by Siân James
She sighed and perched herself on the stool beside the makeshift till table. “Maybe you will explain it to me later.” She raked her fingers through her dark, chin length bob, sweeping it back from her face. “I'm too tired to concentrate.”
“Okay.” I chuckled and turned back to smile at a browsing customer. We played this game, Camille and I. She tried to teach me French (tried being the operative word), and I'd explain Australian or English slang, sayings and colloquialisms.
When she'd walked into my shop two years ago looking for a job, I'd pretty much hired her on the spot. It was her accent that did it. After she'd agreed, I realised how poor her English really was. She could get by quite well while travelling, but it was clear all her experience speaking in English was from a class or text book and not real life. I didn't mind because I sensed she'd be a fast learner, and I had been proven right every day since. She was exactly the “little extra” my shop needed. With Camille’s innate panache and work ethic on my side The Little Flower shop was positively blooming (excuse the pun).
It was hard work but I loved it. And now it was time to expand.
The problem was we needed a bigger space. The other problem was we had been kicked out of our premises. This was our last week, and I had exhausted all potential new premises in town. I was waiting on the last lease application to be either approved or denied. It would be a fantastic location. Someone was renovating the old cinema complex in the centre of town. Andy and Luke had already had their application for a café and surf store approved, and I was keeping my fingers crossed my application wouldn’t be knocked back. The renovation would change the face of Emerald Cove, bringing life back to the square and drawing tourists to the other struggling businesses. Emerald Cove’s Esplanade beside the beach had never wanted for customers but Main Street which ran perpendicular to it had definitely seen better days
Tash walked in, hands full of pastry bags. “I have news!” She plonked the three brown paper bags down on the makeshift work table. We dove in., not caring who got what. I scored a cinnamon swirl cruffin—a croissant crossed with a muffin crossed with a cinnamon swirl.
“What’s up?” I asked before taking a bite of the sugary goodness. Before we could talk, we were interrupted by a rush of customers.
We spent the next ten minutes selling at least half of what was left. When they left, I suggested we start to pack up because it looked like we would be sold out by midday.
“Do you want to hear my news?” Tash asked, nudging my cruffin back to me. I took another bite and said with mouth full and eyebrows raised, pointing at the remnants of the pastry in my hand, “You mean shish ishn’t it?” Pastry crumbs went flying.
Tash grimaced. “No.”
I tried not to laugh and concentrated on chewing and not choking.
“Guess who I ran into next to the coffee van this morning?”
I shrugged.
“Guess!” she demanded.
I sighed, not wanting to play this game. “Atilla the Hun?”
Tash gave me a look.
“Just tell me!” I exclaimed.
Tash leaned forward, her eyes bright. “Matt Carter!”
I swallowed my mouthful of cruffin. “Who?” The name was familiar.
“You know—he was in my year at school. Sweetest guy ever. Gorgeous.” She put both hands in front of her, palms towards me to emphasis her point. “We used to do swim squad together.”
I shrugged and took another bite. I did know of him. I’d done some summer lifesaving duties with his sister Louise.
“He's right up your alley, Iz,” she said, sitting back with her croissant.
I stopped chewing, glared at her and spoke around my food. “No.”
Camille’s matchmaking radar pinged so loudly, I could practically hear it. She stepped closer. “Who is this?”
“Don't,” I warned, but Tash paid me no heed.
“His name is Matt Carter and he's gorgeous. I told him I was coming to hang out with my friend at her flower stall. Said he should meet me here, buy a bouquet for his mum.”
She turned to Camille. “We all went to school together. Well. kind of. As I said, he was in my year but not Izzie’s. He's just moved home for three months, after studying and working in Sydney for ten years. Super successful.” She gave an eyebrow waggle and ignored my glare. “Something to do with civil engineering and property development. He’s renovating his apartment actually—oh! There he is!” She raised her hand in a wave.
My ears rang. I knew exactly who Tash was talking about because he was walking towards us with a grin plastered on his stupid, beautiful face.
Mr Gorgeous Jerk from upstairs.
I grabbed some buckets of flowers and climbed into the back of the truck behind the marque, but I could still hear and see the interaction from amongst the half empty buckets of flowers.
“Hi again. I see you’ve had some luck this morning,” Tash greeted him, pointing at the two full bags of produce he was carrying.
“You could say that.” He held them up. “I got sold on buying a bag of rhubarb and a bag of cucumbers.”
Tash let out a disbelieving bark of laughter and leaned toward the bags. “What, you mean a whole bag of each?”
Matt rubbed his neck. “Yep.”
“Um, why?”
He shrugged. “I don't know. One minute I was browsing and the next I'd handed over some cash and was being told something about stewing. I left before I got landed with anything else.”
I couldn't stop my snort of laughter if I'd tried. Figuring I’d outed myself, I hopped down from the ute. “Let me guess, you were at Mrs Mac's North Coast Farm?”
He looked up at me, his eyes widening for a moment before narrowing on my legs.
I sauntered over to him, annoyed at my body for the tingle I felt across my skin where his eyes touched.
His marled-green surf brand tee fitted very, very nicely across his broad shoulders while a pair of dark grey board shorts clung desperately to his narrow hips. I knew how they felt. His sunglasses perched on top of his head, sending his hair in all directions, and he was barefoot.
I blinked at his bare feet, wondering how in the hell someone could have sexy feet, and felt myself blush for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, the heat rising along with my irritation. I folded my arms across my chest, trying to gain some distance.
My eyes reached his face just before he'd finished his perusal of me, the self-deprecating grin he'd aimed at Tash had faded, his expression now wary and guarded.
Tash waved her hand excitedly at me. “Matt, these are my friends Izzie and Camille. Izzie owns the Little Flower Shop. She has a brick-and-mortar store in town, but she and Camille come to the markets once a month too. It’s where Izzie started.”
He nodded his greeting. “Morning.”
“Morning. Don't you have some demolition to be doing?” I asked snottily.
Tash’s face fell. “Do you two know each other?”
I glanced at her, then back at Matt who was still eyeing me warily.
“We’ve met,” Matt replied. His eyes still on me, he added, “I finished this morning. I seemed to have a wellspring of irritation to get out and it helped me work faster.”
My eyebrows raised of their own accord. “Good for you.” Oh, the sarcasm.
He visibly sucked air in through his nostrils.
Turning my back to pick up another bucket of flowers, I said, “If you want something, you'll have to be quick.” I leapt onto the ute, where I saw Camille frozen in fascination. As I glared at her, she hopped back down, hustling to finish the clean up so we could dismantle the marque.
“Whatever you’ve got spare would be great,” he called.
I climbed back down and paused, annoyed at his comment for reasons I couldn't fathom. “Well, that won't do,” I said, ignoring the incredulous eyes Tash was giving me from behind his shoulder.
He raised one questioning brow and I felt something flare in my chest. Probab
ly anger.
“Who is it for? What colours do they like? Where will the bouquet sit? What do you want them to say? You can't just pick any flowers.” As if I were having an out of body experience, I could hear myself as I spoke. While I enjoyed creating just the right bouquet for my clients, I also recognized that more often than not, flowers were flowers and it was the thought that counted. I was flustered he had shown up at my place of work, and I didn't appreciate being on the back foot.
“They’re for my mother.” Ice dripped from his words. “Her favourite color is peach, she is particularly fond of Australian bush arrangements. They’ll probably sit on her dining room table, and anything beyond that”—he shrugged—“I don't really care.”
Giving a huff, I turned and had a mini panic when I realised some of the flowers which had first popped into my head when he'd said warm colours and Australian bush arrangements would not be possible because we were sold out of a few key stems.
I thought a moment then went for a different colour scheme of eucalyptus greens and a few small white flowers all centred around three vibrant coral calla lilies. It wasn’t my best work, but it wasn’t too shabby either.
I held them out, hands shaking, “Will this work?”
“Looks good.” He held his eyes on me not the bouquet.
The big fat jerk!
Whirling back to the makeshift workbench, I tried to get my emotions under control—because through the thin film of red over my eyes, I couldn't see what I needed. I took a breath, saw the clippers right in front of me, snatched them up and trimmed the stems with vehemence.
Camille winced.
Ignoring her, I tied a coral ribbon around them, wrapped the base of the stems in tin foil to keep them moist and handed them over. “You won't want those out in the sun too long or they'll start to wilt,” I said after he'd given me some cash.
“Roger that.” He lifted two fingers to his brow in a mocking salute.
To Tash, he said, “Nice to see you again. Had a beer with your brother and Luke last night. You should come next time.”
Tash grinned at him. “Sure thing.”
I tried to disregard the flare of jealously at their familiarity.
He gave Camille a nod. “Nice to meet you.” Turning his eyes on me one more time, he said, “Later, Number Four.”
As he left, white hot fire burned bright in my chest.
“What was all that about?” Tash hissed, but I didn't reply. I was too busy glaring at his retreating form.
He must have felt my eyes boring holes into his back because when he was half way down the row of tented stalls, he turned. The crowd swirled around him, but I could see the coldness was gone from his expression, replaced by bemusement. I turned away, suddenly feeling absurd in my irritation.
“The flat he's renovating is the one above mine, and he seems to have some different ideas about when is and when isn’t a good time to be banging and clanging away.” I snatched up two more buckets. “Come on, let’s get this stuff packed away.”
“So nothing to do with the crazy amount of sexual tension in the air, then?” Tash asked.
I swung around, mouth agape. “Are you kidding?” I scoffed. “Your radar is well off; that was anger. The man is an arrogant jerk.”
Tash shrugged. “If you say so.” But she said it in a sing-song voice with a smile on her face, her eyes sliding conspiratorially to Camille.
“Is that why he was so fascinated with your, how do you say”—Camille waved at my hips—“derrière?”
Tash snorted into her coffee.
I glared at them both and grabbed two more buckets, which I marched to the back of the truck. I didn't want to talk about Matt Carter anymore, and I certainly didn't want to think about his eyes on my bum.
Chapter 3
I pulled my car into the lot behind the old cinema complex and parked in one of the few vacant spots. The old cinema was on the Main Street of Emerald Cove with a large carpark spanning not just the building but the entire block behind it, on the opposite side of which was the town's main supermarket and specialty stores like the butcher, baker, fishmonger, jeweler and a few clothing and surf shops.
The call had come in late last night offering me the space I wanted. To say I was relieved was an understatement. I wasted no time booking the appointment to sign the paperwork, which was why I was now here bright and early.
Mum was waiting for me at the back of the old cinema staring up at some newly erected scaffolding.
Her chocolate curls, streaked liberally with silvery grey were wound up in a colourful headscarf, which clashed spectacularly with the turquoise cap-sleeved dress that stopped just above her knees. The dress wasn't plain turquoise, but was covered in a pattern of white swirls and dots. She wore no makeup as usual except a subtle swipe of a peachy-pink lipstick complimenting her tanned skin and setting off the pale blue of her eyes. Eyes I always wished I'd inherited but, sadly, while I'd inherited almost everything else from my mum, my eyes were the boring brown of my father, otherwise known as the sperm donor.
“New dress?”
She smiled at me in greeting and nodded. “Got it at the markets last week. And the shoes.”
She pointed one foot out in front of her, and I admired the strappy, tan sandals.
“Nice.”
“Thank you. Here.” She offered me her cheek, which I obediently planted a kiss on, and a coffee, which I accepted and took a quick sip of.
I instantly regretted it. “Hah, too hot.”
She rolled her eyes at me and gestured at the wall that was the back of the Old cinema building. “Isn't this just the best idea for this ugly wall?”
I looked up at the half-finished mural. An outline had been spray-painted of a swirling ocean current with seas turtles and colourful fish surfing along from the upper middle of the wall to the ground. Above were the outlines of the leaves and flowers of eucalypts and bottle brush. And to the right, working on some jellyfish, was my old high school art teacher. I could see the telltale sign of ear bud cables dangling from her ears as she bopped to whatever she was listening to and continued with her work.
“Yeah, it sure is.”
Sheryl, the property manager, stepped up next to me, shading her eyes against the morning sun, and started talking as if we were mid-conversation.
“There's going to be an eco-garden planted on the roof to help with temperature control and the”—her fingers curled into speech marks for emphasis—“carbon-footprint.” Her expression insinuated it was some new-fangled concept she didn't understand but was in awe of. “And so the tenants have somewhere quiet to have a break if they want. Also there's going to be wisteria planted in the dirt either side of the wall and trained to grow up the sides of the mural.”
I glanced down and saw two semi-circle patches of dirt on the pavement against the wall at either end of the building. They'd recently been dug over and filled with new soil but were yet to have any plants sprouting or growing.
“Wow. Sounds amazing,” I replied. And it really did. My excitement, already at extreme levels, rose in anticipation of being part of this new development.
We watched the progress of the painting a little longer before Sheryl broke the silence. “Well, Izzie, shall we?”
“We shall.” I didn't bother trying to hide the eagerness in my voice; it was practically oozing out of my pores. I was probably giving off a mini golden glow I was so eager.
She grinned and led us through the alley in the centre of the building. “And how are you, Sue? What have you been up to?” I'd been at school with one of Sheryl's sons, so they'd known each other for years, just like almost everyone else in town.
“Oh, you know, this and that. Jim and I went to the Whitsundays for a few weeks before Christmas.”
When we came to what would very soon be my front door, Sheryl pulled out what would very soon be my key, inserted it, turned and pushed. “Sounds lovely.”
We entered.
While Mum and Sh
eryl continued with their small talk, I moved through the space which would soon be my front of shop. Clasping my hands, I envisioned the colour scheme I wanted to use for the walls (antique white accented by a deep, decadent turquoise); the lighting (I was pleased to note some markings which indicated a window would soon be floor to ceiling in the eastern red-brick wall, which meant more natural light—yay!); and the perfect position for my antique display table. I planned to stack together old milk crates and buckets of flowers on top for customers to pick their own bouquets as if they were in a field of wildflowers. I didn’t want just a local flower shop like I had before, but a destination flower shop. I wanted people to come from far and wide especially to visit my store, and of course, buy stuff.
When people made plans to visit Emerald Cove, I wanted to be top of their to-do list: beach, coffee, the Little Flower Shop.
I already had contracts with some amazing local and not-so-local suppliers. I just needed the space, and as I moved through it, I could see it all unfolding in front of me.
“Izzie?”
I spun on my heels.
“Any questions before we proceed?”
“Um, no, I think everything was clear in the contract. I went through it over the weekend, and I think it all seems very straightforward and quite accommodating.”
Sheryl nodded as she moved on her sensible heeled pumps to the dirty table left at the side of the room.
“I have questions.” Mum was doing her mum thing and worrying. Sheryl was also a mum, so she gave her an attentive look.
“How long until the opening event?”
“Ah, yes! I have very good news for you.” Sheryl checked her watch. “The landlord said he wanted to meet you here as well, but I guess he's running a bit late.”
“Oh?” Surprising. I didn't realise the landlord was local. Sheryl had alluded to some big city buyer from Sydney investing in small towns.
“Yes, I don't suppose he'll mind if I tell you though.“ She grinned at me. “Opening weekend is scheduled for the weekend before the Easter long weekend.”
I gasped. “But this year, it’s—”