Page 64 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

Ruby

Hazel burst through the shop door like the human embodiment of a firework—bright, loud, and impossible to ignore.

“I just heard!” she squealed, flinging her arms in the air like she was winning an Olympic medal on my behalf. “Tri-State Bloom & Design Showcase? Are you kidding me, Ruby?”

I stood behind the counter with a pen still hovering above the application form, half-filled and crumpled like my nerves had soaked into the paper.

Hazel didn’t wait for permission. She hopped onto the stool beside the workbench, nearly toppling a bucket of tulips in her excitement.

“This is huge,” she said, eyes dancing. “Like, wear-a-hat-and-sunglasses kind of huge.”

“I’m not sure I even belong there,” I said quietly, tugging a stray thread on my sweater. “These people judge petal curvature, Hazel. Petal. Curvature. They measure stem height like it’s ascience experiment and name their arrangements things like ‘Sunset Sonata in F Minor.’”

Hazel wrinkled her nose. “That sounds like something you’d name if you were possessed by Mozart and a bucket of daffodils.”

“Exactly!” I said. “They’re professionals. Trained. Polished. Meanwhile, I once hot-glued a sunflower to a ribbon because I ran out of floral tape.”

“And it turned out amazing,” Hazel countered. “You made a bride cry tears of joy, remember?”

“That’s not exactly the standard of a state-level competition,” I muttered. “What if I show up and they all realize I’m just... small-town chaos in a dress?”

Hazel reached over and gently pulled the pen from my hand.

“Listen to me,” she said, her tone soft but firm. “You’ve been the flower whisperer of Cedar Springs for years. You turned this old shop into a living, breathing piece of art. You’ve made funeral bouquets that brought peace, wedding arches that made people believe in magic, and centerpieces that made grown men stop and stare.”

I swallowed hard. “But that was here. In my comfort zone.”

She pointed at the form. “So maybe it’s time to see what you can do outside of it.”

My throat tightened. It was easier to stay grounded in the familiar—to surround myself with mason jars and marigolds, to know every creaky floorboard and friendly face that wandered through my door. But maybe growth didn’t come with comfort. Maybe it came with risk.

I looked down at the form. My name was already scrawled in the top corner, and the application deadline was in two days. The official letter sat nearby, along with guidelines, rules, and an entry code that made my stomach twist.

Hazel nudged the pen back toward me. “You can’t let that fear win. Not when you’ve come this far.”

I picked up the pen, hand trembling just enough to notice.

“I feel like an imposter,” I whispered. “Like any second now, someone’s going to tap me on the shoulder and say, ‘Sorry, Miss Shea, we meant Ruby Shaw—the florist in Pine Hollow with the fancy podcast and imported orchids.’”

Hazel let out a snort. “Well, Miss Shea, the only thing you're an imposter of is humility, because you are—without a doubt—the most creative person I know. And if they want fancy orchids, then let them have ‘em. You’ll win hearts with peonies and personality.”

I didn’t reply, not right away. Instead, I looked around the shop. The petals on the counter. The hand-lettered chalkboard above the register. The old wooden ladder draped with ivy and fairy lights. Everything in here had a story. And I’d built it. Bit by bit. Root by root.

I pressed the pen to the paper and filled out the final field.

Entry submitted.

Hazel let out a triumphant cheer that startled a hanging fern. “That’s my girl!”

I laughed in spite of myself, the nervous tension slowly giving way to something gentler. Hope. Excitement, maybe. Still fragile, but real.

“I guess I’m really doing this,” I said.

“You’re not guessing,” Hazel replied, tossing me a wink. “You’re blooming.”

I smiled, shaking my head. Only Hazel could make a pun sound like a battle cry.

“Now,” she continued, hopping down from the stool with purpose. “You need practice. Pressure. Panic. The three Ps of pageantry.”

---