Under the Christmas Star

by Amanda Tru

  “Just a minute. I think Wayne has the perfect thing in the back. It should be for display, but you need something extra special—for the boss.” At the curtain, she looked back. “Oh, what is your budget?”

  She’d waited for his relief before tossing that at him. It worked every time. He sagged against the counter. “I don’t care. It just needs to be nice, and if it can be delivered, that’s even better.”

  “Where is the boss?”

  Crinkles appeared around the man’s eyes, and his lips thinned as he concentrated. “Strasbourg Terrace?”

  She nodded. “It will be our pleasure to deliver tomorrow by nine o’clock. Let me show you what I suggest.”

  Once behind the curtain, she moved to Wayne’s side, eying the options. Pointing to the one he clipped and trimmed with a vengeance, she hissed, “I need that one done. Now.”

  “It’s not—”

  A jab at his arm was all it took. “He’s here. He will buy it. We must—”

  Wayne glanced around the workroom and pointed. “Get me those leaves.”

  In seconds, she’d returned with several hand-preserved maple leaves in tow. “Five?”

  “Perfect.” He glanced around him. “Green picks.”

  She reached for five and passed them over.

  “Floral tape.”

  The roll tried to skitter off the table, but she caught it and passed it to him as well. Inside two minutes, the leaves sat nestled among the evergreen, pine cones, Asiatic lilies, and a few orange and yellow ranunculi for a showy flair. Lena squeezed his arm, snatched up the long, almost pumpkin-seamed vase, and hurried out the door.

  I must stop that. He is not mine—not now. And this is best.

  The way the man’s eyes brightened told her she’d made the right choice. He touched a lily. “Those are so pretty. Perfect. He’d already written out a card and held out his phone. “There’s the address. I’m supposed to be there by one o’clock, so if it could be there by noon…”

  “We will do this.” She rattled off the price and noted that he didn’t even blink. Yes… the best idea.

  As he waved goodbye, Lena turned to bring the delivery receipt into the workroom. “Here’s tomorrow’s delivery information. Are those done? I need to fill the case before I lock up.”

  He snipped dove tails into the ribbons on the candle centerpiece and nodded at the other. “The terra cotta pot is done. This just needs… something. I don’t know what it is.”

  “Maybe the candles should be green instead of white.”

  “They’re ivory, but you might have a point.”

  Green didn’t work, either, but when he popped burgundy in there, everything came together. “Perfect. There. I’ll just clean up this mess and be off.”

  Her throat strangled any hope of a reply. Lena picked up the centerpiece and carried it through the doorway, fighting back emotions she willed to go away. She lost that battle.

  The moment Lena flipped the open sign around, Wayne called out a good night, and the back door slammed shut. Lena raced for the door and made it in time to see his taillights burn at the end of the alleyway and then fade into the distance. Her heart sank.

  I should not have done this. He’s a man. Men are weak. I know this. But Wayne…

  A shuffle upstairs prompted a change of heart. I will help Ramon. Is good for the distraction.

  Aching feet and brain fog combined to make even the idea of getting out of the car a painful thought. Wayne stared at the market, willing someone inside to see him and come out to take his order. Like Sonic, but for popcorn and nasty Diet Dr. Pepper. Is that too much to ask?

  A text from Jennie asking if he’d bring Reese’s Pieces drove him out of the warm van and into the frosty wind. So much for the warm spell.

  Ten minutes later, he sat shivering in the front seat, writing a few words of appreciation and affection in a Thanksgiving card that claimed to be “Thankful for You” this year. He wrote Jen on the front in bold capital letters and tucked it in the bag with the rest of the stuff. She’d find it when she opened everything.

  Cards are always romantic. But, of course, I’m not. I’m just a guy who spends his life helping keep the romance alive in relationships every day. That’s not romantic at all.

  The internal rant picked up with every block he drove. I’m just the guy who used my flowers to bring together two of the nicest people in town. But that’s not romantic, apparently. Not at all.

  He pulled up in front of the yellow row house on Briarwood and smiled up at the glowing light on Jennie’s upper floor apartment. Jennie appreciated him. She didn’t think he was unromantic or a sleaze who frequented places that sold things he probably had never heard of. Like to keep it that way, too.

  His conscience struck right as he opened the door into the house-turned-apartment building. Okay, it’s understandable. Alejandro was a piece of work. But still… she should know better. I never—not once—gave her reason to think I could much less would!

  Jennie opened the door just as he reached the top of the stairs. Meanwhile, Jen’s there eager to see me.

  “Wayne. Come on in. I’m just going to go down and latch the gate out back. It’s banging in this wind and driving me crazy.”

  He thrust the bag into her hands and turned to go. “I’ll get it. Can you make the popcorn?”

  “Yep! And I have Another Stakeout ready to go. Prime doesn’t have The Cheap Detective right now.”

  “That’ll work. It’s on my list to watch. Mom gives me a dozen every year. I usually only make it through three or four, but that’s on one of them. She’ll forgive me—” He reconsidered his explanation mid-sentence. “Um—you know, for not watching them all.”

  Jennie gave him an odd look, but by the time he returned with the gate closed, she sat at one end of her couch, knees drawn up to her chest, with a bowl of popcorn and… He stared. “Did you mix your pieces in with the popcorn?”

  “It’s sooo good. Try it.” She shook the bowl at him.

  Wayne couldn’t help being a bit dubious. After all, she was eating the popcorn and candy and washing it down with Diet Dr. Pepper! It didn’t say much for her taste in snack foods. After another shake, he grabbed a few kernels and a couple of pieces and popped them into his mouth.

  “Okay, you got me. It’s good.”

  She grinned and pulled his card from under the blanket. “This is sweet, Wayne. Thanks.” She looked awkward and uncomfortable. “I—” Jennie gave him a weak smile.

  “Yeah?”

  The words came out in a rush. “I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry.”

  Kind of proves my point… not that Lena will ever know. When Jennie shifted awkwardly, Wayne just plopped himself down at the other end of the couch and reached for the remote. “I just wanted you to feel appreciated. Didn’t do it because I expected anything.”

  “I—” She swallowed a mouthful of popcorn and promptly choked. It took a minute of coughing, pounding on her back, and coughing some more, before she gasped out, “Thanks.”

  It was near midnight before he left. The movie ended, but they talked—about her dreams of going back to school and becoming a teacher. He told her of the florist shop in New Cheltenham and how he’d been offered first chance to purchase it. Jennie asked about his faith, and Wayne admitted he’d only returned to church because Lena had expressed interest.

  “I didn’t know if she believed,” he explained. “She didn’t go anywhere that I knew of, which made me wonder. And that, of course, made me realize that me not going made it look like I didn’t believe. So, we helped each other that way.” Wayne rubbed a hand over his eyes, willing himself to stay awake. “Lena actually went often. I just never knew because I wasn’t there.”

  Jennie choked out something about having been concerned about his faith for that very reason. “I—”

  Unprovoked or planned, Wayne kissed her. It lacked something—probably due to the awkwardness of knees and legs making it difficult, but the sweet smile on
her face as she blinked back at him did a number to his heart.

  Maybe she is the one. And, first kisses are always awkward, aren’t they?

  He shouldn’t have let his thoughts go there. The Valentine’s Day kiss under a rose pomander he’d hung in the shop filled his memory. A groan escaped.

  “Wayne?” As he met Jennie’s gaze, she added, “Maybe—”

  “I should go. It’s late. I’m sorry.” He bolted from the apartment before any more memories created awkward moments between them.

  Her text message blipped the moment he pulled up in front of his house. We should talk.

  Heart pounding at what that could mean, he only replied with, Lunch before I leave tomorrow?

  His teeth sparkled, his sleep pants wrapped him in a cocoon of comfort, and his alarm was set for three o’clock—just two hours away—before he received her answer.

  Yes.

  As he stepped into the back room of the shop, strains of “Jealousy” followed the slow, slow, quick, quick, slow path down the stairs to challenge Wayne with a slap to the face. He, in turn, made a progressive sidestep—by pulling a pair of earbuds from his pocket. Inside three agonizing seconds, he’d drowned out the shushing and sweeping sounds of feet across the upstairs floor.

  He should need to pull in buckets of flowers from the Rockland market—should, but didn’t. A weather warning had given him all the excuse he could have hoped for to roll over for a couple more hours of sleep. And he had. Now, however, he needed to order inventory brought in—just in case.

  While a maudlin country song he’d never heard before and hoped never to hear again bellowed out twangy wails of grief over the loss of a “woman too good for me” filled his ears, Wayne took inventory. The Asiatic lilies wouldn’t hold until Monday. They’d droop. He pulled them from the case and grabbed a few chrysanthemums and the last of the ranunculi as well.

  Wayne opened his laptop and began to type out a flower order. Between additions and subtractions of guesstimated needs, he created an arrangement and tried to calm the storm raging in his mind. Jen understands me. Maybe… He shook his head. No. Can’t think about that now. Must get ready to leave. I’ll deal with all that later.

  He reached for a rich, vibrant orange ranunculus and nearly knocked the bucket over onto his laptop. In a desperate move to save the laptop, he shoved everything away from him and watched the flowers, buckets, and glittering vase crash to the floor. Relief at saving his laptop lasted only until the clattering of dance shoes on the stairs alerted him to Ramon’s impending arrival.

  He pulled out the earbuds. Why is cursing wrong again, Lord?

  “Mr. Farrell? Is everything…?” The question died at the sight of water, flowers, and glass shards on the floor.

  Wayne closed his eyes and his laptop at the same time. A joke about how laptops didn’t need to be kept in water danced on the tip of his tongue, but Lena would never understand the joke. Ramon probably wouldn’t, either. “Almost knocked it onto the laptop, so I shoved it away instead.”

  “That is very fast thinking. Laptops dislike baths more than little boys.”

  Wayne couldn’t help but chuckle. “Right? I was just telling myself that you don’t have to water electronics like you do flowers.”

  Hearty, musical laughter—for the first time, Wayne knew what that meant—filled the workroom. “Is a good joke. I like it.” Ramon glanced around him and went for the push broom on the wall. “I will sweep.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I don’t get to talk to you when I move in. Lena always rushes me upstairs. I would like to know the man who gives me his hospitality.”

  You mean the guy who takes your rent money? Wayne opted not to say that. “Well, thank you.” What else could he say?

  After the first push of the broom, the questions began. How long had he been selling flowers? Did he like it? The usual “get to know you” type things that were simple enough.

  Wayne reciprocated. Had he always loved dancing? (Yes). When had he met Lena? (When he joined the flamenco troupe). Where did he dance now?

  “I have the opportunity to dance in a competition—as instructor. But one of the dances we teach is the tango. It is not my strength, but Magdalena took special classes when we moved to Cadiz. She learned the rumba and the tango. She is like a tiger-bird. She stalks her prey but with light feet that fly across the floor.”

  This Wayne couldn’t and would never try to refute. “I’ve seen her show the local boys how to do a few steps—to impress the girls. She’s amazing.”

  “She says you were her novio. I never think she will trust a man again.” Ramon stopped pushing the broom and stared at Wayne. “This is how I knew you were a good man.”

  Words flew from Wayne’s lips before he could stop them. “Yeah, well, then she accused me of going to…” he swallowed hard, ordering himself to stop talking. He didn’t listen to himself. “Well, let’s just say unsavory places.”

  “Not tasty?”

  Oh, boy. Wayne tried again. “Um, places that sell things that are… insulting to women.”

  Ramon stared at him—face blank. Then understanding dawned. “Ah. Like Alejandro.” A nod. “She would assume if she didn’t know. She thought I cheated on my girlfriend once. I thought I’d never dance again after she stomped my foot with her heel.”

  “Break anything?” The morbid fascination prompted the question just seconds before he recalled that it wasn’t any of his business. “Sorry. Ignore that.”

  “Sí. She break a small bone. It heal. Everything is good.”

  “You weren’t mad at her?”

  A shrug and Ramon began pushing the broom once more. “When she stomp, yes! But then Marta says, ‘Ramon. She is protecting me. You should be glad.’ And she is right. So, I forgive her. I tell her, ‘Next time, ask. Don’t assume. Ask with Marta there. She will know if I lie.’ So she does. Twice. Then she trusts me.”

  Once more, a question that was none of his business formed and spewed forth before he could stop it. “And where is Marta now?”

  The look on Ramon’s face answered before the man could find his voice.

  “Never mind, Ramon. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

  “Is good to talk of her. People don’t ask. They think it will make me sad, but when people forget or don’t care—this makes me sad.”

  Desperate to change subjects, Wayne asked when the competition began.

  “January. I left the troupe when Marta died. This is my first job since then. I need to be good. I need my contestant to win, but without a good tango…”

  “Well, I can’t tango at all. Lena said I was the worst dancer she’d ever seen.” He choked on the words. She’d also kissed him and said he made her heart dance better than her feet ever could. Don’t think about it. You’re through. You have Jennie now, and she’s more your speed. Lena’s too dramatic.

  “You should learn! There is a contest in Brunswick.” The way Ramon said it came out more like Bruins-wick, but Wayne got the point. “Tango. You should learn and challenge Lena to compete with you.”

  “We’re not together anymore, Ramon. Besides, you’re the one training. You should do it with her.”

  It all sounded so perfect and logical. Wayne actually found himself puffing out his chest with a bit of pride as he reflected on his suggestion. Pride popped with an unceremonious fizzle at Ramon’s shaking head.

  “She is not the professional anymore, but I am. This is only for those who do not work in dance. You can learn, and as her partner, you can help her win. She will like it.”

  Again, Wayne repeated the point Ramon had apparently missed. “But we’re not dating anymore. She decided to end it. I have a new girlfriend.” Just in case he’d possibly missed any of that, Wayne added, “We’re just friends now.”

  Undaunted, Ramon came closer, leaned in as if to convince by proximity—intimidation, perhaps? “You say you are ‘just friends,’ but you will not help a friend? Why?”

 
Yes, his reply probably did sound a bit desperate, but Wayne had to try. “She would never agree, Ramon. It isn’t just me. Lena wouldn’t teach me, and without lessons—”

  “I will teach you. Tonight.”

  He shook his head. “I’m going home to Crossroads in a few hours—for Thanksgiving.”

  “Friday?”

  “Not coming back until Sunday night.” Just in case that wasn’t enough, Wayne tacked on, “Late.”

  “Monday morning. You come early. I will teach you everything you need to know.” He winked. “Everything Magdalena teaches me. Form, attitude—everything.”

  There wasn’t a cell in his body that didn’t scream for him to say no, but as Ramon talked about how much Lena missed the dance, and how much she needed to know she still had a friend in him, Wayne found himself relenting. “She wouldn’t think I was pushing? I have a new girlfriend now.”

  “Yes, you said. But she knows this. She sees. She will be glad to know she still has her friend.” He glanced around him as if expecting Lena to pop out and accuse before leaning forward again and whispering, “She will not say it, but she needs friends. She is the lonely.”

  Unlike Lena, when Ramon inserted random articles into conversation, they didn’t denote emotion. It was just that natural language translation difference. But emotion—it filled every word, regardless.

  Wayne couldn’t resist its call. “Just how hard is the tango? I’m not light on my feet, you know…”

  Ramon beamed. “You will be fabuloso.”

  That’s not the word I would have used….

  Just as Wayne drove off, Lena heard Ramon jogging down the stairs. A moment later, his voice drifted in from the workroom. “Magdalena?”

  “I’m in here, Ramon—with a customer.”

  He stepped in and smiled at her as she helped a pudgy woman choose a centerpiece. Every price tag sent the woman into fresh wails at the cost of everything. “I should have gone to The Market yesterday. They have affordable flowers.”

  And for the $14.99 you get no vase, no artistry, and flowers that die twice as fast. Yes, it’s a bargain. Perhaps she shouldn’t have done it, but Lena suggested that the supermarket in Ferndale might have flowers left. “Something more in your… limited budget?”