Page 9 of Late Bloomer
Trish takes a deep breath. “Oh, honey, it’s the most beautiful place in the world.”
She launches into an outrageously gorgeous description of the flower farm, painting a picture of rainbow sweetness, dewy leaves, and sun-dappled petals. An astonishingly cozy cabin perched in the center of the five acres. Gorgeous views and green grass and a scene so charming it might as well have a constant stream of folk music humming in the background.
“It sounds incredible,” I say breathlessly, peony-pink hearts in my eyes.
“Sweetie, it’s heaven on earth.”
“And you haven’t sold it yet?” I ask, knowing how desperate I sound. I don’t even care. Suddenly, nothing in the world feels more monumentally important than getting myself to this perfect, flowery Eden, spending my days frolicking in fields of tulips, nights wrapped in a warm blanket next to a roaring fire in the stone fireplace Trish described, sipping chamomile tea as crickets sing through the windows.
Trish sighs. “You know, there’s been offers. So many offers.”
My heart sinks.
“But none have felt quite right. A place like this, somewhere so special, deserves a special person to own it. Keep it lovely. And I’m searching for that person.”
“I can be that person,” I basically yell. “I know I can.” My jaw is tense, skin buzzing and muscles bunched with how much I want this to be my future.
“I don’t know, honey. You sound so young. You sure you can take care of a place like this?”
“Yes. Absolutely yes.” At this point, I’m willing to do just about anything to prove it to Trish. To myself.
Trish pauses again.
“I’m ready to write you a check for the asking price today,” I blurt out, needing to hear this sweet older woman’s voice tell me yes. Open the door to my new life with that one simple syllable.
“Oh, bless your heart. You are serious, aren’t you? Wheredo you live?” Trish asks slowly, and I cross all my fingers and toes.
“I’m in Charlotte.”
“What a coincidence, so am I. If that isn’t a sign from heaven that you’re meant to have this place, I don’t know what is!”
My entire body is flooded with warmth and excitement like the first time stepping out into the sunshine after a brutally long winter.
“Let’s meet and do this in person. I’ll hand over the deed and you can write me the check. We can meet at the Starbucks in the Blakeney Shopping Center. How about ten a.m.?”
I grin. “See you then.”
“Hi, darlin’. Would you by chance be Opal?”
I turn around to the cheery drawl, smiling. Trish’s appearance exactly matches her voice, sweet, bubbly, and exuberantly southern.
“I am! And you’re Trish?”
“Guilty. Thanks for meeting so soon, sugar,” she says, fluffing her poofy blonde hair, sparkly pink talons glinting in the sun. She looks like Dolly Parton but with more cheetah print. I can’t stress enough how much I adore her.
“Thankyou,” I say, unable to fight the urge to reach out and give her arm a friendly squeeze. Comfort radiates out of her. “This is honestly just… so exciting.”
“Sure seems like kismet, huh, dear?” Trish says, sittingdown and taking a long sip of her sweet tea. “You sure you’re ready to take on a place like the Thistle and Bloom?”
This makes my heart trip. “What do you mean? Is it not in good shape?”
Trish’s head jerks back and she stares at me, affronted. “Why, it’s perfect. That’s the whole point—if I’m going to let go of somewhere so wonderful, I need to know whoever takes it over will care for it properly.”
I beam, emotion building in my chest at the passion and love in Trish’s voice. She clearly cares deeply for the farm. “I will. I promise. I actually plan to use it as my fresh start. I’m an artist and I want to start working seriously at it. The Thistle and Bloom seems like a spot of endless inspiration.”
“What kind of art, sugar?”
Heat curls up my cheeks, and I toy with the lid of my iced coffee. “Uh, well, it’s kind of niche, I guess, but I really like, er, painting textiles?” I wonder if it will ever stop feeling uncomfortable to talk about the thing I love so much. Why does passion feel so embarrassing?
