Page 135 of Pucked Up Plans
She’s still coloring at the table. “Pretty flowers. It was Walsh.” She giggles like it’s the best-kept secret.
“Actually, they’re from Lennon.”
“So you’re not sad anymore.”
“How did you know?”
“Flowers always make you smile. Me too. Because they’re so pretty. Like you and me.”
Laying the blossoms on the table, I crouch next to her. “So pretty. You and me. And flowers too.” Hugging her into my side, I declare, “I love you, Aubrey Belle.”
“Mommy, I know that, silly.” She wraps her arms around me. “Can we eat lunch now? My tummy is so hungry.”
“Sure thing, Bean. Sure thing.”
For the first time since all this started, I sleep like a rock, Lennon’s flowers on my nightstand putting me under some sort of spell. They’re the first thing I see after opening my eyes, and an immediate smile jumps on my face.
I spend most of the morning listening and re-listening to medical notes, doing my best not to screw them up. I ache to text Walsh, to ask if the results came back yet, even though I’m highly certain he’d let me know when they do.
My phone rings about 11:45.
“Please don’t be the school. Please don’t be the school.” I need the whole day to myself.
The number is unfamiliar, but at least it’s not the school.
“Hello?” I answer tentatively.
“Is this Tate?”
“Yep.”
“Hi, it’s Jenny from Whispering Petals. I have some bad news.”
My stomach plummets. “Oh?”
“I won’t be able to get the calla lilies in for Friday. Can you wait until next week?”
Norests on the tip of my tongue.
Ever since I walked out of the shop yesterday, the image of flowers brightening up my place on Friday has given me something to anticipate, something to believe in until this mess with Walsh is resolved. Now I’ll have to wait some more. Ahh! All I freaking do is wait.
Instead of unloading my woes onto the sweet florist, I reply, “Of course. Let me know when I can stop in and pick them up.”
“Thanks, Tate. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be a problem, but there was a big storm out in the Midwest and my supplier—” She cuts herself off. “Never mind. You don’t need to hear the struggles of keeping beautiful flowers in stock in the winter. I’ll call you next week when I know for sure it will be ready.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I’m about to say goodbye when the small vase on my nightstand catches my eye. “Thanks for the dahlias. They’re so pretty and make my room smell divine.”
“Oh. You’re welcome. That little girl had no intentions of leaving my store without flowers for you.”
“She’s something else, isn’t she?”
“Yes. She’s her father’s daughter for sure.”
“One hundred percent,” I confirm with a sigh.
“I don’t want to keep you. I’ll be in touch soon. Take care. Bye.” The line goes dead, Jenny breaking off our conversation.
“Well, that was weird.”
