouquet would be wonderful.”

“Wonderful. What is the occasion? What are the flowers for?” She hands me the empty basket in her hands and loops her arm through mine, dragging me into the greenhouse. Acting like a friend I’ve known for years rather than a woman I just met thirty seconds ago.

“Oh well, I was invited to dinner, and I thought it would be nice to show up with flowers as a thank you.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. Who are you having dinner with? Maybe I can help pick flowers they’ll like.”

“Do you know everyone in town?”

Considering I’m going to the mayor’s family’s house for dinner, I’m sure she knows who they are. The town is small, but could she really know everyone?

“Basically. I may not hang out at Dottie’s or attend karaoke night, but I’ve lived here my entire life. It’s a small town,” she adds in a conspiratorial whisper as if it weren’t obvious.

With a whisper of a smile on her lips, she shrugs and steps us to the side out of the main entryway to make way for a couple with baskets bursting with flowers. I look down to make sure Idon’t trip over the vines stretching across the ground, noticing Daisy isn’t wearing any shoes. She must have really tough feet walking around on all this gravel and dirt all day.

“Oh well, it’s um, Ginger’s family. I met her dad, Michael, at his shop the other day, and when I told him I was renting his son's cabin, he invited me over for a get-to-know-them dinner.”

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