Page 15 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
‘About earlier… in the pub. I’m sorry.’
‘That’s OK,’ he says. ‘Apology accepted.’ And he begins to wind the window back up.
‘No, wait!’ I call.
Jake stops the window halfway up and looks expectantly at me.
I think fast. ‘I wanted to talk to you… about flowers… for the shop.’
Jake considers this. ‘OK then, I guess you’d better come in.’
He moves some papers off the passenger seat as I rush around to the other side of the van.
I climb in and try to remove my sodden mac, but I get caught up in the confined space while trying to balance my dinner on my lap. So Jake has to help free my arms from the coat.
I notice as he leans near to me the very pleasant aroma of a good quality aftershave mixed with something much sweeter, which I realise a few seconds later is the scent of freshly cut flowers.
‘Better?’ he asks, when I’m finally free of the coat.
‘Yes, thanks. It’s not mine,’ I hurriedly tell him. ‘It was in my grandmother’s cottage.’
Jake smiles. ‘I didn’t think it was quite your style.’
I’m about to demand, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ but I take a deep breath instead, and seeing the half-eaten fish supper on his lap say, ‘Please, carry on eating – don’t stop on my behalf.’
Jake looks oddly at me. ‘All right – on two conditions.’
‘Which are?’ I ask warily.
‘One, you eat your dinner too, before it gets cold. And two, you tell me why you’re being nice and polite all of a sudden. It’s not like you.’
We eat our fish suppers companionably in Jake’s van.
‘So, you wanted to ask me about flowers?’ Jake says, when we’ve exhausted the polite topics of the weather, St Felix, and Mickey’s fish and chips. And when I say exhausted, I mean it; polite conversation has never been one of my strong points.
‘You’ve changed your mind and decided to stay on and run the shop?’ Jake asks, looking quizzically at me when I don’t answer.
‘Er… yes… well, I’m considering it.’
‘Great, what’s changed your mind?’
‘OK, OK, I can’t do it!’ I cry, running my hand through my damp hair – probably not one of my best ideas when I’ve just been eating fish and chips with them.
Jake looks puzzled. ‘You can’t do what?’
‘I can’t sit here and have idle chitchat, then tell you a pack of lies about me wanting to keep the shop. It’s not me.’
‘So why did you force yourself into my van then?’ Jake asks, the tiniest hint of amusement on his face. ‘If not for my flower knowledge – extensive and fascinating though that is.’
‘I didn’t force myself into your van, you invited me in!’ I say, my voice rising, as my usual defence mechanism kicks in.
‘I could hardly leave you standing in the rain, could I?’ Jake grins. ‘What sort of man do you think I am?’
Every time I start to get wound up, Jake manages to defuse my rage – how does he do that so easily?
‘I told you, I wanted to apologise,’ I say in a calmer voice.
‘But you did that outside. So what changed? You were adamant I was some sort of adulterous perv earlier.’
