by Jen Peters
He turned back to the cat. “Where’s your owner, huh?” he asked it in spite of himself. He scratched the cat behind the ears for a moment, then gave up. He pulled out his phone and entered florist into Google Maps. There was nothing closer than two towns over. “That’s why these guys are still in business,” he muttered, heading for the door. “Nowhere else to go.”
“Oh!” he heard suddenly from the back. The voice was female, young and surprised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“You might have, if you had a bell or something to ring,” he said shortly. “I wonder how many customers you’ve lost because you didn’t know about them.”
He stared her down, but it was more difficult than he expected—the abundance of black curls cascading down her back was quite distracting. Could they even be real?
“I’m sorry,” the young woman apologized again, bringing Mitch back to himself. “I’m the only one here right now and most people know to come find me.”
Small town attitudes—one more reason he preferred the city. “Now that I’ve found you, I’m looking for daisies and yellow roses to put on a grave.”
She frowned. “Nobody’s died recently.”
Mitch raised an eyebrow. “There are other graves in the cemetery, I imagine. Perhaps even going back a few years?”
“Well, yes, but that would be locals, and I don’t know you. I mean …” she trailed off, probably realizing how rude she’d been.
Mitch just watched her.
“Look,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Let me start over. I’m Ree Swanson. Welcome to McCormick’s Creek. I’d be happy to put a daisy-and-rose bouquet together for you. Do you want them in a plastic sleeve, which will last through a rainstorm or two, or a vase that’s made for sitting on grass?”
He didn’t know. He’d never taken flowers to a grave before. What would Granddad want? “Uh, let’s go with a vase.”
She prattled on while she gathered flowers. “Where are you from? Is this your first time here? Do you have relatives in the cemetery? Do you need directions?”
Mitch looked out the door, ignoring most of the questions. “We’ll probably need directions—the town’s changed since my grandfather lived here. I’ll go find out which cemetery.”
“Your grandfather!” Ree exclaimed. “He’s from here? What’s his name?"
“McC—“ he started, then stopped. She was quite the chatterbox, and Granddad would be a celebrity here in the town his family had founded. He gave a slight shake of his head and went out to the car to ask about the cemetery.
“Presbyterian, like any good Scot,” Granddad informed him. “It should be about two blocks over.”
Back inside, the girl had made quick work of the bouquet. Daisies, yellow roses and some little white flower spilled from a vase with a squat bottom, the better not to fall over with, he assumed. “That’s nice, thank you. And we need to go to the Presbyterian Church cemetery—he says about two blocks?”
She nodded, her mass of curls swaying, catching the light like a raven’s wing. “Turn on Jefferson, and you’ll see it. But you didn’t tell me your name!”
Mitch smiled and paid for the bouquet. “You have a nice day, now." The bell over the door rang as he left. He handed his grandfather the flowers, collected a smile in return, and leaned against the headrest once he sat.
“What?” Granddad asked.
“That girl in there would wear anybody out. Never stopped asking questions, and when she found out you were from here…I didn’t know if you wanted me giving out your name.”
“Don’t see why not, I’m certainly not ashamed of it,” the old man answered. After a pause, he said, “You’re probably right. They even have a Founder’s Day for my grandfather, parade and all. If they find out I’m the McCormick who bought back the old mansion, who knows what they’ll do.”
Mitch headed for the cemetery, still thinking about Ree Swanson and her inquisitiveness. Nosiness, more like, he thought. How did any business keep going with her running it?
Chapter 2
Ree wrapped a florist wire around the long rose stem and managed to poke her thumb with the sharp end of the wire. She watched blood well up in a tiny dot, still thinking about the stranger who had wanted cemetery flowers. She’d never had such an un-chatty customer. He wouldn’t even tell her his name!
She sucked on her finger, sighed, and reached for another rose. At least she wasn’t doing another funeral arrangement. This birthday bouquet was filled with pink roses, purple iris, and her mother’s edelweiss. And if she let her eyes go unfocused, it might even remind her of a Monet painting she had seen in a Portland museum.
That was the worst thing about living in a tiny place. After five years in Eugene at the University of Oregon—she’d switched majors three times—and one glorious summer interning in Portland, she was more unhappy than ever with her hometown. The closest she could come to anything cultural in McCormick’s Creek was squinting to make her work seem interesting.
Still, she had the skills to make birthday arrangements look like a work of art. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Rich, intoxicating…the perfume from the roses swept her away to the year before, to her time with Luc at college.
Luc, her hot French boyfriend who brought her flowers at random times. Luc, who had thought she was cute when she hung out at the French co-op to absorb any sort of ambience she could. Luc, who had taught her what romance truly was. Or so she thought.
She grit her teeth and opened her eyes, unshed tears softening the iris and roses into more impressionist colors. She had looked forward to a life with him, living somewhere romantic like Provence, walking amid flowers and vineyards. Or visiting the Louvre and browsing the stores along the Champs-Élysées.
When Luc did what he did, her dream of living in France had crumbled to pieces, right along with her confidence in love. In defense, she had rebelled against the idea of men altogether, and her mind had thrown France out the window. Perhaps England instead, the Thames, seeing plays in London’s West End. Or even Germany or Switzerland, managing a small hotel in the mountains. To just be anywhere but Oregon.
But instead of exploring the world, escaping both Luc and McCormick’s Creek, she hadn’t even finished college yet. She was two semesters short of her degree in Hospitality and Tourism, her plans of working in a European boutique hotel on hold while her mother recovered from hand surgery.
Pumpkin, her mother’s orange cat who thought he ruled the shop, interrupted her thoughts with a rough meow from his perch on a high cabinet. “Fine for you,” she said to him. “You don’t care about career plans or romance anyway. You just sit there and watch all of us scurry around."
Ree was glad his scratchy voice had cut her thoughts off—she’d end up having a proper pity party if she didn’t watch it. She snipped the end of another deep purple iris for the bouquet and gently stroked the velvet of the petals before turning the vase to judge it. It was good, just needing one more frond of greenery. The birthday customer would love it.
With a glance at the clock, she breathed a sigh of relief, turned the sign to Closed, and locked the front door. All the arrangements were done for the next day. Pumpkin rubbed against her leg, and she set a bowl of fresh water down for him and refilled his kibble. She stroked his fur before stepping out the back door, breathing deeply into the cool air of dusk. Shadows played across her car, and the fir trees behind the shop had already turned night-dark. One more deep breath, her lungs filling with oxygen, and she went back in to clean up before checking on her mother.
When she got home, the house was dark but the greenhouse in back seemed lit for a celebration. Of course that’s where her mother was, Ree thought wryly. No matter how limited she was after her hand surgery, she couldn’t stay away from her flowers.
Her footsteps crunched on the gravel path, and she pushed the door open. Warm, humid air enveloped her, and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. “Mom?” she called. “You in here som
ewhere?”
Faint clangs of metal came from the other end of the building. Then finally, “Back here.”
Ree made her way down the aisle, edelweiss on one side and the strange batwing flowers on the other. Sometimes they creeped her out with their huge dark shapes, sometimes she thought they were fascinating. Her mother, plus a good number of customers, loved them.
“I finished the orders for tomorrow,” Ree reported. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” her mother snapped, leaning against a potting table with her arms crossed. “I don’t need checking up on.”
Ree looked at the crumbs of dirt across the table and on the floor. Newly transplanted seedlings sat under the growlight. “Mom! You know you’re not supposed to be doing that!" Ree maneuvered around her mother to see the trowel and bag of potting soil. “You need to be doing your physical therapy exercises, not using hand tools that the doctor specifically told you to stay away from.”
Her mother hmmphed and re-crossed her arms. “You may have gone to college, but that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”
Ree snorted. “If you haven’t noticed, I can’t finish college until your hand is better, so I have a definite interest in you following doctor’s orders.”
She could almost see her mother’s mental eye roll. “Look, I didn’t come out to bug you, but I have an online paper due at noon tomorrow. I’ll be working on it tonight and tomorrow morning, and you’ll need to cover the shop.”
“You don’t need to worry about it." Her mother glared. She flexed her bad hand and rubbed the palm. “It’s my own store, remember.”
“I remember,” Ree huffed. “You’re just not spending much time there lately.” She took a deep breath—arguing wasn’t going to change anything. “I’ll get something on for dinner and then I’ll be in my room.”
It might be her mother’s store, but Ree was the one taking care of things during her mother’s recovery. The only way she kept her sanity was by taking a couple online classes, and if her mother wasn’t back to full use soon, Ree would miss her last internship.
How long until she could get on with her own life?
Chapter 3
Mitch wasn’t thrilled with cemeteries. He’d been both sad and scared at his grandmother’s funeral when he was twelve, and while he’d attended a few since then, these weren’t places he felt comfortable.
He helped his grandfather across the grass to an older section up against the trees. The old man stood for a moment, clasping the vase.
“She was a formidable woman, my grandmother,” Granddad said. “She held the family together during the depression, stalwart through the loss of everything the McCormicks had. You know she was born to one of the miners? He was a tough old coot, started out…”
Mitch’s mind wandered. There wasn’t much to connect Granddad’s old stories to Mitch’s problems of the present. He was passing too much work onto his paralegal, no matter how reliable Mike Cheung was. He had to get his head back in the game somehow. Perhaps when the inn was up and running, he’d be able to focus on his work better. Recapture his old feelings for it.
Granddad stumbled, jerking Mitch out of his thoughts. Mitch caught his arm and pulled him close, but the vase of flowers tumbled to the ground.
“That’s all right, Granddad, I’ll get it." When Mitch was sure the old man would stay somewhat steady, he set the vase by the headstone and got the flowers looking decent again. “It needs more water.”
“Leave it,” Granddad said. “Just let me rest a bit.”
Mitch helped him over to a cement bench under a maple tree. Ten minutes passed, the breeze rustling through the leaves overhead. Ten minutes of worrying, watching the old man breathe, clasping his hand while it shook slightly.
Finally Granddad opened his eyes and pulled his hand away. “I’m fine. Let’s go see how the mansion is coming along.”
“You sure you’re ready?”
“‘Course I’m ready. Why wouldn’t I be ready?”
“Shall we get some water for the flowers?”
“Hmmph. Why? They’re going to die anyway.”
Yup, his grandfather was back to his old self, feisty and opinionated as ever.
They walked slowly back to the Porsche and Mitch helped his grandfather ease in. “Go back out to the main street and just keep going,” Granddad said, settling his cane between his legs.
“I know, I’ve been checking in on the renovations, remember?" Not to mention that he was the one who had researched the place almost a year ago and bought it at his grandfather’s request. He’d been puzzled at why Granddad wanted to go back to something more than a hundred years old, but when you worked for the McCormick law firm, you did whatever the eldest McCormick wanted.
What would happen when Granddad passed away? Mitch shuddered. He hoped it would be a long way off, but there wasn’t anyone in the generation between Granddad and him—Mitch’s parents were environmental activists traveling the world, and his mom’s brother had died of cancer a few years before. Mitch didn’t know if he had it in him to run the firm, at least not yet. If he couldn’t be the forceful attorney his grandfather expected, there was no way he could take over the whole thing. But Granddad would stick awhile longer, God willing.
They rounded a corner, and Mitch slowed the Porsche almost to a crawl as they approached the Queen Anne mansion. His grandfather caught his breath at the sight.
A few months before, the grand old house had been covered in faded, peeling paint, with broken stairs and at least one boarded-up window. Now it was a brilliant sky blue, startling in its color but somehow fitting in its rebirth. The repairs had been going well inside and out, and workers were painting the gingerbread trim as they arrived.
He pulled into the driveway and turned the engine off, gazing at the porches and turrets—all the elegance and excess of the Victorian age. It would be a wonderful Bed & Breakfast if they could manage to get customers to come all the way up here. And if not…well, indulging his grandfather was something he was happy to do. The patriarch certainly had enough money to spend what he wanted restoring his family home.
“Would you like to get out and look?”
His grandfather gave him a withering glance that made him wonder why he had asked. He went around the car and helped the old man to his feet, then across the driveway and up the stairs.
“We used to play under this porch on hot days,” Granddad reminisced. “We thought it was our own secret hiding place until we realized that the older cousins had always known about it and were only letting us win.” He smiled as he looked around approvingly.
Mitch swung open the wide front door, and his grandfather gasped. The foyer welcomed them with gleaming wood and a grand curving staircase. An upholstered bench invited tired visitors to sit, and the magnificent chandelier threw arcs of light from its crystal teardrops, scattering tiny rainbows around the room.
“I knew you could work wonders, boy, but I didn’t realize you could make it look better than my memories.”
Mitch shrugged. It was Justin Cooper and Cat Billings who had done the work—all he had done was provide a bit of direction and the money. But yes, it was gorgeous, even if there were some finishing touches still to be done.
They walked around the welcome hall and the parlor, Granddad waxing nostalgic about childhood Christmases and people long gone. Mitch showed him the dining room and new kitchen and he nodded in approval.
“Upstairs?” Mitch asked.
“Oh no, this is about all I can do." He sat on the bench and just looked, then closed his eyes for a bit. Mitch wondered if the whole trip hadn’t been too much.
Granddad’s eyes popped open, and he levered himself up. “Let’s go,” he said, walking resolutely to the door, his cane keeping time on the polished parquet floor.
Mitch followed him. Back to the grind.
Chapter 4
Ree snuggled into her pillow late Sunday morning, glad the florist shop was closed but still p
rocrastinating her event planning project.
You busy? came a text from her best friend, Robin. come over!
By the time Ree knocked at the Cooper house, no one answered the door. Laughter came from around back, though, so she let herself through the side fence. One of Robin’s stray dogs jumped up to greet her, followed quickly by Robin herself.
“Dutch, get down!” Robin scolded the mutt. “Hey, Ree, how’s it going?”
Ree accepted a Coke and followed her deeper into the large backyard. “Okay. It’s frustrating but…” her voice trailed off as she looked around. “I didn’t realize you had the whole gang over.” It seemed a large gathering, with Robin’s brother Justin, his girlfriend Cat, some younger cousins playing frisbee, and a bunch of aunts and uncles.
“It grew, but it’s just family. C’mon. You have to meet someone.”
Ree raised her eyes. “A boyfriend? You’ve been holding back on me.”
Robin glared at her. “Of course not—a new dog that got dumped out here. Checkers, here boy!”
A blotchy-colored dog the size of a small mountain came bounding over. Ree took a step back before he could knock her over.
Robin hunkered down and gave the monster a hug. “Isn’t he sweet? I’ll never understand how people can just shove their pets out of the car in the middle of nowhere and drive off.”
Ree looked at her best friend and shook her head. They had known each other as infants, had walked into kindergarten enchanted with their names both starting with R. They had practically lived at each other’s houses and somehow survived middle school awkwardness. When Lorraine moved in, she dropped her name to Raine and they became The Three Rs, muddling through high school social life together. At least until the whole senior year mess.
In all that time, while many of Ree’s own weekends had been filled with dates and sometimes steady boyfriends, Robin had been quiet and introverted around anyone but her family, never quite connecting with the guys she had crushes on. And then the bullying hit, Raine betrayed her, and she pulled even more into herself.