by Amanda Tru
“Hi, Brooke,” she answered, her normal cheerful tone quite subdued. “How are things going?”
“I’m almost done with the apology calls,” Brooke reported. “For the most part, they’ve gone better than I expected. I just have a few more of Dylan’s orders, and then I’m done.”
Tylee sniffled. “I’m so sorry, Brooke! I feel like it’s all my fault! With all the accidental orders and the way you’re getting blamed for everything, I wouldn’t be surprised if you hate me!” The young woman’s sniffles were approaching the level of sobbing.
“Tylee, it is not your fault,” Brooke said firmly.
But before she could comfort any further, Tylee jumped in. “But I’m the one who spilled the coffee and printed out the wrong orders!”
“But I was the one in charge!” Brooke insisted. “Helen should have never left us in charge without giving us the passwords and training we needed to manage the orders. And I should have carefully reviewed the orders before giving you the okay to print. I really don’t know what I could have done differently about the online orders. Helen left me with no way to reprint them and no way to contact her, so I did the best I could, which was apparently a very lousy job that included plenty of mistakes. But the point is, everything you did was accidental. I’m the one who should fully take the blame because I was the one responsible. You were there to assist me.”
Despite Brooke’s words, Tylee continued to cry. To make matters worse, she noticed that Dylan was paying very close attention to her conversation and was looking at her with open curiosity from where he now perched on one of the chairs at the dining table that stood between the kitchen and living room areas.
Trying to block him out, she focused on deciphering Tylee’s words through the sobs.
“I know you don’t want me to feel bad,” Tylee blubbered, “but you weren’t at the shop today to hear all of the calls. And the way Grammy talked about you was awful!” The hiccuping sobs were making it increasingly difficult for her to speak at all. “I did try to talk to her… I want you to know that I tried… I told her I was the one who spilled the coffee. And printed out the wrong orders. But she wouldn’t listen… Said it was your fault… I even told her I was the one who got her password… But I don’t think she even believed me!” Tylee’s last words ended in a wail.
Brooke sighed. Self consciously glancing at Dylan, she saw that he had apparently lost interest in their conversation and looked to be making a phone call on his own cell.
Realizing this might take a while, Brooke set her plate of food beside her on the couch and prayed to find the right words to say to her friend. “Thank you for trying, Tylee,” she finally managed, “but I didn’t expect the truth to make any difference. Listen to me, I don’t want you to worry about it. I will be fine. There is nothing you can do, and I don’t want you torturing yourself over something that you can’t change and isn’t your fault to begin with.”
It took several more, long minutes to calm Tylee down to the point that she could breathe normally again. Every once in a while, movement would break her concentration, and she would look up to see Dylan talking on his phone at the other side of the room. Mostly, he was pacing. Occasionally, a hand would run through his hair or stroke his jaw as if he were involved in his own rather serious and stressful conversation.
Eventually, Brooke was able to sign off with a relatively calm Tylee, promising to see her at work the next morning.
Brooke felt the threat of tears again as soon as Tylee’s voice fell silent. She wasn’t done yet. Tylee’s call had cost her, and now she didn’t have the chance to relax and eat before finishing up with Dylan’s orders. If she didn’t make the calls now, it would be too late to get them done. Looking at her plate of food regretfully, she made herself stand and go look for Dylan’s list on the counter.
She found it and picked it up to read the list of three names. Deciding to start with Audra, she lifted her phone to dial, but a persistent tapping on her shoulder stopped her. Turning, she found Dylan with one hand still holding the phone to his ear. With his other hand, he pointed to the phone and mouthed the word “Destiny!”
Startled, Brooke looked down at the list and then back up to him. “You’re talking to Destiny?” she mouthed back.
Dylan gave an exaggerated nod.
Brooke pointed to the list and then back to herself. “I’ll call Shauna,” saying the words with her lips, but allowing no sound to escape.
Dylan shook his head no and pointed to himself
Brooke didn’t know if that meant that he had already called Shauna, or that he intended to call her himself.
Brooke pointed to the last name on and waved it emphatically.
Dylan once again adamantly shook his head. But this time, he took a step forward and took the list from Brooke. Folding it up, he stuck it in his pocket. Then, taking her hand, he led her to the couch. Releasing her hand, he pointed to her plate of food.
His message was clear: she was not to call anyone else; she was to eat. Brooke may have argued with him and insisted that he let her make the apologies, but she was just so tired, hungry, and relieved that her muscles seemed to give out. She was sprawled on the couch before Dylan had to say anything on his end of the phone conversation.
Picking up her plate of food, she ate and idly listened to Dylan’s conversation. The food was long cold by this time, but it didn’t matter to Brooke. It tasted wonderful. The conversation he was having didn’t sound overly dramatic, but every time he tried to sign off, the woman seemed to launch on another topic. Dylan actually did very little talking. Finally managing to end the call, he immediately dialed another number on his phone, not even sparing a glance Brooke’s direction.
Brooke finished her food, washed her plate at the sink, and headed back to the couch. With more than a little anxiety, Brooke used her phone to check social media for the first time that day. Of course, she immediately found the post from Crossroads Floral about the issue with the accidental orders. Though her mind screamed not to do it, her finger pushed the button to read the comments. The unkind words blurred in front of her teary eyes. Comment after comment either poked fun or angrily suggested that the florist responsible be fired. From what she saw, none of those people had been directly affected by the accident, yet they all offered harsh and ready opinions about what should be done. There was not a single comment that was positive or sympathetic to the person responsible.
Brooke’s phone slipped from her grasp, grabbed by another set of fingers. Startled, Brooke looked up to see Dylan frowning down at her with her phone in his possession. He then placed another object in her hand instead. It was a remote control. Pointing to the TV, he clearly pantomimed that she should watch TV instead.
Not having the energy to put up a fight, she obediently turned on the TV, but she watched Dylan instead. For this call, it sounded like the woman on the other end was crying while Dylan tried to comfort. He was careful to not get too personal or give hope of a future relationship, but it seemed like this second round of breakup was a difficult one. And the poor man looked plenty miserable.
Tears overflowed her eyes as she realized he was doing it for her.
He was making the calls that she should be making. She had been the one to mess up his order. She should have been the one to explain the mistakes and issue an apology. But he was talking to his ex-girlfriends and explaining things so that she wouldn’t have to.
Though she wasn’t thrilled about him confiscating her phone, she also realized that he, again, was trying to spare her more pain. She was sure he’d seen her face as she’d read the posts and comments. It was one of those things that she couldn’t bear to watch, and couldn’t bear to look away.
It was a strange feeling to have someone look out for her and to do things to try to protect her. And it was more than enough to push her weary emotions over the edge. Unfortunately, once the dam had been breached, there was no going back. Her mind lost track of Dylan’s conversation and the sce
nes playing out on the TV, and instead, it replayed the events of the day. Every embarrassment, every awkward moment, every difficulty paraded through, ending with a detailed review of every word of criticism that she’d just seen on the screen of her phone.
Tears silently streamed down her face in long trails, and she let them. She made not a sound, and there were no sobs. But she couldn’t hold it in anymore.
She wasn’t really aware of when Dylan noticed her tears. All she knew was that he was suddenly sitting on the couch beside her. He still had his phone up to his ear with one hand, but he wrapped the other arm around Brooke’s shoulders and pulled her close in comfort. Eventually, he must have successfully ended the call, but by then Brooke’s eyes had slid shut, tired of the burning tears. The last thing she felt before sleep stole her away was gentle fingers catching the remaining tears on her face.
Some time later, she stirred, lifting her head to find it nestled against Dylan’s chest. She blinked. Right where she had lain was a wet spot on his shirt, and she, unfortunately, didn’t know whether it was remnants from her tears or drool.
“Shhh,” Dylan said.
She realized she’d awoken when he’d tried to carefully extract himself from his position as her pillow.
He stood from the couch, but then bent back over her. His hand gently stroked over her forehead. “It’s okay. Just go back to sleep. It’s all done. All the calls have been made.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, already back to half-asleep.
With one last touch to her cheek that, in her sleepy state, felt suspiciously like a caress, he was gone.
Helen hung up the phone and glared, yet again, at Brooke. “If I had an order for every time I answered the phone and it was someone from the media or just a curious nobody wanting to gawk at our predicament, I would be a wealthy woman.”
“I’m sorry, Helen,” Brooke said, her fingers pausing in their ministrations to the roses in a large vase. “If you want to direct all the media requests to me, I’m sure I can manage and answer their questions. That way you won’t have to deal with them.”
“No!” Helen spat. “You will not be talking to any newspapers, or news stations, or radio stations, or bloggers, or who else may call! I will handle it. And the sooner everyone understands that we won’t be talking about the fiasco, the sooner it will stop being talked about. People will forget quickly, and we can move on.”
“But if I could just explain to people what actually did happen, then maybe they would be more understanding and sympathetic,” Brooke ventured.
“Absolutely not! I am a professional, and as such, I have not released your name. Despite your deplorable actions, I intend to keep it that way. All the public needs to know is that a mistake was made.”
“But Helen, it’s Crossroads, everyone already knows that Brooke Hutchins is the florist at Crossroads Floral. And they are saying horrible things about me, and the shop in general. If I just came out and explained—”
“I said no! You can only make things worse! We are the laughing stock of the town, and you are the court jester! We are not going to give them more fuel to work with. We’ll have enough trouble dealing with the decrease in orders from the scandal. We can’t take any more. It ends here.”
Tylee spoke up from where she stood at the counter getting the cards ready for delivery. “Actually, Grammie, we seem to have more orders than usual today. What is that saying? The one about bad publicity not really being bad? Or maybe it was good publicity outweighing the bad? I don’t know. It’s something about publicity.” Tylee’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“I did not ask for your input, Tylee!” Helen fumed.
“‘There’s no such thing as bad publicity.’” Brooke supplied helpfully.
Tylee’s face brightened. “That’s it!”
“That’s enough!” Helen shrieked. “Both of you get back to work. I did not ask your opinion, and I certainly don’t need it. I am the one in charge. If anyone asks you questions about the orders from yesterday, you direct them to me. I will not have either of you creating a bigger mess for me to deal with. Your lips are zipped, do you understand?”
Both Brooke and Tylee nodded, but Brooke’s fingers trembled as she added baby’s breath to the bouquet of a dozen roses. If she was not permitted to defend herself, she had very little hope of any redemption in the eyes of Crossroads. She was sure that Helen, a well-respected woman in the community, had already painted her the villain and would only continue to do so. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that Helen wanted to handle all information about the incident because she wanted to be able to abstain from any responsibility in the matter. If she could blame it all on Brooke and prevent her and Tylee from talking, then no one would know her part in the matter. She would just readily repeat the story that while she was away at a funeral, mourning a dear relative, Brooke let chaos reign in the flower shop and, out of sheer stupidity and carelessness, sent orders to the wrong people.
“Brooke, I need all of those orders completed in the next hour. If we want to earn back our good reputation, we need to start by having Tylee make the deliveries early. Brooke looked at the list in front of her with great apprehension. Tylee wasn’t exaggerating when she said there were more orders than usual. She had been steadily working on arrangements since she arrived hours ago. Even at her most productive, Brooke didn’t know how she could finish so many orders with such a deadline.
But she knew it would do no good to complain, so she merely nodded and grabbed another vase for the next order on the list.
The bell over the door jingled. Leaning over, Brooke took a peek at the door, then quickly drew her head back, hoping she hadn’t been seen.
It was Dylan.
The memories of last night instantly inflamed her face. She still had no idea how long she had lain on Dylan’s chest with his arm cuddled around her. Her memories of him leaving were hazy, she had no idea what time that had been. She had fallen back asleep on the couch, only to awaken some time later. At 2:30 in the morning, she got a shower, brushed her teeth, and then crawled into bed.
“Mr. Masters, how may I help you today?” Helen greeted, her voice sickly sweet. “Do you have a special lady friend we need to send flowers to? I think it only right that, after the trouble from yesterday, this order be on the house.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Garrison,” Dylan replied politely, “but I won’t be placing an order today. I actually need to speak with Miss Hutchins. I’d like to follow up with her about yesterday.”
“Are there more apologies she needs to make?” Helen asked warily. “Did she not complete the tasks you asked her to?”
“Oh, no,” Dylan assured. “She handled everything much better than I’d ever hoped. I’m on my lunch break from work, and I merely wanted to give her an update on some of the orders we didn’t have a chance to discuss yesterday.”
“Oh, well that’s fine,” Helen said, though she obviously wasn’t too happy about it. “She’s working in back. You can go talk to her while she works.”
“Thanks,” Dylan replied.
For a few frantic seconds, Brooke considered whether she could make a run for the restroom or hide under the counter without being seen. But she knew she couldn’t waste precious time hiding, so she would have to be brave and face Dylan. She just hoped his lunch break was a short one.
“Hi, Brooke,” Dylan said, coming around the divider and flashing her his signature Dylan Masters smile.
“Hi,” Brooke replied, barely looking up from the mini irises she was arranging in a vase.
“I wasn’t sure that your warden was going to let me have visitation.” Keeping his voice low, Dylan glanced over to see Helen busy at the phone.
“Yes, it is a busy day,” Brooke replied simply. Deciding to forgo any small talk, she pushed him to get to the point. “Is there anything I can help you with? Did you need me to make any more calls?”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “You were pretty tired
last night, so I just wanted to make sure you understood that it was all taken care of. All of the recipients of my orders have been contacted and issued an apology. It took some doing, but I think overall, there are no hard feelings.”
“Thank you,” Brooke said. Her fingers paused on the flowers as a wave of emotion caught at her, weakening her attempt at staying professional. “I know you didn’t have to do that, but you did it so I wouldn’t have to. And I very much appreciate it.”
“You’re very welcome.” Dylan came closer. She could feel him just behind her, and for half a second, she longed to lean back into him and feel his arms wrap around her. “Brooke, I came to see how you are.”
She jumped at the touch of his gentle hands on her arms.
“I’m fine,” Brooke said, willing himself not to react. To not feel the electricity shooting from his warm hands, the gentle wisp of his breath against the back of her hair, the call of warmth emanating from the presence behind her. “As I said, it is a really busy day. Helen’s received lots of calls about yesterday, but mostly it’s just people who are curious. I really think I’m fine. I –”
“Brooke, can I take you to dinner?”
Dylan’s words immediately cut off Brooke’s babbling as well as just about every thought in her head. She turned around and looked up at him, trying to read his face. “You mean, like a date?” The question popped out, and, as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t snatch it back.
Dylan looked at her with an amused grin. “Yes,” he replied. “I’d like to take you on a date, Brooke.”
“I thought you were swearing off dating for a while,” she, turning back to her flowers and, obviously agitated, working with jerky movements. “I guess that didn’t last long. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, has it?”
“I believe I said at the time that I would allow for some exceptions,” Dylan said, his tone more guarded.
Brooke was so scattered that she couldn’t recall any of the exceptions Dylan was referring to. Everything was a heart-pounding blur, and her over-riding emotion was panic. Unfortunately, Brooke did not respond well when afflicted with such overwhelming emotions.