by Cindy Kirk
What’s your favorite and least favorite part about writing? To me your job sounds romantic. Clacking away at the keyboard in some cabin in the woods, the fire crackling in the fireplace, inspiration flowing from your fingertips, espresso at the ready. Lunches with publishers. Book signings and book tours. Impromptu trips to New York City. Am I close? Travel writing sounds even more romantic. Here’s my confession. And you have to promise not to laugh. I’ve never traveled anywhere. Unless you count Iowa. Or the Upper Peninsula. Most people don’t.;)
What about your family? You haven’t told me anything about them, except that your sister is married. I’d love to know more.
24 . . . your age when you set up your e-mail account? The number of your favorite sports player? The most postscripts you’ve written in one e-mail?
Affectionately,
Amelia
PS: It’s not that I don’t like to dance. It’s more that I simply don’t do it. I do like watching people dance though.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Thu, Oct 8, 2015 12:33 a.m.
Subject: Re: The Shop around the Corner
Dear Amelia,
Points for making me laugh. Out loud actually. I’m not a fan of LOL, but it would be true if I wrote it here. The most postscripts I’ve written in one e-mail happens to be four, and they were all to you. The other two guesses were wrong. Better keep trying.
In other news, it makes me sad to read that you don’t dance. Just think of all Cinderella would have missed out on had she watched the prince dance at the ball instead of joining him on the floor. Maybe Drizella would have ended up as the princess. That would have changed the entire feel of the story.
Your father sounds like a great man and you sound like a great florist. Your understanding of a writer’s life, however, is not so great. Trips to New York City aren’t nearly as exciting as they sound. Book tours are mostly a thing of the past, and book signings are mortifying affairs wherein most authors sit at a table by themselves, often mistaken as store employees. I haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing this, thankfully, since I’m a ghostwriter. But I’ve heard horror stories from my author friends. Mostly my job involves me banging my head against the keyboard and seeing what comes out. No crackling fire or cabin in the woods. My favorite part is being finished, and my least favorite is sitting down and typing. (I jest. It’s not that bad.)
My family’s pretty run-of-the-mill. My parents are still married and live out east in Pennsylvania. That’s where I grew up. The only reason I’m up north is because of my grant-writing job. After I quit, I never bothered moving. My mother bemoans the fact that I’m not yet married. Every year she’s more and more desperate to be a grandmother. Thankfully, with my sister newly hitched, she’s transferred her pleading elsewhere. They’re good people—my mom and dad. We’re a close family. My sister is four years younger than me. Fun fact? The day we met was the day of her wedding. That’s why I was dressed up so fancy. I was one of the groomsmen. She and her husband just got back from their honeymoon in California. She’s always had this obsession with touring a vineyard. They live fairly close to you. I think you and my sister would hit it off. Maybe we can all meet up someday. Grab a bite. Or tour that corn maze. You have me wanting to visit your town.
What do you say?
Best,
Nate
“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
—C. S. Lewis
I sat at the small table near the front window of my shop with a lump in my throat. Fern Halloway and Phil Nixon, my oldest bride and groom to date, sat across from me. Fern was a seventy-four-year-old woman whose first husband died twenty years ago. All of Mayfair celebrated when Phil, the owner of Mayfair’s one and only convenience store, mustered up the gumption and asked her on a date last Christmas. Now the two were going to be married exactly a year later at the same chapel as Bridget and William, the same chapel as my mom and dad. A Christmas wedding, and the entire town was invited.
Fern flipped through my portfolio and pointed at various bouquets while Phil squinted through his spectacles, agreeing with everything she said. I let the couple browse in peace while the knots in my stomach pulled tighter and the lump in my throat grew lumpier. I couldn’t believe it. Nate—the man who had been consuming my thoughts, the man who had been brightening my days, the man who had made me giddy with excitement every time I checked my e-mail—was Chelsea’s older brother. And Chelsea was my ex-boyfriend’s new wife. If Nate and I continued this relationship, it was only a matter of time before he found out that the day we met was the day I’d been spying on my ex-boyfriend, who was his new brother-in-law, and then what? He’d assume I wasn’t over Matt and end things before they really started. Or worse, he’d tell Chelsea, who would tell my stepsisters, and I’d never ever hear the end of it.
I clasped my hands in my lap, wondering how I’d missed it.
The groomsmen hadn’t worn tuxedos. I remembered now how much Crystal had gone on and on about what a classy wedding it had been. How sharp all the groomsmen looked in their suits. I remembered also how Nate had his suit coat draped over his arm, which probably had his boutonniere pinned to it. I would have registered a boutonniere. I would have realized that he had been so much more than a simple wedding guest. He was part of the wedding party!
“I think this is the one,” Fern said, tapping on a picture. She held the photo book up closer to Phil. “What do you think, honey? Do you like this one?”
“I like anything you like, dear.”
Fern scooted the book over to me. The bouquets were made of spruce branches, dahlias, spray roses, pinecones, and gorgeous viburnum berries. One of my favorite winter bouquets. A bouquet that usually made my heart smile. This morning the only thing smiling were my lips. Not even Eloise’s pumpkin muffins could cheer me up. I picked up my pencil and hovered it above my notes for the Nixon-Halloway December wedding. “How many bridesmaids will there be?”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Sat, Oct 10, 2015 3:12 a.m.
Subject: Re: Oh my goodness!!!!
THAT is the guy you hit with your car?? I don’t even care that he’s a Yooper, if he’s even a quarter as intelligent and charming as you say he is, you’d be a fool not to date him. Enough with the e-mailing, Amelia, it’s time for a date already! I’m talking about a real-life, in-person date. Trust me. If he’s comparing you to Audrey Hepburn and saying he couldn’t stop thinking about you, then he’s dropping some major I’m-into-you hints. You better be dropping them right back! If not, then I’ve taught you nothing.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Sat, Oct 10, 2015 7:26 a.m.
Subject: Re: Oh my goodness!!!!
Le sigh. I knew it was too good to be true. Turns out, Nate is Chelsea’s brother. Who is Chelsea, you ask? Chelsea is Matt’s new wife.
Ugh, it’s a long, embarrassing story. One I hoped never to have to tell you. When I ran into Nate, it was outside Matt and Chelsea’s wedding. Yes, I was spying. Please don’t scold me, Rachel. I learned my lesson, trust me. The thing is, I couldn’t help myself. Matt and I dated for four years. I thought I’d marry the guy. I wanted a small glimpse of his wedding. For closure’s sake. And wouldn’t you know, as I was doing my snooping, I rear-ended Nate. I was so flustered, I didn’t notice that he was one of the groomsmen. None of that registered at all. And then we started e-mailing, and now I’ve discovered he’s Matt’s new brother-in-law.
Needless to say, there will be no real-life, in-person dates.
Totally and completely bummed,
Amelia
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Fri, Oct 16, 2015 2:05 a.m.
Subject: Re: Oh my goodness!!!!
Why in the world not??? Because he’s
in-laws with your ex? An ex you’ve been broken up with for SIX YEARS!? This Nate guy sounds fabulous, Amelia. Please don’t sabotage it because you’re scared. Tell him you’re Matt’s ex. The two of you can laugh about it on your date.
Scared? Scared!
I placed buckets of sunflowers and mums inside the cooler, setting them down harder than necessary. But seriously, Rachel had no clue what she was talking about. This had nothing to do with me sabotaging anything. This had nothing to do with me being scared. This had everything to do with reality.
I imagined admitting to Nate that I knew his sister, that the only man I ever dated was, in fact, his brother-in-law, and funny story . . . the day we met? Yeah, I was actually driving by to spy on the wedding. I shook my head, brought a bucket of flowers with me out front, and began snipping the stems. I wasn’t being scared. I was being practical. Snip, snip, snip. I was so into the therapeutic snip-snipping that I didn’t register the jingle of the front door or the customer that had walked through it until said customer cleared his throat.
“Are you upset with those flowers?”
The sound of George’s voice had me looking up, and smiling too. Maybe the most genuine smile I’d smiled since reading Nate’s e-mail last week. “It’s nice to see you here on a Friday, George. What brings you in?”
He leaned his cane against the counter and slid off his hat. “I believe the good Lord did.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve been on my mind, Miss Amelia. Ever since I came in on Monday for my bouquet.”
“Well, that’s sweet.” I set the scissors down and wiped my hands on a nearby towel. “What flowers do you want in your bouquet today?”
“Forget-me-nots.”
“Those are one of my favorites. Your wife will love them.” I pulled out a bucket of the blue beauties from the cooler. “So why have I been on your mind since Monday?”
“You were in a sad state last time I saw you.”
“Oh, George, I wasn’t—”
He held up his hand to stop my protest. “I know you were smiling and doing and saying all the right things, but if there’s one thing my old age has helped me with, it’s sensing a person’s spirit. You were going through the motions on Monday, and in all these six years I’ve been coming into this shop, I’ve never once seen you go through the motions. So this morning, when the Lord put you on my heart and mind again, I knew I had to come in and check on you. And here I’ve found you attacking those poor stems there.”
“George.” I tilted my head when I said it, and blinked away an embarrassing sheen of moisture. He’d touched me. Right in the center of my sad heart. Pricked it with a little rose thorn, because everything he said was on the money and there was no use denying it. I was sad. If I told Nate the truth, he’d think I was pining for Matt, when the actual truth was, I was pining for Nate. A man I’d only ever met once in my life during a chaotic, embarrassing moment.
“Well?” George said.
“You’re right. I’ve been feeling a little blue.”
“Like those flowers.”
I smiled and put together a small bouquet of my mother’s favorite flower for my favorite customer. “I fancied myself in love. Or at least, in the process of falling that way. Things ended rather abruptly.”
“That would make a heart sad, all right.” He twisted his hat inside his arthritic hands. “Mind if I ask why it ended so abruptly?”
Somehow, as I put the finishing touches on George’s bouquet, I found myself telling him the entire story from beginning to end. It was more therapeutic than the snip-snipping. “It’s complicated, isn’t it?”
He pulled his billfold from his back pocket while I rang him up. “Most of the good things in life are.”
“Do you agree with Rachel?” I handed him the bouquet. “Do you think I’m sabotaging a good thing because I’m scared?”
“You want an honest answer from your old friend?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I think it can’t hurt to take a risk and tell him. I think that if what the two of you have is the early blossomings of love, then that’s worth all the embarrassment in the world.” He stuck his nose inside the blooms, then handed them back over the counter to me.
“You’re not happy with the bouquet?”
“Oh, I’m tickled with the bouquet. I’m just giving them to the recipient.”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Fri, Oct 16, 2015 12:19 p.m.
Subject: Change of Heart?
Dear Amelia,
I’m sorry if I said something in my previous e-mail to scare you away. I probably made it sound like I was asking you out on a date. If you don’t want to meet up in person, I can understand that. That would be a big step in our relationship.
I hope you are doing well. I know this sounds crazy, considering, but I miss you. I have nobody to help me procrastinate now but my dog. I have a dog. Did I tell you that?
Best,
Nate
PS: The subject line fits, but the movie’s not all that great. If you haven’t seen it, I wouldn’t bother. There are better ones out there. However, Shirley Temple makes an appearance. She’s always good for a smile.
“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
—C. S. Lewis
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Fri, Oct 16, 2015 6:57 p.m.
Subject: Re: Change of Heart?
Dear Nate,
I’m sorry. I know I apologize too much, but I feel this warrants an apology. I’ve been terribly busy at the flower shop. Everyone is suddenly getting married in October. Fall weddings are all the rage, apparently. Still, that’s no excuse for my silence. I promise I’ve been thinking about you often. I at least hope that in my absence, you’ve been able to get a lot of writing accomplished.
Your previous e-mail didn’t scare me. And what you wrote doesn’t sound all that crazy. I miss you too.
Affectionately,
Amelia
I hit Send before I could give it too much thought. Nate deserved a response.
But he also deserves the truth, my conscience whispered. And all of what I’d sent him had been a lie, except the missing-him part. I did miss him. So much it left a hole inside my chest.
The flower shop, however, had not been terribly busy, or even busy at all. His e-mail had scared me, in all kinds of ways. His relationship to my ex-boyfriend aside, there were less complicated things to consider. Like the fact that I wasn’t as interesting in real life as I was via e-mail. When it came to e-mail, I had the luxury of editing. Revising. Putting in the best parts.
And there was the matter of me. I’d been wearing a hat and sunglasses when Nate and I met. I wasn’t a ravishing beauty, or even beautiful at all. I had red hair and freckles, something Candace and Crystal had teased me about mercilessly growing up. Some people insisted I was pretty, but those were mostly old, kind men, like George, who were probably just being nice. Never mind Chelsea and Matt and all the accompanying embarrassment. What if Nate and I went on a date and he realized he’d driven all the way to Mayfair for nothing?
I guess Rachel was a little bit right after all.
Bridget fidgeted. William placed an assuring arm around her shoulder. Usually I met with my brides twice. Once initially to make all the plans, then again a few weeks before the big day to make sure everything was squared away. I didn’t want any of my brides fretting over a missing corsage for a beloved great-aunt we forgot to consider. I’d had both of these meetings already with William and Bridget. This third one, which really wasn’t a meeting at all (more of a stop-by-the-shop check-in), was a courtesy to my brother and my soon-to-be sister-in-law.
According to him, Bridget had started having anxiety dreams, where all manner of things went wrong. Most of them had to do with the flowers and the wedding dress. So William checked on the alterations for her dres
s and asked if we could meet one last time to check over the flowers.
“We have three bridesmaids’ bouquets.” One of which I’d be carrying. “And, of course, your bouquet. Three groomsmen boutonnieres and three additional boutonnieres. Two for Bridget’s side of the family. One for the pastor. Six corsages—three for William’s side.” Jeanine, Candace, and Crystal would cause a fuss if they didn’t all have corsages. “Three for Bridget’s side. The unity candle arrangement, which we’ll bring to the reception hall. And then ten centerpiece arrangements.”
Bridget continued to nod as I moved down the list in my notebook.
“See, everything’s in order,” William assured.
“I don’t know why I’m so nervous.” Bridget fiddled with the hem of her shirt.
“It’s only natural,” I said, hoping to set her at ease. “Almost all brides and grooms get a little anxious as the wedding approaches.”
Bridget nudged my brother. “He’s not.”
“Yeah well, William doesn’t get nervous about much.”
He winked at me over the top of Bridget’s head. “So we’ll see you tonight, right? Out at Sawyer Farm for our annual corn maze adventure?”
I hesitated.
“Come on, Ames, you have to come. It’s tradition.”
He was right. It was. And it’s not like we hadn’t brought guests with us before. All through college, I’d brought Matt. But this felt different. William had been so much younger, and younger brothers were supposed to be tag-alongs. I wasn’t sure if that rule applied to older, single sisters. I opened my mouth to answer when the door swooshed open, bringing in a delightful breeze of October air.
I expected a familiar face. This particular familiar face, I did not.