Page 40 of Summer Ever After
The man smiled over his glasses. “It’s a beautiful day and the sun is shining, I think that’s a good enough reason.”
“Me too.” I had been in the corporate world so long, it felt foreign to talk to someone whose day wasn’t based on how well the stock was performing and whether or not the shareholders were happy. “Do you have any daisies?”
He pulled two buckets out of the fridge behind him. “I’ve got Gerbera.” He pulled a bright pink flower from the bucket and showed it to me. “Or, I’ve got some field daisies.” The second bucket was filled with smaller flowers, with delicate white petals and pretty yellow centres.
I took one of the small daisies from the bucket and holding it by the stem, twirled it in my fingers. “I see these all the time on the hills outside Chance Rapids. I just never knew what they were called.”
“Most people don’t like those.” The man smiled and took another flower from the bucket. “My daughter wanted to make a crown out of these, so I picked them on the way to work for her.”
The Gerbera were big and saturated with color, the wild were delicate yet intricate, and understated – if I had to guess, I’d say that Daisy was named after the latter. I put the flower back into the bucket. “I don’t want to take the flowers away from the crown.”
The man laughed. “There’s plenty more where this came from. If these flowers speak to you, I think that they’re the ones that you should have.”
“Are you sure?”
He was already assembling the daisies with some other little white puffball flowers and some spiky green things. “It’s rare that a man buys flowers for himself. I wish more guys would pay attention to how things in their environment make them feel, rather than the practicality of it all.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about, those flowers were going to look pretty for a week or two, and then shrivel up and die. Knowing that, I never would’ve bought anything with such a short return on investment, but a couple of weeks of waking up to see the daisies on my nightstand would feel good.
The flower man rolled up the bouquet in some brown paper and tied a rough piece of twine, securing it, and handed it to me. I set it on the counter and pulled out my wallet. “How much?”
“It’s on the house,” he held up his hands as I opened my wallet. “You’ve made my day, truly.” He smiled.
“Are you sure, Hank?” His business cards were sitting on the counter and I took one and tucked it into my wallet after glancing at it to read his name.
“I’m sure.” He pointed to another cooler filled with white roses. “I need to make room for the arrangements for that big ball that’s coming up.”
I made a mental note to give my event planner a bonus for hiring a local company to do the flowers for the fundraiser. It warmed my heart knowing that my stupid event was helping out this kind man, and it also made me see just how many people were going to be impacted, in a good way, by a bunch of rich people getting drunk and wearing masks.
Tucking the bouquet under my arm, I extended my free hand. “Pleased to meet you Hank, I’m Max Starling.”
“Oh.” The man tilted his head and then his eyes lit with recognition. “Of Starling Island.”
“You got it.” We shook hands and then I reached into my pocket and pulled out the envelope of tickets. “Are you going to the ball?”
The man shook his head. “That’s a little too fancy for me. My daughter needs new figure skates this year. I’ll put together some nice arrangements for it though.”
“Here.” I took two tickets out of the folder and handed them to him. “On the house, for you and your wife.”
His eyes filled with tears and at first, I felt a swell of pride, until I realized that they weren’t joyful. “That’s incredibly kind of you, Mr. Starling, but my wife, Parker, passed away last year.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his apron.
I put the tickets on the counter. “If your daughter needs an occasion to wear a flower crown, this would be it – you could bring her along if you’d like. Or, if you know someone who would like to come, you can pass these along to them.”
Giving away those tickets felt almost as good as jumping out of an airplane. When I left the flower shop, the bouquet of daisies in my arms, I felt a little high. I had been too far away from the receiving end of our charities. Could giving be addictive? I felt like I was hooked and wanted to recreate the feeling I got from leaving those tickets on Hank’s counter.
For the rest of the afternoon, I visited the beach, the local arena, and the courthouse. I had conversations with at least one hundred people and gave away the entire block of ten tickets that had been allotted for the local discount. Two for Hank, two to the woman who worked at the counter at the diner, the man who worked at the general store named Rocky took four for his friends are the senior’s center,
My last stop was the courthouse. There had to be someone deserving in that building.
Inside the overly air-conditioned lobby, I was met with a woman wearing a tight skirt, heels, and boobs that looked like they were about to compromise the threads holding the buttons onto her shirt. “Are you Mr. Starling?” she gave me a coy look and a shiver went up my spine – not the good kind.
I looked past her, hoping to see someone that would save me. “I am.”
She grinned and held out her hand. “I’m Christina Parrot. I heard that you are giving away tickets to the Starling Masquerade Ball.”
