She stood beside a man in front of the wall of blossoms that bloomed from floor to ceiling in every color imaginable. She didn’t look at him; she had eyes only for the colors, and so she was startled when he responded. She was used to talking to herself, and she patted her hair self-consciously when he spoke.
“But they would have to have rain, wouldn’t they?” He asked, as if he had just climbed out of her head and arrived fully formed beside her to finish her conversation.
“I think a sprinkler system would suffice,” she said, looking at him sideways.
He smiled, great bushy eyebrows curling over his eyes like the paws of a giant cat.
“You are a practical woman,” the man said approvingly.
“I try to be,” she agreed. “But I do find myself swept away by whimsy on occasion.”
The man turned and looked at her with watery blue eyes behind round spectacles that made him look impossibly clever. Rosalee looked nervously at the buttons on her coat. She knew him from somewhere, she was sure of it.
“I haven’t been swept away by whimsy for a very long time,” the man said, so quietly she almost missed it. Had he said whiskey?
“I’m not much of a drinker, myself.”
He laughed. It was a nice sound. A deep sound, like something rare and valuable that was dug from the depths of the earth.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She hadn’t blushed for over twenty years, but she could feel her cheeks blooming. “You didn’t say whiskey, did you?”
“It’s quite all right.” He tapped his ear where she saw the tiny bud of a hearing aid like her own. “Mine don’t always work well in the rain, either.”
He moved off to the counter and engaged Neil in conversation. Rosalee watched him, knowing she should know who he was. It niggled at the back of her brain and she fretted at the frequency with which she forgot things lately. Lately being in the last twenty years.
She sighed. There was nothing for it, she decided. It would come to her unexpectedly, probably at three am some night when her old brain would put two and two together and come up with the handsome gentleman’s name.
“The usual, Mr. Proxly?” Neil asked, rolling out a sheet of floral wrap on the counter.
Rosalee turned, squinting, but she’d missed it.
Bother.
“Please, Neil,” the man said. “As you know, our Mrs. Davies is a creature of ritual and routine. Thirty-two years she’s been working for me, and I’ve never missed a Monday without fresh flowers for her desk.”
Neil smiled and moved his cell phone across the counter as he counted out the blossoms for the bouquet.
“Mrs. Martin,” he called across the shop to Rosalee. “I believe you’re here for a bouquet of pinks, am I right?”
Rosalee stepped primly up to the counter, nodding at the man as she addressed Neil.
“Neil, your shop looks simply lovely today.”
Neil beamed. “And you are a delight, as always,” he said, carefully placing Mr. Proxly’s blooms one by one on the paper.
“Mr. Proxly, this is Mrs. Martin,” Neil said.
Rosalee gasped.
“That’s it!” she breathed. “Proxly. I knew that I knew you.”
She thrust out her gloved hand and shook Mr. Proxly’s vigorously. Neil’s eyes widened as Rosalee frothed with delight.
“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure.” Mr. Proxly took her hand. “Mrs. Martin.”
“Oh, it’s Rosalee, you silly thing,” she bubbled. “I was just saying to Mrs. Crawley yesterday that I was simply thrilled that my Robin would be working for Proxly and Son.”
Mr. Proxly nodded politely, holding out his hand for his flowers.
“My new designer is your daughter then, Rosalee?” he asked.
“Oh, my goodness no. My great-niece. Her grandmother was my sister,” she explained, helpfully. “Terrible woman, my sister. Mean. We never did get along. She died ages ago, and then, well...”
She paused for breath. Neil moved the cell phone to the middle of the counter, watching them both with wide eyes. Rosalee thought she should mention something to him about eavesdropping on private conversations, but then she remembered what else she knew about the dapper Mr. Proxly.
“You are no stranger to grief yourself, my dear Mr. Proxly, I daresay.” Rosalee put her hand on his arm and bowed her head. “We lost Robin’s mother when Robin was just a child. Her father abandoned them years before that, and I have been trying to fill the holes ever since.”
“I’m sure Robin is very lucky to have you.” Mr. Proxly took a deep breath and moved toward the door, but Rosalee still had claim to his arm. She moved with him, shuffling sideways like a crab determined to take home it’s very own piece of seaweed.
“Now, I’m not one to blow my own horn, Mr. Proxly,” she said.
“Bernard, please.” He reached for the door.
“Bernard.” She rolled the r, like she was french. A strange tinny wail emanated from the cell phone on the counter. “As I was saying, I am merely a cog in a mighty machine, merely a bit player in the lives of those I love. We do what we can, do we not?”
“We certainly do.” Mr. Proxly was growing damp, his body halfway out the door but his arm still clutched in Rosalee’s grip. “Good day, Mrs. Martin. Uh, Rosalee.”
She released him and he slipped out into the weather like a porpoise escaping a shark.
She turned to Neil, glowing with triumph.
“What a lovely, lovely man,” she said.
“He’s something,” Neil agreed. “You should go on a date with him.”
There was another thin wail from the cell phone. Rosalee looked at it quizzically.
“I think there’s something wrong with your cell phone, Neil,” she said. “It’s making the strangest sounds. What was that you said?”
“You should go on a date,” he said. “With Mr. Proxly.”
Rosalee froze. She blinked.
“A date?” she said. “With Bernard?” She rolled the r with a gentle trill.
“Why not?” Neil put the whining cell phone in his pocket. “He’s single, you’re single. And look how well you hit it off.”
“I never... well, I mean.” Rosalee stared at the wall of flowers, blinking. A date. With a man. She took a deep breath and pulled herself back into the real world. “Don’t be ridiculous, young man.”
“What’s ridiculous? Why not?”
“You don’t know the first thing about adults dating,” she said primly. “You young people think it’s just... what do you call it? Hooking up? Netflix and chill?”
She said it so primly, exaggerating every syllable, that Neil laughed out loud.
“Rosalee, you are a delight,” he grinned.
“Thank you,” she nodded, pleased with herself. “Now, enough of this nonsense. Give me Robin’s flowers and send me on my way before I break any more hearts with my endless charms.”
“You’ve stolen mine, Rosie,” Neil said.
She snorted a quick breath through her nose.
Rosie.
She decided she liked it.
Chapter 12
“This may sound odd, but...” Robin hesitated. The flowers on Mrs. Davies’ desk smelled of summer and hope and romance. Ever since Hudson entered her life, everything reeked of romance. Robin tried not to think about how close she had come to kissing him. He was a goofball, and he was becoming a friend. That was it. End of discussion. “I wanted to ask—”
“Our young Mr. Hudson was also choosing his words very carefully this morning, making inquiries into subjects he had no business being interested in.” Mrs. Davies frowned over the top of her glasses, her eyes like a tired hound who would bite if provoked.
Robin had no desire to provoke her.
But still.
“You have met my Great Aunt Rosalee?” Robin asked, remembering the first day she had entered the office.
“Mmhmm.” Mrs. Davies drummed her fingers lightly on the desk.
“
Just wondering, you know?” Robin rearranged a box of paperclips on the desk. “If Mr. Proxly mentioned, maybe, meeting her? Yesterday? At the flower shop?”
Mrs. Davies reached across the desk and moved the paperclips back where they belonged.
“Ms. Brookes,” she said. “This is an office space, not a dating site. I would kindly ask you to keep your passions in check while you are at work.”
“My passions are totally checked. As in, locked in a box at the bottom of the sea. No worries. All work, no play.”
She smiled. Winningly.
Mrs. Davies was not handing out any prizes.
“I just wondered what Mr. Proxly thought,” she said. She realized she was standing on Mrs. Davies’ last nerve, but Auntie had shown up at seven am that morning with the newspaper crossword and a question regarding fourteen down.
A five-letter word for obsessive.
Manic.
It had taken her an hour and a half to send Auntie on her way. By that time Izzy had been howling, she hadn’t answered the list of emails waiting for her in her inbox, and she had decided she would have to kidnap Mrs. Crawley to rid Auntie of her unhealthy obsession with the old lady’s daughter’s marital drama.
“Mr. Proxly has a great many thoughts,” Mrs. Davies intoned. “Not all of which I am privy to. I told Hudson as much this morning already.”
“And what did Hudson say?” Robin asked. He needed this as much as she did.
“He told me, let me think so I get it right.” Mrs. Davies paused dramatically. “Ah, yes. He told me he would quit his job and sail off with me into the sunset if I would only ask his father how he felt about the lovely Rosalee.”
Robin groaned. So much for subtlety.
“That was my reaction exactly,” Mrs. Davies said. “This is not a high school musical, Robin. Mr. Proxly is a man of deep sensibilities. Your great aunt is a lovely woman, but I caution you if you think you can orchestrate a relationship between two adults.”
“You say that like you think I’m not an adult,” Robin said. She sounded like a teenager, even to herself. Twenty-seven, she wanted to say. I’m twenty-seven and I run my own business. And I’m a mother. Take that.
Mrs. Davies just raised one eyebrow, then turned back to her computer screen.
Robin gave up.
She was stuck with Auntie, like a bad marriage she couldn’t shake.
She didn’t want to divorce her great aunt. She just wanted her to find her own life, and her own passions. Something more fulfilling than crosswords and laundry.
Robin was standing on a stool, awkwardly measuring the window when Delia walked in. Without turning around, Robin knew who it was the minute she opened her mouth.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up as Delia took command of the room without a shred of respect for Mrs. Davies.
“Where is he?” she chirped.
“Ms. Wentworth, what a delight.” Mrs. Davies sounded distinctly undelighted. “Is Hudson expecting you?”
“I’m his fiancée,” Delia said. “Not an item on his to-do list.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Davies continued, sounding bored. “If you would like to take a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Delia made a dainty sniffing sound. Robin didn’t turn around, but she grinned as she silently cheered for Team Davies.
Poor Hudson.
She climbed down off the stool, her notebook in her hand. Delia looked up from a chair on the other side of the room. She swept her gaze from Robin’s head to her feet and back again. Without meaning to, Robin patted her hair and straightened her top.
“Who, or what, are you again?” Delia held her phone in one perfectly manicured hand. She looked like she was in the middle of taking a selfie.
“You’ve met me before, Delia.” If Mrs. Davies could fake polite, so could she. “My daughter fell in love with your dog and wanted to name him Moonbeam. It was just the other day, remember?”
This is Hudson’s fiancée, and Hudson is a nice guy. Be nice to the nice guy’s horrible fiancée.
“And?” Delia didn’t move. She just blinked at Robin, waiting.
“I’m the designer, as you know.” Robin spoke through clenched teeth. She could feel Mrs. Davies watching her over the top of her computer monitor.
Propriety, she thought.
Deep sensibilities, she thought.
Adult, she repeated to herself, several times.
“Oh yes. I remember now. The painter.” Delia dismissed her with a flip of her phone.
“No, the designer. Dee. Zine. Er.” A small voice in Robin’s head told her to let it go. Walk away. Not your circus, not your monkey. “Painters just paint the walls. I create the aesthetics of the space.”
“Wow.” Delia stared at her phone. “You’re a glorified painter.”
Robin forced herself to turn away, muttering under her breath. “Better than a glorified girlfriend.”
Mrs. Davies choked behind the desk, coughing into her hand as Delia slowly lowered her phone.
“What did you say?”
Hudson came through the door just as Robin was about to tell her exactly what she had said. He came to an abrupt stop as he took in the three women all looking at him expectantly. Robin could tell by the apprehensive look on his face that he sensed he had just walked into a nest of vipers.
“Hey pumpkin,” Hudson said, leaning in to kiss Delia on the cheek. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I texted you three times,” she whined. She stood up and straightened her immaculate pencil skirt. She was petite and sparkly, and even though there were hard lines around her mouth she looked every inch like a lawyer’s wife.
Robin looked away. She didn’t need to look to know she had a smear of paint on her sleeve and faded knees on her jeans. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a manicure, although she was quite proud of herself for ... nope. No makeup either.
“I’m at work, muffin,” Hudson glanced again at Robin over Delia’s shoulder. She rolled her eyes and mouthed ‘muffin’ at him. Mrs. Davies choked again.
“Let’s go to lunch,” Delia said, her voice changing into a gentle pout.
“I’m really busy, Delia.” Hudson placed a file of papers on Mrs. Davies’ desk and glanced at his watch.
“Um, everyone takes a lunch hour.”
“It’s ten thirty,” Robin couldn’t help herself. Delia scowled at her and she shrugged and climbed back on her stool. Not my circus. Still, she watched the proceedings from the corner of her eye.
“Mrs. Davies,” Hudson said, his back to Delia. “These are the papers Dad asked for. I’ve put the most pressing ones on top, and there are several requiring his signature—”
“Oh, yawn.” Delia sighed. “Just sign them yourself, for goodness sake. Your name’s on the door too, isn’t it? Let’s go.”
Hudson stiffened. He ignored Delia and continued talking to Mrs. Davies.
“The Thompson papers are in the second folder, and I’m expecting a call...”
“Hudson,” Delia huffed. Robin turned and stared at her, not even pretending subtlety. Izzy had better manners than this impossible woman. “I am leaving for lunch. I have come all this way to have you take me out for a date, and I will not waste another minute on this blather. Sign this, copy that. Really Hudson. The secretary can figure it out. That is what you pay her for, isn’t it?”
Robin’s eyebrows tried to hide as she watched Mrs. Davies sit up even straighter in her seat. Her lips pursed to a thin line and Robin was almost certain she saw a puff of steam escape her ears.
Hudson turned around slowly. The dark expression on his face eclipsed his usual good humor. Now there was the lowering of a storm front that changed him from bright and open to dark and brooding in a heartbeat.
“Time for you to go home, Delia,” he said, his voice deep and measured. “Mrs. Davies is our Executive Assistant, and we are both very busy at this moment. I will speak with you at home tonight.”
Delia’s
mouth opened and closed, making little gasping noises.
Hudson walked over to the door and held it open for her.
“Apologize,” Delia squeaked. “This instant, for speaking to me like that.”
Hudson’s face softened slightly, as if he had just made a decision that had been bothering him.
“I don’t think so, Delia.” His voice was measured and calm. “It’s time for you to go.”
Delia seemed to realize the precariousness of her situation. Robin couldn’t help but be impressed with the speed of her transformation. She wilted like a tired flower, attempting to droop into his arms as she approached him.
“Darling,” she crooned. “You don’t mean it. Come on now, let’s go. I’m sorry if I insulted your...” She flapped her hand in Mrs. Davies’ direction. “Office assistant. I want lunch, with you.”
She had her hands pressed against his chest and her chin tilted up like a baby bird waiting to be fed. Hudson gently pushed her off him and guided her by the elbow through the door.
“I’ll see you later, Delia,” he said, releasing her on her way and allowing the door to close behind her.
Robin fought a laugh as they heard a choked growl from the hallway, followed by what sounded like a purse being hurled at the door.
The three of them stood in silence for a moment, holding their breath until the distinct staccato of heels on ceramic tiles diminished down the hall.
Robin looked at Mrs. Davies. They both looked at Hudson.
Hudson straightened his tie and cricked his neck.
“That felt surprisingly good,” he said.
Chapter 13
It didn’t feel good at all.
It felt necessary.
A hard stone of dread dropped into his stomach as he listened to Delia’s footsteps fade down the hall, but he plastered on a smile and teased Mrs. Davies. He joked with Robin until he excused himself back to his office. He closed his door and dropped into his desk chair.
Love by Design: A Heartswell Harbour Romance Page 7