Page 29 of Knot in Bloom
“I should take this,” I tell Reid, who nods and collects his arrangement.
“I’ll be in touch about next week’s pickup,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that suggests he’s planning much more than just flower arrangements.
“Morning, Tessa.”
“Sadie, thank goodness I caught you early. We need to discuss the Harvest Festival immediately. Can you come by my office? There’s been a development.”
Something in her voice cuts through the lingering arousal from this morning’s alpha encounter. “What kind of development?”
“The kind that changes everything. How soon can you get here?”
I look around my shop, suddenly feeling like the morning’s romantic complications were just a warm-up for whatever’s coming. “Twenty minutes?”
“Perfect. Bring your portfolio. The comprehensive one.”
She hangs up and I’m staring at my phone, my earlier confidence evaporating like morning mist.
Tessa never calls for emergency meetings unless something major is happening. And she never asks for the comprehensive portfolio unless the stakes just got significantly higher.
Twenty minutes later I’m sitting in her office, surrounded by official-looking paperwork and trying not to panic while she organizes her thoughts.
“The state tourism board is sending a representative to evaluate our festival,” she says without preamble, watching my face carefully.
My stomach plummets. “The state what?”
“For potential inclusion in their official Montana tourism marketing campaign. And that’s not all.” She spreads out correspondence across her desk. “Mountain Living magazine wants to feature us in a story about authentic small-town festivals. They specifically mentioned showcasing local artisans who represent genuine Montana community values.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. State tourism board. National magazine. This isn’t the cute community festival where I usually do some seasonal arrangements and call it good.
“Tessa, I can’t. This is way beyond what I planned for.”
“Your work is what caught their attention,” she continues, showing me photos from last year. “They called it ‘authentically artistic’ and ‘representative of Montana’s creative spirit.’ The tourism board specifically requested more information about our floral designer.”
I stare at the pictures, and last year’s displays suddenly look amateur compared to what they’re probably expecting now.
“What exactly are they looking for?”
“Complete autumn transformation. Festival grounds, main street displays, centerpieces for every vendor booth, plus a signature installation that will be the centerpiece of the magazine feature.” She pauses. “Preliminary estimate is about three times your usual scope.”
Three times. With my current bank account, supply delays, and lapsed insurance, I’m not sure I could handle last year’s workload, let alone triple it.
“When do they need confirmation?”
“Tomorrow. The magazine photographer wants to schedule the shoot for next week to ensure perfect lighting conditions.”
I feel like I’m drowning. This is every small business owner’s dream scenario—the kind of exposure that could establish my reputation permanently and bring lasting economic benefits to the entire community.
It’s also completely beyond my current capabilities, and I have less than twenty-four hours to decide.
“The committee authorized triple the original floral budget,” Tessa adds, mentioning a figure that makes my head spin.
Enough to solve my immediate financial problems and fund everything they’re requesting. Also enough to destroy me completely if something goes wrong and I can’t deliver.
“What happens if I can’t pull this off?”
Her expression grows serious. “Honestly? The tourism board will look elsewhere for their campaign. The magazine will feature a different town. And Honeyridge Falls will miss an opportunity that might not come again in our lifetimes.”
The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders like a boulder. This isn’t just about my business anymore. It’s about River’s hardware store, Millie’s diner, every family business trying to survive in this small mountain community.
