by Gorman, A.
“Entertainment?”
Ella pretended to think for a moment.
“Well, I volunteer at the animal shelter. I read. Um, kayak. Mostly outdoor stuff when I’m not here.”
“Is this your place? Or do you just work here?”
Damn, this lady asks a lot of questions.
“It’s mine. I own it. So, do you want to place an order, or…”
The apparently famous, petite, rude, blonde woman rapped her perfectly polished pink nails on the counter for a moment, then knocked on it with her pale knuckles. This was enough to rouse Petal from his slumber, and he loped around the corner to see what the noise was.
“Oh!” exclaimed the now nervous, petite, apparently famous, rude blonde whose name Ella had already forgotten.
“He’s friendly. With friendly people.”
“Yes, well, he’s…lovely. If you can deliver six vases of those flowers we discussed—no—make that eight, to Milson’s Farm—”
“Milton’s.”
“…on Sunday before one p.m., then yes, I will order the flowers from you.”
“Don’t you want to know how much it’ll cost first?”
“No. I’ll have my assistant, James, come by later with the payment. Don’t be late, please.”
“Sure thing. See you then.”
Ella waited until Miss Movie Actress was out the door and had climbed into her rented red convertible (of course) before mimicking her. Her type came in every couple of years or so, rich divas who thought they were important because they were famous. All thanks to a big-shot movie producer who stumbled into town a while back and decided his movie had to be filmed there. Since then, Everwood had served as the backdrop for at least three subsequent movies. The quaint, picturesque town with its rolling farmlands and mom and pop stores along Main Street was apparently their idea of Every Town, USA.
As if there were no other small towns for them to bother in the entire country, Ella grumbled to herself. They all did the same thing: act as if they didn’t want to be recognized, but when they weren’t, they got offended. Well, the rest of the town was welcome to fawn all over them, but Ella could not care less.
“C’mon, Petal, let’s go outside.”
As usual, Petal was more interested in sleep. After some coaxing, he rose slowly, stretching out his front paws and giving an exaggerated yawn. They walked out into her gated side lot, where she kept shrubs, potted plants, mulch, and soil for sale. Her small but full greenhouse was located toward the very back of the lot.
“Okay, Petal. You stand guard while I go into the greenhouse. Okay?”
Petal blinked at her a moment, then sauntered to the gate, where he promptly laid down. Despite his act of disinterest, Ella knew Petal would alert her to any visitors to the shop.
“Good boy, Petal.”
She had almost a half hour’s peace and quiet to tend to her hothouse tomatoes before the first wet taps of rain began to smack against the glass panes. Ella had been engrossed in her task and hadn’t even noticed the darkening greenhouse. She stepped out, wiping dirt onto her well-worn overalls, then used the back of her hand to brush the locks of champagne blonde hair that had slipped free from her loose ponytail and fallen over her brow.
One glance up at the sky told her they were in for a good downpour. Gunmetal gray clouds shifted and swirled like a cauldron of ominous steam. In the distance, over by way of the Milton’s Farm, thunder and lightning rolled and flashed. It made Ella smirk at the thought of Little Miss Famous getting caught out in the rain, but a glance down at Petal’s disproving gaze set her in her place.
“Don’t give me that look, Petal. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. Jeez.”
Petal chuffed once at her and looked toward the gate. He wanted to go in before the rain began in earnest.
“You’re a big baby, you know that?”
Ella shook her head and unlatched the garden gate. Just then Buddy, the town’s vagrant, un-catchable cat sauntered by, setting Petal into an excited frenzy. Before she could react, he pushed his wide snout through the opening and gave chase to the now not-so-meandering feline.
“Petal! No! Stop, you big ape!”
It was no use; the fat dog chased the lanky cat. Down the sidewalk, between Ella’s flower shop and Harry’s Convenience Store, and around the building they went. Harry had already closed the store and gone home for the day, so he was no help. Martha from the laundromat was seventy years old, so she was out. Ella looked up and down the nearly deserted street and realized she was on her own. As much as she loved small town life, she cursed its lack of activity past six p.m. every single weeknight.
Around and around the two went with no immediate signs of stopping their chase, oblivious that the entire rest of the street was theirs for the carousing. To top it off, the sky chose just then to open and let loose what felt like veritable buckets of rain. The two beasts rounded the corner once more, heading in Ella’s direction. She braced her feet wide and crouched down, hoping to catch Petal mid-stride and knowing that if she did manage it, she’d be plowed over like a bowling pin.
Petal’s cerulean eyes were trained on Buddy and seemed unaware of Ella in his peripheral. At least, that what Ella thought. Just after the black and gray tabby passed her, she lunged for the fast-approaching Pittie. But Petal did indeed see her and dodged away with a nimbleness she’d never imagined possible for such a large dog. The movement caused both animals to veer to the right, toward the tall oak tree that separated Ella’s shop from Harry’s store.
Buddy did what cats could do with ease: he clawed his way up the tree, leaving Petal to bark and whine desperately at the bottom. The cat, realizing he was now completely safe from the massive canine, sat on the protruding branch and licked a paw with a casualness that had to be seen to be believed.
“Petal! Here, now!”
Petal turned comically (or would be comical, had Ella not been furious and soaking wet). He jogged to her, broad paws splashing in steadily growing puddles, stumpy tail wagging happily, and oblivious of the pouring rain and Ella’s scowl.
“Get inside the store!”
They both went to the front door just as a loud thunderclap shook the building. Buddy meowed from the tree, and Ella sighed. She would have to get the damn thing down or risk feeling guilty all night. So rather than going upstairs to her apartment and drawing a hot bath like she wanted to, she grabbed the ladder from the storage room and headed back out into the rain, swearing under her breath as she did. Petal had gone right back to his dog bed as if nothing unusual at all had just occurred.
She extended the ladder, locked it in place, and carefully set it against the building’s overhang, as close to the tree as possible, all the while getting battered by the rain. Buddy meowed from the crutch of the branch reproachfully.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s all my fault, Buddy. Maybe if you’d let the animal warden catch you, you wouldn’t be in this predicament, you know.”
Buddy meowed and looked away self-importantly.
“Too proud to be a housecat, are you? Well, it’s your loss, pal.”
Ella had made it about three quarters of the way up the rain-drenched ladder. The grass below was spongy, and she could feel its leg sink a bit with her weight as she leaned, grasping for the cat. Buddy still refused to look at her.
“C’mon, you damn cat. Just come…a bit…closer, will—”
That last stretch was what did her in. She felt her foot slip on the wet rung, the ladder tip a fraction more, and the next thing she knew, she was falling. She imagined, for what had to be a split second, herself as Alice falling through the rabbit hole, then she imagined the broken bones she was no doubt about to incur. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact on the wet, hard ground. Instead, she found herself in the arms of the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life. It made her want to punch him.
“Well, hello.” He smiled, showing chewing-gum commercial white teeth and a dimple that was just ridiculous in its perfection. “Aren
’t you just the most adorable damsel in distress!”
He chuckled at his own joke, seemingly oblivious of the rain hammering them. Ella could feel the vibration from his deep voice shoot into her breast, which just so happened to be pressed firmly against his broad chest. His shirt clung to the well-defined muscles, making him look like a cover model for a romance novel. Or the mysterious stranger from her fantasy. Now she really wanted to punch him.
“Could you set me down, please?”
“What? Oh, sure, yeah, of course.”
Mr. Perfection released his clamp on her, and she pushed off from his shoulder, which she couldn’t help but notice to be like chiseled stone.
“I—okay, yeah. Bye.”
Abruptly, Ella turned and walked inside her shop, pushing away her wet hair from her face and then pressing her hands to her hot cheeks. She was all asunder, and not because of her near-death experience.
From behind her, the doorbells chimed, and in walked…that man. That was how she’d refer to him from that moment forward.
“You know, usually, when someone saves someone else’s life, the save-ee thanks the save-er. Perhaps you do things differently out here in the boonies?”
Ella spun on him, not seeing (or ignoring) the teasing laughter in his sea green eyes.
“Boonies? Boonies?” she said, incredulous and infuriated that he’d insult her town.
Then she narrowed her amber eyes, appraising him.
“Let me guess. You’re looking for an espresso bar? Or maybe the nearest nightclub? Perhaps a marina to dock your yacht?”
The laughter in his expressive eyes was quickly replaced by irritation. He closed the distance between them with two steps, placing himself so close to Ella that she could see a faint crescent scar on the underside of his chin. She had to clench her fists to stop herself from reaching up to trace it with her fingertip. Rain dripped from his dark hair onto the floor between them. She imagined running her hand through the thick locks, pulling his face to hers and…
What is wrong with you? This is not the first good-looking man you’ve ever seen. Control yourself, she admonished internally.
He saw her fists, then he saw Petal lumber slowly from around the counter, and took it as warning. He straightened, taking one small step back and putting his hands up between them as if he’d just set down a loaded gun and was slowly backing away.
“I beg your pardon. I’m looking for the owner of this shop. Is he in?”
“He?” she scoffed.
What a chauvinist, she thought.
“There’s no he, unless you count Petal over there. I’m the owner. What do you want?”
Ella’s brain was on fire. Why was she acting like this? What was it about this man that made her so instantly angry? So discombobulated? So…filled with lust.
He studied her for a long moment, like one studies an abstract painting, tilting his head just so and squinting his eyes (adorably, she thought before she could stop herself). Finally, he spoke.
“I—uh, I came to pay for some flowers that River Ryan ordered earlier today. She just said, ‘Pay the owner.’ I apologize for assuming you’d be a ‘he.’”
“Oh. I see. You’re Jack? Or, no—James, that was it, right?”
He blinked at her, seeming to not follow what she was saying, so she added, “Her assistant?”
James seemed to be stifling a laugh, for reasons Ella could not imagine.
“Did I say something funny? Oh, sorry. Are you, like, her husband or something?”
It irritated Ella to realize she felt a stab of disappointment at the notion that he was with that horrid little bird of a woman. He needed someone he could get a little rough and dirty with—stop it, you idiot, she told herself.
“No, no. Assistant. Sure, yes. So how much do I owe you, Miss…”
“Hang on, I’ll grab the invoice.” Then, turning to the corner, “Don’t worry, Petal, I’ve got everything. You just rest.”
She left the dog and that man alone in the front of the store while she went around back. She needed to collect herself before she dealt with him again. It suddenly dawned on Ella that she must look like a disaster and slowly raised her eyes to the rectangle mirror that hung above the deep basin sink.
You look like a drowned rat. There was no salvaging her hair; it hung wet and lifeless down her back, dripping onto the mat under her feet. She tugged at the hair elastic, deciding to throw it all in a quick bun, but in her haste, she tangled some of it in a wet knot around the band. She fumbled and swore furiously under her breath as she tried to free the knot, all the while aware that that man was out front waiting.
In utter frustration, she reached for the nearest sharp utensil—her handy pocketknife—ready to cut it out. She supposed she looked much like a dog trying to get their own tail, but she didn’t care; no one could see her, so whatever.
“Whoa! Whoa, easy there, killer. You, uh, want a hand with that?”
Damn it. Ella jumped, practically stabbing the knife at…that man. He reflexively grabbed her wrist and arced away.
“What the hell! You scared the crap out of me. I’m fine. I got it.”
Then, as an afterthought, she muttered, “Go ahead.”
He sighed and plucked the knife out of her hand, looking at her as though she were an errant child. Then his made a motion with his hand that clearly meant “turn around,” and after a moment’s hesitation, she complied. He tilted her head down and spoke distractedly, close to her ear.
“I grew up with a little sister. Had long hair, just like this, and she was impatient, just like you,” he said patriarchally.
“I’m not impatient.”
“Mhmm. She was contrary too. Anyhow, our mother died young, father worked a lot, and so I learned how to untangle knots just like these…without having to cut away chunks of beautiful hair.”
“Hmph,” was all she could come up with in response. She was too busy imagining him sliding his hand inside her overalls, under her panties, and slipping a finger into her wetness as he pulled her against his bulge. Slow, rhythmic swirls rocked her to her core, and—
“Ow!”
“Sorry. Quit moving and it won’t hurt.”
“I wasn’t moving.”
“Yes, you were.”
He caught her eye in the mirror; she hastily looked away.
They were quiet after that. She could barely feel him working, but his presence filled the narrow space. It made her heartrate quicken and her palms tingle. For Ella McKinley, those were warning bells, clear as day. She started a fierce internal dialogue.
Ella McKinley, don’t you even. Remember the last man that made your heart race and your palms tingle? That’s right: your no good, cheating, lying, piece of garbage, dead may-he-rest-his-ever-loving-philandering-soul of a husband. You get this incredibly gorgeous hunk of man out of here. Now!
“Are you done yet?” she blurted.
“Hang on. One…more…minute. And, there. You’re free.”
He gave that charming, disarming smile again and Ella…well, Ella nearly shoved him through the doorway, grabbing the slip of paper with River Ryan’s order on it as she did.
“All right, great. Just, uh, go out front there. Other side of the counter, yes, there. Good.”
She gave him another push and flapped her hands at him to shoo. He complied, startled and confused for a moment. He put his hands on his denim-clad hips. Damn, those fit him right. Stop that. He shook his head a moment, clearly exasperated with…this woman.
“You know, that’s twice now I’ve saved you. Normal people say thank you. Normal people are polite. Normal people have manners. Nor—”
“Are you saying I’m not normal? Seriously? Who are you to judge what’s normal? You think a grown man being the errand boy for some hot shot actress is normal? Puh-lease. Mizz Ryan’s total is $274.96. Cash or credit?”
Ella looked defiantly at him. He glared back at her and slapped a credit card onto the counter. Neither spoke while she ra
n the card. When the receipt printed, she tore it from the machine, grabbed a pen, and slapped both on the counter, facing him, while holding on to his card. Hastily he signed and pushed the items back to her. Ella made a deliberate production of comparing the signature on the card to the one on the paper. Her brows furrowed.
“I thought you said your name was James?”
“No, you said my name was James. My name is Owen, as you can see on my credit card.”
“Owen Collins.”
She said it as a statement, not a question. He nodded curtly.
“The…actor.”
Again, a statement. Again, he nodded, his lips now becoming a hard line.
“Why didn’t you say who you were?”
Owen Collins, star of the biggest drama series in the history of television? Yes, even she knew who he was. He cleared his throat, stammered a moment in apparent embarrassment, then answered.
“I, uh, well…most people know who I am. It’s, well, not very often I run into someone who doesn’t. Not in the States, at least.”
Ella appraised him a moment. He was on the cover of the trash mags she turned her nose at in the checkout aisle at the grocery store but couldn’t help but see. He was always trying to hide his face and duck away from the cameras, so all their candid shots were partials—a profile, a hand obscuring his face, just a mouth and jaw line beneath the bill of a pulled-down baseball cap. But, yes, the jawline was familiar enough to her.
She knew all she needed to know. Hollywood type. Just another egomaniac taking up oxygen in her town, attracting photographers with telephoto lenses and whatnot, disturbing the calm. One whiff of him walking into her shop would attract them like flies, looking to know what he bought, if she knew who for, what he said. Ugh. The sooner she got him out of here, the better.
“Right. Well, here’s your receipt. Flowers will be there by one p.m. on Sunday, as per her request. Have a good evening.”
Owen Collins opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. Instead, he wagged his finger at her once, slid the receipt off the counter, and turned to leave. At the door he paused, spun on his heel, and came back to the counter, surprising Ella.