Page 24 of Meeting Mr. Christmas
“Sure. Sorry. About when the pastor was in.”
Lucian shrugged. “Don’t worry about him. What I want to know is why you’re so distracted today? That’s not like you. Girlfriend trouble? Or…”
Or.Yeah, it wasor, all right.
“No, nothing to do with a girl.”I kissed my best and oldest friend and I liked it way, way too much.And I want to do itagain. He wanted to talk about this, needed to talk about it. He should talk to Noel, really talk to him about what had happened, but in the car home after the party they’d laughed it off, quick and awkward, before Jed had turned on the radio and filled the space between them with the heavy beat of drum and bass.
Jed licked his lips. For now, the store was quiet, only him and Lucian. The guy had less filter than a broken coffee machine, but Jed liked and trusted him and knew instinctively that whatever he said, in confidence within the four walls of the store, would stay there.
“Jed? You can tell me anything, and I promise it’ll go nowhere. Not even to Arlo.” Lucian rested his hand on Jed’s arm, his smile inviting and his eyes warm.
Jed drew in a deep breath. It was now or never. The words came tumbling out. “It’s Noel. We—we were at a party?—”
The door opened, the bell loud in the silence. The manic laughter bubbled up again, burning in Jed’s chest. He didn’t know whether to rage in frustration or thank his lucky stars, whether to throw a punch at or hug the guy with a reserved half smile on his face who wandered in. Whatever, the moment with Lucian was gone, and Jed wasn’t sure he wanted to try and reclaim it.
“Hi Dean, what can we do for you today?” Lucian asked.
“Good morning. I want a large bunch of — flowers, I guess.”
“Flowers. Hmm. I’m terribly sorry, but we only sell car parts here. Have you tried Mr. Hank Mason’s repair shop for a suitable winter themed floral display?”
Dean Hobart, the Mayor’s brother, blinked hard before his guarded, bland smile morphed into a deep and genuine laugh.
“Okay, I sure walked into that one. Guess I need some help. They’re for a… a friend, who needs some cheering up.” Dean’s polite, unreadable expression was back in place, but he couldn’t so easily hide behind the faint flush that stained his cheeks.
“I think Jed here can help you. Flowers have a language, you know. Is there anything particular you want to say to your friend?”
“Erm, no. But they like roses. Red roses. So maybe lots of roses?”
The store phone rang, calling for Lucian’s attention. “I’ll leave you in Jed’s capable hands.”
“I can make you up a lovely bouquet, mainly red roses, but with some soft pink too, to act as contrast, and some background greenery. How does that sound?”
“Perfect. My—friend, they’ll be thrilled.”
Jed got to work. It was a simple request, and one he could do on autopilot. As they chatted about everything and nothing, Jed glanced up at Dean through his lashes.
Dean’s friend. Or boyfriend. It was an open secret Dean was gay. Why didn’t the guy just own it? Why didn’t Dean come out and step away from the weird no-man's-land he was in? Because the guy’s orientation was no big deal, was it? Jeez, just about every other guy in Collier’s Creek was gay.
The second thorn of the day stabbed into Jed’s thumb.
“I didn’t realize floristry was such a hazardous occupation.” Dean nodded to the bead of blood. “Are you okay?” he asked, with genuine concern in his voice.
“I’m fine. Goes with the territory.” Jed sucked hard on his thumb pad, the bleeding already lessening. “But thanks.”
The door opened, bringing with it a blast of cold air as an older lady, bundled up in a fluffy, bright orange coat and matching hat, came in. Jed swallowed a groan. Barbie-Anne, a good friend of Geraldine and the owner of a dog that made Barky the Bastard Mutt from Hell look like a beribboned fluff ball of joy.
“Good morning, Barbie-Anne. Pookie not with you today?”
Barbie-Anne stared at Jed as though he’d just exposed himself. “I would never, ever bring my Pookie out in these devilish temperatures. How could you suggest such a thing? My baby’s home in the warm, young man. My, what a lovely bouquet.” Barbie-Anne pressed her mittened hands to her chest. “Red roses, the flower of love. My long departed hubby used to buy me red roses every single week. And who may these be for?” Barbie-Anne speared Dean with her beady little eyes.
Dean’s bland smile was back in place.
“For a friend.”
“Ah. And who is the lucky lady? Is it the Morgan girl? I saw you talking to her outside the bookstore. A pretty young thing, although it’s a shame about her lazy eye. It’s difficult to be sure what it is she’s really looking at, isn’t it?”
“No, ma’am, they’re not for Betty Morgan.”
