Page 29 of Weekends with You

“Luce,” Renee said as soon as I walked into the Lotus. It was first thing in the morning, but she looked like she’d already been working for hours. “You have ideas for these arrangements for Hattie’s party today, don’t you?”

Hattie’s niece was turning six, and because Hattie was the sort of peculiar woman who thought every occasion required high tea, we were preparing flower arrangements for the birthday party of an elementary schooler.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to make sense of the tone in her voice. “I have some sketches. Do you want to see them?”

“Do you mind getting them started? My work in here is taking longer than I thought, and I’m afraid I haven’t left the office to get into the studio yet.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Oh, I don’t know, some time,” she said, waving the question into the air, her eyes still trained on the papers in her hands.

“Is this something I can help with?” I asked, nodding toward the papers. They looked like invoices, or bills, perhaps. I couldn’t see exactly what, but I recognized the pale yellow carbon-copy paper on which we handled most of our finances. Only these were more crumpled than usual, like she’d been holding on to them all morning with a vise grip.

“Yes,” she said, distracted. “The arrangements, pet, will you?” Not quite what I meant, but I headed into the studio to do as I was told. If she didn’t want my help, I wasn’t going to press it. No matter how concerned I might have been.

I grabbed my sketches and got to work, trying to push any concerns from my mind and focus on enjoying the morning.We had to keep the studio cool for the flowers, which meant we had to stay bundled up all year long, but between the layered sweaters, the soft classical playlist humming from the speakers, and the bottomless cups of tea, the cold months really were quite cozy at the Lotus.

Pink geraniums littered the worktops, and when Renee finally joined me in the studio, we took turns winding them around delicate white cosmos and into centerpieces. The rhythm of the clippers and shuffling of stems lulled me into a meditative state, and everything from the night before melted away.

Until Henry wandered into the shop.

“Good morning, sir,” Renee said, stopping her work to greet him like any old customer. “How can we help you?” She wiped her hands on her apron, and he flashed her an award-winning smile.

“Good morning,” he said. “I’m looking for some sort of olive branch. Something that says, ‘Can we start over and try just being friends?’”

I swallowed a sound before it could escape my lips, as I was still trying to pretend he was a stranger.

“Oh my,” Renee started, gazing around the studio. “Let me think of just the thing. Clever boy, coming in here for that.”

“I appreciate that. Perhaps your colleague could lend a hand?”

Renee looked back and forth from Henry to me and back to Henry, before clocking what was happening. “Lucy, do you know this man?” Her eyes told me she knew exactly who he was, and I made a mental note to thank her later for pretending she didn’t.

“Hi, Hen,” I said, without looking up from the centerpiece I was working on.

“Hi, Luce.” I could feel him staring at me, and I could hear him smiling. He wasn’t going to make this easy.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Renee said, ducking into the office and forcing me to turn my attention to Henry.

“Well then,” I said. “Tell me a little bit about the person this olive branch is for. If I have a better sense of who she is, I can better make a selection for you.”

“Right,” he began. “She’s quite beautiful, really.” A warm blush spread over my cheeks, but I kept quiet, hoping he would continue. “And she’s kind, and terribly clever. And she’s just a friend, so don’t get any ideas.”

Our light laughter melted the tension, and it became fun to play into his game. I reminded myself not to make a habit of it, but I could indulge just this once.

“She sounds lovely.”

“That’s because she is.”

“Then I know just the thing.” I disappeared into the back of the studio and returned with a small bundle of lilyturf. He watched while I wrapped the lilac-topped stems in canvas paper, tying the bundle with a single piece of twine.

“These were just delivered this morning,” I said, inhaling their scent. “Your friend is very lucky.”

“I hope she likes them,” he said, stepping closer to me.

“I have a feeling she will.”

We stared at each other, and I tried to focus on the gentle sound of the music instead of the curve of his lips. Not quite sure Beethoven would be proud his music was being used for this purpose, but I had no choice.

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