Page 22 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
‘Who on earth is that at…?’ I glance at the bedside clock and realise it’s nearly 8 a.m. I must have been lying here thinking longer than I thought.
I get up off the bed and head through the hall and across the kitchen in my PJs. Then I open the wooden front door and peek through the gap.
I don’t know who or what I expect to find standing outside my door at 8 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, but it’s not the riot of colour, wild hair, and general exuberance that greets me.
‘Oh boy, are you Poppy?’ she asks, trying to poke her head through the gap.
I open the door a bit wider.
‘Yes…’ I say hesitantly. ‘Who are you?’
‘Amber – your mom sent me,’ she says, as though I should know exactly what she means.
‘She did?’
‘Yeah, to help you with the shop. She did tell you, right?’
‘Nope.’
‘That’s odd. She said she was gonna call you…’ Amber appears to be thinking. She runs a bejewelled hand over her wild red hair while she screws up her freckled nose. ‘It is Wednesday, right?’ she suddenly asks.
‘No, it’s Tuesday.’
‘Ah!’ She throws her hands up in the air. ‘That’s why. She’s supposed to call you today. I must have lost a day somewhere over the Atlantic.’ She looks at me and smiles. ‘Can I come in?’
I shake my head to try and wake myself up. An enthusiastic American hippy was not what I was used to before I’d even had coffee in the morning.
‘If Mum sent you, then I guess you’d better,’ I sigh, moving aside to let her into the cottage.
Amber and her luggage are now scattered across the sitting room while I make tea – herbal for Amber, which she has produced from one of her many bags, and black for me, after I realise I don’t have any milk in yet.
All I’ve discovered so far is that Amber flew in to Bristol Airport early this morning from New York via Dublin. Then she got a train, and finally a taxi to St Felix. She says she hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours, which is why she’s acting ‘pretty wired’ and has got her days mixed up.
I carry our two mugs of tea upstairs to the living area.
Amber is already out on the balcony, her face absorbing the sun’s morning rays. ‘Your view is to die for,’ Amber says, turning towards me as I join her.
‘Yes, it is pretty special.’ I pass Amber her tea while I take a look at the view myself. It looks a lot prettier than it had out here yesterday. Today I can see right across the bay to the harbour. The sea is a crystal clear azure blue, and where the sun’s rays burn into it, it’s almost translucent in places. What a difference a new day and some sunshine makes.
‘Your mom promised me St Felix would be special,’ Amber says, ‘but I had no idea just how beautiful it would be.’
‘So why are you here? I know you said Mum sent you, but why?’
Amber takes a sip of her tea. ‘Mmm, camomile… so relaxing. I’m your new florist,’ she announces. ‘I usually work with your mom at her store in Brooklyn. She knew you’d be needing someone and, well, I don’t like to sing my own praises too highly, but I am one ofthebest florists in New York State.’
‘Fantastic.’ I nod. ‘I’m sure you’re really talented, Amber. But why did you want to leave New York to come here to St Felix? It’s a bit different.’
‘Change is good,’ is all Amber says, before sipping her tea once more.
‘But Mum was taking an awful chance, sending you all the way over here on the off chance I’d be keeping the shop, wasn’t she? What if I’d decided to sell?’
‘Oh, she knew you’d be keeping it,’ Amber says knowingly.
‘How could she, when I didn’t even know it myself until this morning? In fact I only decided thirty seconds before you knocked on my door!’
‘I read her petals,’ Amber says, wandering back into the lounge. She sits down on the rocking chair. ‘Oh, how very quaint!’ she exclaims as she begins rocking to and fro.
‘What do you mean – read her petals?’ I ask, following her.
