Page 58 of Forget Me Not
“That’s in forty-five minutes; you know that right?”
“Well…I could be there sooner?”
“No, no! Six-thirty, I’ll see you then. Bye, Bas!”
Click.
Bas thought back to earlier, sitting in Hal’s office.
“Well, I’d better have Hattie help me pick out some flowers to send Syve.”
“What? Why? What are you talking about?”
“You aren’t sitting here talking to me just because you woke up and changed your mind. She said something to you, you and I both know it was her, and I intend to thank her.”
Bas laughed. “You’re not entirely wrong.”
“You’d better spoil that girl, you hear me? She has a heart of gold. You’re a good man, I think you two could be good for each other.”
A replay of the nine-to-five daydream skittered back to the front of his mind. This time, when he lumbered home after a long day behind the counter and opened the front door, he allowed his mind to keep wandering. He imagined walking in to find his wife sitting at a table in the sitting room, auburn hair, streaked silver with age, a near constant whir from her little machines…
“Why don’t you roll on out of here a little early? Seems like you might be able to use that extra time to…I don’t know, swing by Maggie’s? Maybe call and make sure there’s a table waiting for you, wherever it is you plan on taking her?” Hal goaded, leaning against the corner.
“You eavesdropping, old man?”
Bas smiled, but he knew he was right. Asking Syve to dinner had been a spur of the moment decision, and he needed to make sure they had somewhere to go, at minimum.
Timberfall was not an outrageously big town, but by six o’clock, one could safely assume there would be at least a short wait for a table. Stopping by Blooming Pleasures to snag a bouquet from Maggie wouldn’t be a bad idea either…
“I’m capable of locking up. Tell Mags I said, ‘hi,’ and I’ll see her next Tuesday,” his soon-to-be not-boss insisted, all but shoving him out the back door.
Bastien laughed as he turned to jog the few blocks home to grab the Jeep.
Securing a table at Thyme to Eat was simple enough—he called on the way to the flower shop and managed to claim the last open reservation for the night at 6:45 p.m. Some might call that kismet.
Blooming Pleasures promised to be more of a challenge. For a cute little shop, Maggie managed to stock dozens of different flowers, all on display in various glass-doored refrigerators. In spring, it doubled as a nursery—any orphan plants were popped in a bucket and housed right there in the shop for the entirety of their life cycle. Cut flowers, potted plants, vegetables, saplings—you name it. There was even a contraption, in the back corner, used for growing tubers in a vertical fashion.
An idea struck him while he was greeting the florist and passing along Hal’s message. “Maggie, I’d really love a specific flower—but I actually have no idea what it’s called.” If he had the time, he could easily run out to the lake and picka bouquet of his own, but for now, he would have to hope Mags really did have everything.
“If only someone here made it their life’s mission to know every single flower possibly attainable in North America,” she deadpanned. “Do you at least know what the flowerlookslike? Can you describe it to me?”
Bastien raised his hands in surrender, earning a laugh for his troubles, then did his best to describe the flowers painted on Syve’s door.
“Hmmm…maybe comfrey? Or morning glory? No…” She muttered to herself, tapping her chin while walking around, searching her cases. “Ah-ha! Wildflowers, of course—here!” Maggie pointed to the glass door she had stopped in front of. Sure enough, in the far corner, a vase brimmed with little blue flowers.
“Those! Those are the ones! Thank you. Can you make something up with those please? Oh, and what are they called?”
“Forget-me-nots, special little things…Do you want any other flowers mixed in? Peonies, perhaps?”
With a shake of his head, he declined, and she set to work arranging a miniature bouquet in a small blue vase. Once the flowers were paid for, plus another order he would pick up the next day to take home for his mother, he checked the time. Cursing under his breath, he gathered the flowers, thanked Maggie again, and bolted out the door.
Syve
At6:28p.m.,thesun glinted off Bastien’s Jeep as he pulled in front of the shop and caught Syve’s attention.
She looked up from the pants she was pinning, just in time to see him jump out of the driver’s seat, cargo shorts doing him every sort of favor as his muscles flexed upon landing. He cleared the sidewalk in three large steps and pushed the door open before she could clear her lap to stand. His eyes landed on her immediately—a look passing across his face too quickly for her to gauge what it was. She probably looked like a complete mess; she could feel the hair that had slipped from her bun and she was perched on her chair like alittle bird—though that part may have been obscured by the table…
“Bambi.” The way he breathed her name made her skin tingle—how could he make such a silly nickname sound like a prayer? Why did he keep saying it like that? Why did she like it so much?
