Tahira in Bloom

by Heron, Farah

  On Wednesday night, June, Rowan, Gia, and I were working on a larger piece as practice for the Bloom. I wasn’t necessarily sold on the design—we were basically doing a large living sculpture of a tree.

  “You say I’m self-centered, and yet you decide to make a sculpture of your name,” I teased Rowan as I wrapped the trunk with brown moss. He knew I was kidding. Rowan and I had found an unlikely alliance lately, even though we hadn’t really seen much of each other since the photo shoot at the nursery since we’d both worked so much. We texted daily, though, mostly about flowers and the Bloom. I’d been worried that this meeting would be weird—because of that moment at the nursery. After he took that photo of me, we got caught up in staring at each other a touch too long. But whatever. It was probably just because of that perfect hazy summer night. Now we were back to being slightly snarky friends.

  Which was good, because I was in no way looking to start crushing on Plant-Boy right now. That wasn’t part of the Plan.

  He shrugged. “It’s not a specific tree. It’s more stylized.”

  I stood back. “I’m just not feeling this for the competition. A living sculpture of a tree looks too much like a . . . tree.”

  “The judges will love it, though,” June said. “The theme this year is ‘Things in a garden.’”

  Only in Bakewell would they have a garden sculpture contest with the theme of things in a garden.

  I peered at the bulbous head of the sculpture. “What if we only used white flowers, like those impatiens you showed me?”

  “We’re not going to win with only one type of flower,” Rowan said.

  “Well, I don’t think we’ll win with a tree. Or with flower vomit,” I said.

  Rowan gave me a pointed look. “I came in second with my ‘flower vomit,’ as you call it. This is the kind of thing the judges will expect—trust me.”

  I sighed. “I know this is what they expect. I want to do something they won’t expect.” I smiled because I didn’t want him to think I was being precious again. “Humor me. What else is in a garden? Other than trees.”

  June looked around. “Um . . . us?”

  “Furniture?” Gia offered. She’d barely paid attention before this, focused on texting someone. Probably Cameron.

  I bit my lip. There had to be an angle I was missing here. I inspected the garden. Hose reel? Garden shears? “This is the dumbest theme in the world,” I said. “Why don’t we just make a freaking flower?”

  Rowan raised a brow. “That’s kind of the point. It’s a flower sculpture competition.”

  I grinned, an idea coming to me. “Wait. I’m brilliant. Not flowers, but flower! We’re supposed to make large living statues; why can’t we make a statue of a huge flower? Covered with flowers? It’s a little meta, but the whole garden theme is meta.”

  Rowan stopped looking suspicious and stared out into the open patch of grass in front of the workbench. I knew what he was doing—he was imagining a large floral sculpture of a flower. He was constructing it in his mind to determine if it was feasible. He probably saw something full and lush and filled with many colors. His eyes glazed over a bit as his attention stayed focused on the images in his head. He rubbed his jaw in thought. I was mesmerized watching him imagine it. I couldn’t look away from his face.

  Finally, a small smile appeared. “You know? I think that might be awesome.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think it will be awesome; I know it will be. You and me together? We can make this spectacular enough to win.”

  I’d been really focused on the store for the last week. The Lily launch had gone really well. Store traffic and total sales were up over last year, and the Lily merchandise was flying off the shelves. We’d had to order new stock twice since that first delivery.

  But I hadn’t lost sight of why else I was here. My Bloom entry was as important as my work in the store. I needed it to be showstopping. I needed to wow Christopher Chan so I would get into FIT.

  “Let’s sketch some ideas,” I said. “I’ll draw up a flower sculpture that’s unique and modern with an urban edge but will still appeal to the judges.”

  “Yes!” Gia said. “Tahira is amazeballs. She’ll make something fabulous; I promise.”

  Rowan put his hands up. “Hold on, hold on. Okay, I agree the flower idea is a good one, but I know what kind of flower you’ll design. It will be all bare and all white or something. Let me design something, too. A flower but with actual colors.”

  June clapped her hands. “Ooh, let’s do a bet. Why don’t you both draw a design, and we’ll let a neutral third party decide which one we use?”

  I frowned. “Do we know any neutral third parties?” Shar was my aunt, Leanne was Rowan’s best friend and maybe had a thing for Juniper, Addison was a bitch, and Cameron was a random jock smitten with Gia. Plus, Addison and Cameron were in competition against us, so we couldn’t exactly show them our designs.

  “Hyacinth!” Juniper said. “We can ask Hyacinth to pick which one she thinks will win. She was a judge for a few years but isn’t doing it this year because she’s going to Tahiti or something to get married that weekend. She used to be an interior decorator.”

  “There’s actually a Hyacinth? I thought the coffee shop was named after the flower, not an actual person.”

  Gia crossed her arms. “You know Hyacinth! The woman with the magenta hair?”

  Huh. I did know that woman, just didn’t realize Hyacinth was her name. Or that she owned the café.

  “I’m in,” Rowan said. “What’s the wager?”

  There was only one thing I wanted from Rowan Johnston, and I’d wanted it since the day I’d met him. “I know what I want if I win,” I said. “What do you want from me?” I fluttered my lashes playfully.

  He ran his fingers over his jaw again, laughing. “Oh, jeez, I don’t know. Okay, if I win you have to get me an ice cream cone. Specifically, the toasted marshmallow ice cream from Inside Scoop.” That was a homemade ice cream shop on Main Street. Big lineups on the weekends.

  “That’s easy,” I said. “I can get you ice cream right now if you want.”

  Juniper shook her head, laughing. “They only serve toasted marshmallow on Saturdays, and they’re usually out by the afternoon. Basically, expect to have to wait in line a minimum half hour to get toasted marshmallow ice cream. It’s legendary.”

  “Deal,” I said. “It doesn’t really matter anyway because I’m not going to lose.”

  Rowan laughed. “Way to doubt yourself, Tahira. What do you want if you win?”

  I grinned suggestively. “You. I want you. Wearing my designs, modeling for my Instagram.”

  He frowned a second, then laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, Thirst Trap. You’ve got a deal.”

  Over the next few days, I researched and drew up several ideas for the competition sculpture on my iPad. I wanted to do it all alone, with no outside interference. That ended up being no problem because Gia was so busy with Cameron that I barely even saw her.

  But anyway. I eventually settled on the perfect design. It was basically a stylized, narrow, white lily, done mostly with white impatiens and begonias. To represent the stamen and pistil, I used gold-colored grasses. It wasn’t exactly minimalistic—it was pretty lush. But the color scheme stayed to white, green, and the golden bursts.

  I thought it was great. I also thought it was very strange how much I loved it. Even a month ago, I would have hated all the flowers and greenery. This design was so Bakewell, but it was also very me. It was exactly what we needed to stand out in the Bloom.

  On Friday night, Shar and I went into Niagara for prayers again. After we were back at home, I was in the tiny house adding finishing touches to the Bloom design on my iPad when Gia came in.

  “I’m not here,” she said. I knew she’d closed the store at seven, and I assumed she’d been with Cameron since then. “The air conditioner over the Scottish store leaked all over my head. That Hamish guy kept calling me a ‘wee lassie’ while he
apologized. I need five minutes with my flat iron; then Cam and I are going to go hang in his backyard.”

  She turned to show me that the back of her head had reverted back to its natural frizzy waves instead of the intentional loose waves she made herself.

  “Things still going well with you two?” I asked.

  Gia nodded happily as she plugged her straightener in. “He’s the absolute sweetest. You know he loves reality TV? We’ve been watching that dating show in Antigua. Summer in Paradise? But he keeps saying that this is his summer in paradise because of me. Sweet, right? Where can you find a boyfriend that watches reality dating shows? Not in Toronto, home of the toxic masculinity teens. You don’t think I’m spending too much time with Cam, do you? I mean, you and me weren’t really going to be all ‘Hot Girl Summer’ since you had a boyfriend when we got here . . . but—”

  “No, no,” I said, shaking my head. “Totally fine, G. I’m happy for you.”

  She waved her hand. “See! That’s why I love you, T. You never get jealous or anything.” She unplugged the iron. “You’ve got Juniper now, so you don’t need me as much. Not to mention Rowan.” She wagged her eyebrows. “All those thirst traps of yours actually worked. You two will have a mind-blowing summer hookup soon. Mark my words.”

  I straightened my spine. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Rowan and you.” She snorted a laugh. “C’mon, don’t pretend you haven’t noticed that Plant-Boy is seriously into you.” She checked her phone. “That’s my boo. Gotta go, T. Don’t wait up.” She blew me a kiss and headed out the door.

  What. Was. Gia. On.

  Rowan Johnston was not into me. I mean, yeah, we didn’t exactly hate each other anymore, but one doesn’t go from thinking someone is shallow and stuck up all the way to thinking they are, like, girlfriend material in a month. Because yeah, if Rowan were into me, it would be a boyfriend-girlfriend situation—he was not the casual-hookup type.

  We were friends. That was it. We’d been texting each other lighthearted trash talk all day about this bet. He even sent me a picture of him eating the toasted marshmallow ice cream from Inside Scoop last summer.

  Okay, wait. That wasn’t something a guy would send a girl unless he was into her. Because eating ice cream was a pretty sexy thing. And honestly? It was a pretty hot picture.

  Holy crap—it was practically a sext. Was it possible Rowan was into me?

  I’d be on the rebound, wouldn’t I? Maybe not. I hadn’t thought about Matteo for a bit—and Gia said he’d stopped bugging her about me. I hadn’t even been tempted to check his feeds to see what he’d been up to. I truly didn’t care. I was over him.

  But did I want a fling with Rowan Johnston, of all people? Plant-Boy? Talk about completely not my type. Well, physically he was my type. Physically he’d be anyone’s type—I think even the Queen of England would do a double take if she saw that jaw pass her on the street.

  I had to admit that, in the last few weeks, I’d grown to like Rowan. I was drawn to him. Lately, it wasn’t just his jaw that I wanted to stare at, but his smile. The way his soft brown eyes laser-focused on his work when he was in the garden. The way he squinted a little bit when he painted the hydrangea in the store. That little smile on his face when he took that picture of me in the nursery.

  I exhaled. It was true. I was so, so into Rowan Johnston. Not just for his looks, either. In all the ways.

  Oh no. It was happening. Spending more time with him was becoming a disaster.

  17

  TOO MANY STARS IN THE SKY

  Getting clothes ready for a weekend photo shoot was how I used to spend my Friday nights, so after I was done with the sketch to show Hyacinth, I happily altered a T-shirt to fit Rowan, just in case I won the bet and I got the chance to photograph him. The shirt was red, with faux-leather sleeves and an asymmetrical diagonal hem. I’d actually made it for myself but never worn it. It was nice to be sewing—something familiar for a change. It reminded me of my old life in Toronto.

  But even though I was glad to be at my sewing machine again, part of me felt I shouldn’t be doing this. If I was smart, I’d get out of this bet and stay far, far away from Rowan for the rest of the summer. I couldn’t figure out how this had happened, but catching feelings for Plant-Boy was the definition of a bad idea. I needed to tamp down this crush. The Plan should be the only thing on my mind now. Not cute boys in gardens.

  But I still took in the sleeves of the shirt (I needed those manure-bag-slinging biceps on my Insta). By eleven I was done sewing and restless. Gia was, of course, still out, and I wasn’t feeling like checking in with any Toronto friends. I glanced out the window. The garden was so cool at night. The flower beds were all subtly lit, and the normally vibrant colors were dark, shaded versions of their daytime brilliance. I grabbed my camera and went outside.

  I made a beeline for the flower bed near Rowan’s workbench—the one with the big dahlias, peonies, and lush greens. I played around with the settings on my camera and crouched to take some pictures.

  They came out pretty nice. I widened the aperture and slowed the shutter speed a bit more. It looked almost magical—like a scene from one of those movies on alien planets. I kept taking pictures, some zooming in on individual flowers, some wide shots, when a hand on my shoulder nearly made me drop my camera.

  I turned quickly . . . it was Rowan.

  “Jesus—I still need to get you that bell,” I said, shaking my head.

  He chuckled. He was so close. Illuminated only by the dim light of the backyard. The shadows painting his face in exquisite detail.

  I exhaled. I had it bad.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  “True, but I asked first.”

  I took a step away from him and indicated the flowers. “Oh, you know. The garden looks awesome at night. I didn’t think anyone would be out here so late. I figured I’d practice my night photography, but I can go and leave you alone . . .” I was babbling.

  “You don’t have to leave. I was just surprised.” He grinned. “Seems I’ve turned you on to flowers after all.”

  I chuckled. “Or your mother’s antihistamine has. Did you do all the lighting out here?”

  He nodded. “Last year. It’s all solar. The receivers are there.” We walked over to a spot at the end of the garden. He told me more about the work he’d done wiring the garden, and about other plans he had for spotlights on the flower beds.

  “It’s impressive,” I said. “You’ll be sad to leave all this when university starts, won’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not leaving Bakewell forever. My family and Shar are still here to enjoy the garden.”

  I picked up the camera and crouched to take a close-up of a deep-pink dahlia. “Do you plan to come back to Bakewell after graduating university?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll be back to visit at least. My family’s here, and I love Bakewell.”

  “You say that now, but after a month in Toronto, you’ll be a city convert.” I doubted that, though. I still couldn’t imagine Rowan in the city. Actually, I couldn’t imagine Rowan anywhere but here, in this bright, colorful garden. Or at the nursery.

  He chuckled. “Do you really think someone like me will fit in in the big city?”

  I turned to look at him. He was wearing the pale-orange Stormtrooper shirt he’d been in when we met, along with grass-stained jeans and flip-flops.

  “To be honest, I don’t think you’re fitting in here, either,” I said, smiling. “You march to the beat of your own drum.” That’s why I liked him.

  He laughed and watched as I took more pictures of his flowers.

  “So, what are you doing out here at this hour?” I asked after a few more minutes.

  “I always come out here when I can’t sleep.”

  I smiled playfully. “Worried I’m going to trounce you in our bet? I am so looking forward to you finally admitting my brillia
nce.” Oh my God. Was I flirting?

  He laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s it. Totally. But . . .” He narrowed his eyes and raised one brow. “Maybe I’m excited that tomorrow you get to bathe in my brilliance.”

  That was flirty. Totally. Both of us were flirting. My stomach seemed to flip upside down at that look in his eyes. I put my camera on the workbench. “So, what do you specifically do out here when you can’t sleep? Dig? Arrange flowers?”

  “Stargaze,” he said.

  “Oh God.” I rolled my eyes. “Not that again. You’re a bit of a clichéd country boy, you know that, Rowan? You into tipping cows and, IDK . . . monster trucks, too?”

  He laughed. “C’mon. Join me.”

  He got a blanket from the greenhouse, then motioned me over to a grassy patch in the yard. After laying out the blanket, he sat and patted the space next to him.

  “I told you before—I’m not really into stargazing,” I said, but still I sat cross-legged next to him on the blanket.

  “How is anyone not into looking at stars?” he asked, leaning back on his arms so he could look at the sky. “They’re just stars.”

  I shrugged. “The Toronto sky is nothing like this,” I said.

  “I know. I’ve been there. Many times.”

  Of course he had. I had a question on my lips. Would we keep in touch in Toronto after this summer? But I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.

  I decided to ask an easier question. “What do you like about living out in the sticks? I always assumed people who lived in small towns were biding their time for when they could leave.”

  “A lot are. Most of the kids in my class fantasize about living in Toronto or somewhere like that. But I don’t know. I like small-town living. It’s quiet. Lots of nature. I can rely on almost everyone. I mean, it’s not all sunshine and roses, and yeah, there are some profoundly close-minded people in small towns—”