10. If sorrows refuse to be drowned, consider poetic method of death. Possibly by poinsettia.
“Well, this won’t do at all,” I mutter, brow furrowing as I scan it again. “Your nose is perfect the way it is. Your face is quite nice, as well. And I’ve heard that coconuts are notoriously difficult to work with.”
She arches a wry brow. “Oh? Is that right?”
“It is,” I assure her seriously. “Far more difficult than rich people. Even rich British people. Coconuts are all attitude, wrapped in a spitefully hard exterior. And strangely hairy. No fruit or nut should be that hairy. It’s bizarre. And unpleasant.”
She huffs. “Noted. I’ll cross that line out, then. Think of something else.”
“I think that’s best,” I agree. “And can I suggest one more modification?” When she nods her permission, I push the list back across the bar. “New number one: Let annoying British man buy you drinks, food, and songs on the jukebox until the storm passes. Put off all life-changing decisions until tomorrow.”
Her lips twitch. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s progress. Definite progress. “I don’t know. That many changes might violate the integrity of the list.”
I frown. “List integrity? I thought you Americans were all about breaking the rules and rewriting the lists?”
“Maybe most Americans, but I’ve always felt more comfortable in other cultures,” she says. “Especially ones that like rules and don’t rush to change them.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Well, you’d love where I grew up, then. The village council has been fighting to keep a parking lot from going in by a popular local farm stand for years. They intend to stand in the way of progress and fun at any cost.” I shrug. “But mostly at the cost of the poor farmer looking for a way to keep his head above water after another shite harvest. There are times when rules and lists simply must be changed, Red.” I spin my nearly empty whiskey on the bar before addingin a more pointed tone, “Especially when it comes to death of any kind, but especially by poinsettia.”
When I glance her way again, her gaze is softer, less guarded.
I shoot her my most winning “please have pity on me, I didn’t mean to be an ass” forehead wrinkle. “So…about that drink?”
To my delight, she laughs. “Fine. You can buy the next round. But fair warning, I’m playing exclusively carols on the jukebox. I’m determined to get back in the Christmas spirit.”
“Here, here!” I clink my glass against hers before downing the last of my drink, signaling Reg for another round as I add, “I love the holidays. The more carols, the better. And throw in some Mariah Carey while you’re at it.”
She blinks, looking surprised. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Most people I know hate that song. Even my mother’s sick of it.”
I shake my head. “Not I, not sick at all. Let’s get in the spirit, Red. Just let me find some coins.” As I dig in my pockets with one hand, I extend the other. “I’m Olly, by the way.”
She clasps my palm, and I can’t help but notice how soft her skin feels against mine. “Emily. Emily Darling.”
“Darling,” I murmur. “Any relation to the family from Peter Pan?”
“No, but my grandmother did have a Saint Bernard when I was growing up. She let me call her Nana even though her real name was Eleanor,” she says with a self-conscious roll of her eyes that makes her look younger, vulnerable, and very sweet.
Sweet is…problematic.
I don’t usually mix casual and sweet.
Feisty and casual? Yes.
Fiery and casual? Always.
But sweet is a good way to wade into deeper waters than would be wise in this situation.
I strongly suspect Emily Darling isn’t here to stay.
“As you should have,” I agree. “Nana is the perfect name for a Saint Bernard. So, you’re here for business? Business with some sort of floral, party planning component, judging from the context clues?”
“Yes.” Her fingers tighten around her beer. “I’m pitching a gala concept to a high-profile client in a few days. I was hoping to have Belinda on lock as the floral designer before that happened, but…” She sighs. “I’ll start reaching out to my backup florists tomorrow. I’m hoping I can make amends and convince Belinda to give me another chance, but just in case…”
“Always good to have a backup,” I agree, silently thinking I might be able to help her out with Belinda.
