Page 1 of Forget me Knot
Chapter 1
Lily
Sunlight spills through the window, and I stretch on my tiptoes, greeting the morning with a smile. My feet pad across the wooden floor of my flat, the air laced with the scent of lily and vanilla. Below me waits my flower shop, Forget Me Knot, my pride and joy nestled in the heart of the English Lake District.
I skip breakfast, just having a quick cup of tea to kick-start the day. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I pin a daisy to my hair, its white petals a bright spot against my light brown waves. My green eyes shine, ready for whatever this beautiful summer day brings. Life is good right now, and while I always have a small cloud in the distance, ready to bring its downpour, today, it’s white and fluffy, and I can ignore it.
Heading downstairs to open up, I flick on the low-level lighting and roll up the blinds. I turn the ‘Closed’ sign around and unlock the door. Moving through the fragrant blooms to the back of the shop, I unlock the back door and shove it open to let in the gorgeous fresh air and scents of the beautiful garden.
The bell over the shop door tinkles, drawing my attention—a sound that never fails to make me smile. The shop is alive with colour and life, every bloom a friend waving hello.
“Morning, Lily!” Mrs Henderson calls out, her voice as warm as the sun outside.
“Good morning, Mrs H! What can I do for you today?” I ask, leaning against the counter, my hands playing with a sprig of baby’s breath.
She wrings her hands, her brows knitting together in that adorable way when she’s flustered. “It’s our anniversary, and Harold, bless him, he’s as romantic as a brick. I need something special.”
“Say no more, Mrs H.” I wink. “How about we go with some red roses for passion, sprinkle in some white tulips for purity, and, oh, let’s throw in some lilacs for that first love feeling?”
Her face brightens like I’ve just handed her a winning lottery ticket. “Oh, Lily, that’s perfect! You always know just what to do.”
I laugh, grabbing my floral snips. “It’s all in a day’s work. Anything to make your day bloom with happiness.”
I select the freshest roses, the petals velvet under my touch, and gather tulips, their stems a chorus line of green. The lilacs are last, their perfume rich and heady, like memories of first kisses and handholding.
Each stem finds its place in my hands, no second-guessing, no hesitation. It’s second nature. With Mrs Henderson’s bouquet in the works, I watch as she inhales deeply, closing her eyes. “Oh, that’s lovely.”
“Harold won’t know what hit him,” I tease, grinning as she chuckles and shakes her head, her worries visibly washing away. I work quickly but with care, knowing each twist and tuck brings out the best in them.
“Look at you go,” Mrs Henderson says, watching me work. “I swear, you’ve got magic in those fingers.”
“Only the best kind of magic—the kind that grows in the soil and blooms with a bit of love,” I reply, securing the arrangement with a flourish of ribbon.
“Every time, Lily. It’s like you’re painting with flowers.”
I grin, feeling the praise wash over me and soothe my soul.
She laughs, taking the bundle into her arms. “Thank you, dear. You always make it special.”
“Happy to help, Mrs H. Give Harold my best.”
As she leaves, the bell tinkles again, a sound that fills me with peace. This is more than just a flower shop; it’s a little slice of joy, one bouquet at a time.
Hearing the side gate open and close outside, I smile like I have a big secret that I’m not sharing. Stepping out the back door of Forget Me Knot, the air is sweet and fresh in this small village, which is coming alive in the morning sun. My gaze drifts over the riot of colours from the blossoms and the lush greens of the herbs and then lands on Jack.
Jack Thorne is bent over the rose bushes, his black t-shirt straining over his muscular back, his cute backside noticeable in his blue shorts. The sight sends a little jolt through me, like licking a battery, but in a good way. His hands are gentle and sure as they snip away the dead blooms, coaxing new life from the stubborn stems.
“Morning, Jack,” I say, my voice smooth as the petal of a camellia.
“Hey, Lily.” He glances up with that shy smile. It does funny things to my insides and makes me think of tangled sheets and whispered names on hot summer nights.
“Working hard or hardly working?” I tease, sliding on a pair of gloves. They’re purple and comfy.
“Always hard at work for you,” he replies, his voice low and warm, like honey drizzled over toast. His chestnut hair is tousled, and his green eyes are twinkling.
I stifle a laugh and bend down next to him, trimming a bush of lavender. Its scent fills the space between us, mixing with the earthiness that clings to Jack. I start humming some old tune, notes floating up and mingling with the buzz of bees.
“Careful now, wouldn’t want to cut too much,” Jack murmurs, the protector of plants and apparently my fingers.
