Blossoms of Love

by J. M. Jeffries

  Daniel sat on the floor across from her, his lunch forgotten as he opened a box containing a miniature Christmas village. “Wow. Did you paint these?” He pulled out a ceramic building with surf boards leaning against the side. And a bakery with nothing but cookies showing in the tiny windows.

  She nodded. “The buildings go on the mantel.”

  He pulled out a figure dressed in shorts and a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt.

  “Surfer Santa,” Greer said with a grin. “I didn’t want a traditional village with snow. I wanted a California Christmas with lots of color and things that are unique to California.”

  He pulled out the Hollywood sign with a sleigh and reindeer balanced on the top and the lead reindeer wearing a Santa hat. She’d made four of them and given them to her family. “My mother would love something like this,” he said.

  “Give her that one,” Greer said.

  “But...”

  “I insist.” She leaned back against the chair and watched him as he pulled several more ceramic buildings and houses out of the box. “I’m surprised you wanted to help me. Not many men I know are interested in decorating for Christmas.”

  He sat back and smiled at her. “When I was a kid, my parents were on the road a lot. Christmas was the one holiday of the year that they were guaranteed to be home no matter what type of gig was offered them. They turned down some pretty heavy offers just to be home at Christmas. They wanted the time to be special. Dad would cook up a storm, and our house would smell so delicious that I would invite all my friends over just to experience the wonderful scents. Mom would take each one of us shopping, and we got to spend the whole day just with her.

  “My happiest memories are of when it was my turn to go shopping with her, we went to Macy’s and she let me give my list to Santa. We shopped, went to lunch and discussed getting a special gift for my sister because that year I’d drawn her name in our little lottery. I wanted to get a Barbie doll for Lola. She was maybe five or six. I was eight. I don’t ever remember her playing with dolls, but in my head, I thought if she had one, she’d play with it. Mom knew Lola better than I and somehow managed to steer me toward an electric keyboard. And to this day, Lola loves that keyboard. She still composes on it and told me she thinks about me every time she puts her fingers on the keys.” His face lit up with the beauty of that memory.

  Greer’s heart did a little lurch. Daniel Torres had made his way into her life, and she liked having him in it. In fact, she loved being with him. He was more than just her lover. He’d become her friend, and they shared the kind of friendship that would last a lifetime.

  “My favorite gift,” Greer said, “was when Santa, aka my parents, gave me an artist’s set of paints, colored pencils, chalk and brushes. It came in a beautiful wood box with a thick pad of drawing paper and an easel. I still have the box, even though it’s beat up and cracking. I think it’s pretty amazing that parents know us better than we know ourselves.”

  That’s the kind of parent Greer wanted to be, and in her fantasy, Daniel replaced the faceless, nameless man who had always been there with her. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The thought that she wanted Daniel to stay in her life startled her. She wished she could take time to explore the idea, but her house needed decorating.

  Daniel seemed in no hurry, still looking through her ornaments. “We’re lucky, you know. Logan’s parents had the money to give him everything and ended up giving him a credit card and setting him loose to shop for himself.” He smiled as a memory must have hit him. “One year he brought the card to my mom, who got permission to use it, went shopping and wrapped up a couple of gifts for him and put them under our tree. He told me that was his best Christmas ever.” He held up another ornament with a portrait painted on it. “Who’s this?”

  “My grandmother, DeeDee Courtland,” Greer said. “She’s gone now, but I wanted her to be a part of Christmas forever. She lived with us when I was young, and she was a major influence in our lives. She took care of my sisters and me while our parents were getting the company off the ground.” Greer still missed her even though she’d passed on six years ago. Nostalgia overwhelmed her, and she felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes. She brushed them away impatiently and stood up to start decorating.

  By the time they were ready to leave for the theater, her house was completely decorated. The tree was laden with dozens of ornaments, twinkling lights and a silver garland. Her cheerful Christmas village had been arranged on the fireplace mantel, and lights framed the windows of each room facing the street. She’d hung Christmas towels in the bathrooms and tied large ribbons around them. Last, she’d attached a wreath on the front door, and Daniel had hung mistletoe from the arched entry into her living room.

  After they dressed in their formal clothes, Daniel grabbed her and kissed her deeply under the mistletoe.

  “I love this tradition,” he said, his lips warm on hers, his hand tight against her back.

  Every part of her body tingled with a growing passion that filled her.

  “Thank you for all your help and for sharing your memories,” she said when he released her.

  “I enjoyed today. I enjoy being with you. A lot.” He caressed her chin with one finger, slowly moving it down her throat to her cleavage. “When the parade is finally over, I want to spend more time with you. I have vacation time coming. Let’s go do something different.”

  “What do you mean by different?” she asked as he draped her heavy cashmere shawl over her shoulders to ward off the night chill.

  “Let’s go see some snow. My parents have a cabin at Lake Tahoe. I hear the skiing is pretty good this year.”

  She thought about it. She had to be in Rio de Janeiro at the end of January to work on the Mardi Gras float her parents had been commissioned to build. “I have a counteroffer. How about Rio instead? I have to be there for the final prep work on a float, but I could take an extra week, and we’ll do Mardi Gras Brazilian style.”

  He thought for a moment. “I’m in. I’ve never been to Rio. Mardi Gras sounds like fun.”

  “I do have to work, but it’s not as intense as the Rose Parade.” Besides, she had a crew in Rio; her being there was more a formality to show her family’s support.

  “Then Rio it is.”

  She felt absurdly pleased, and happiness filled her as she walked out to his car.

  * * *

  The days after Christmas were pure chaos. Floats were jammed into the huge tent in long rows. Volunteers mobbed the flower tent, getting what they needed from the areas secured for their floats, then swarmed over the floats like an army of worker ants. Each float might need ten thousand or more pounds of flowers, flower petals, seeds and organic matter. Loud laughter, chatter from the volunteers and the sound of hammers added to the confusion. The overpowering scent of flowers filled the air. From now until the night before of the parade, flowers would be delivered nonstop.

  Diagrams of the flower arrangement hung on a bulletin board filled with clipboards. Each clipboard had a senior volunteer’s name who would then direct other workers. Chelsea oversaw quality control for all the floats, while Greer managed the senior volunteers. Rachel was in charge of the flower inventory. The three sisters had it down to a science, organizing the thousands of man-hours that went into the final preparation in round-the-clock shifts.

  Greer parked her parents’ Winnebago at the edge of the parking lot. From now until the end of the parade, she and her sisters would live in it to oversee their little army and be on site for last-minute problems.

  Today Daniel’s film crew was there doing a few preview segments. Tomorrow he would do his whole show from the tent, interviewing volunteers, talking to the different designers and filming the last minute excitement as the floats changed from welded steel skeletons to completely decorated floral masterpieces. />
  He stopped at his float and motioned Greer over. She held her clipboard close to her chest. When Rod Ortega, one of the senior volunteers, started her way, she held up a finger, asking him to wait.

  “I just wanted you to take a moment to breathe,” Daniel told her when she’d walked over to him. “You’re running around like a madwoman. By the time the parade happens, you’re going to be exhausted. How do you cope?”

  “It’s like watching your children in a beauty pageant and hoping no one has a wardrobe malfunction.”

  “What is the parade version of a wardrobe malfunction?” he asked.

  “The wing on your butterfly falling off.” She didn’t add that it already had because she didn’t want him worrying needlessly.

  “Do things like that happen?”

  “All the time.”

  As if on cue, a crash sounded somewhere in the tent, and every head turned toward it.

  “Maybe I should check that out.” Daniel glanced at the director, who nodded.

  “You do that.” Greer turned toward Rod Ortega to hear what his latest problem was. “What’s up, Rod?”

  “The roses from Venezuela may not make it in time. The plane is having engine trouble, and they won’t be off the ground for another twenty-four hours.”

  Greer wasn’t surprised. If a problem was going to happen, this was the week for it to happen. “I’ll call Mrs. Allenworth. She’ll let us raid her greenhouse. Get a team over there.”

  Rod nodded and walked away, gesturing at a couple of volunteers to come with him. Greer reached for her phone.

  Chelsea approached, looking somewhat concerned. “The Trident float has a crack in the plastic on the skirt.”

  “Fill it with airplane glue. See, we’re fine,” Greer said.

  Chelsea relaxed a bit...until someone dropped a bag of sunflower seeds, and the seeds scattered everywhere.

  Even Greer rubbed her temples. A headache was starting, and she didn’t have time for one now.

  She stopped at the Brocade Industries float to find that one of the volunteers had put the wrong flower on the playground designed to hold children on swings and on the glider. Since the orchids, enclosed in glass vials of water, were simply pushed through the chicken wire, the fix was easy. She smiled pleasantly at the volunteer, explained where the orchids went and allowed him to figure out the rest.

  She turned and found Logan Pierce standing behind her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Want to sneak out and leave all this madness behind?”

  She shook her head, grinning. “Will you stop.”

  He patted her arm. “Since we might end up being family...”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  He shrugged. “Daniel is madly in love with you.”

  She gave his statement some thought. “Will you just stop flirting with me?”

  “I am going to have to stop, but I don’t want to. I like that Daniel gets his back up when I flirt. I don’t get much over on him.”

  Greer closed her eyes as she spied another volunteer approaching, no doubt with another question or crisis. When she opened them, she turned to Logan. “Much as I’d like to take a break, if I step outside, there will be a score of paparazzi waiting to take pictures of me and exploit our alleged love triangle. I don’t have time for that.”

  “I can protect you.”

  “Go away, Logan.” She pushed him away and turned to the volunteer patiently waiting for her.

  * * *

  That night in the Winnebago, Greer sat with her feet up on the coffee table, trying not to fall asleep. Chelsea had made sandwiches before heading back for the evening shift, but Greer was too tired to eat. The door to the RV slammed open and Rachel stepped inside. She handed Greer a tabloid.

  “You need to see this,” Rachel said, sitting down in the chair opposite Greer.

  “I can’t.”

  Rachel held up the tabloid. Her house was shown prominently on the front page. “Logan Pierce, Daniel Torres and Greer Courtland’s Secret Love Nest.” Greer covered her eyes. Would these infuriating stories never end?

  “Burn it,” Greer said.

  “You’re taking all the fun out of it,” Rachel said.

  “I hope they didn’t print my address.”

  “You’re in luck there. No address and no location of any kind. Their legal department probably won’t let them. Printing your address could be construed as harassment and leave them open to a huge lawsuit.”

  “I don’t get it. I’m nobody.”

  “You may be a regular woman, but you’re a regular woman dating a celebrity. They keep harping on the Rose Queen angle because it’s glamorous and sexy.”

  “It was a job,” Greer said with a tired sigh. “I didn’t have to wear a swimsuit or play some musical instrument like a kazoo or answer the question of how I would save the world, or the whales. Or tell the world I’m not just a pretty face because I read Freud or Kierkegaard.”

  Rachel just laughed. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

  “They’re not looking through your trash can.”

  “They’re looking through your trash can?”

  She nodded. “And they don’t have the courtesy of even putting the trash back. Mrs. Kelly across the street has been giving me the evil eye all month as though I desecrated the neighborhood.”

  “Wow,” Rachel said. “Is there anything worthwhile in your trash?”

  “Not anymore. Once I figured out what they were doing, I started bringing my trash to the office.” She discarded it in the huge Dumpsters that were kept under lock and key at the rear of the building. “I had no idea I created that much trash in the course of a week.”

  “Carbon footprints say a lot about you, sis.”

  A knock sounded at the door, and Greer hauled herself to her aching feet to open it. Rod Ortega grinned at her. “We need you in the tent.”

  Greer sighed. “I’m coming.” She grabbed the sandwich Chelsea had left for her on the counter and ate it as she stepped out, ready to take on the next problem.

  * * *

  Daniel wandered through the tent, trailed by his cameraman, soundman and director and all their assistants. As he walked, he interviewed one of the float judges.

  “What do you look at when you’re judging a float, Mrs. Barret?” Daniel asked the trim, petite woman standing next to him.

  Mrs. Barret smiled graciously at him. “We have a list of items that we grade on, including theme, application, decorations, overall color scheme, beauty and subject matter. The day before the parade, every float must be in parade-ready condition with all the riders on board and in their places for the final judging.”

  “The judging must take all day.”

  “And sometimes more.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Barret.”

  She nodded and walked on, her expert eyes already judging another float on her list.

  His next interview was set up in front of his float. He motioned over the senior volunteer who’d introduced himself earlier as Rod Ortega.

  “How long have you been a volunteer, Mr. Ortega?” he asked politely. In the last six weeks, he’d learned so much about float construction that sometimes the knowledge invaded his dreams.

  “Thirty-five years,” Rod Ortega said. “Started when I was eleven. My parents had just moved to Sierra Madre and somehow got involved with the Sierra Madre float association. I met my wife there, and now she and the kids all volunteer, too. My youngest is six, and she’s already thinking about a career as a float designer.”

  “Must be hectic.” Daniel said, admiring the man’s determination.

  “It’s all the last-minute, unforeseen things that get to you. But I have a system, and Greer is a delight to work with. She never loses h
er cool no matter what catastrophe happens. Despite everything, this is fun.”

  Daniel thought Greer was a delight to work with, too. Even though he hadn’t seen her since their evening at The Nutcracker, they talked every other day, though last night’s conversation had ended on a petite snore from her end of the phone. He missed being with her. She had grown on him in a way no other woman had. He hated not seeing her, not being with her. A tiny ache of loneliness disappeared when she appeared at the edge of his vision and walked down the aisle, her clipboard in hand. She looked beat. He wanted to soothe the tired lines across her forehead.

  “What do you get out of all this?” he asked Rod Ortega as he forced his attention back to the interview.

  “Other than ringside seats, I feel I bring a little bit of happiness to the world. I love that my kids’ faces just shine when they see the float they worked on all finished and ready for the parade route. Plus, I get to do something with my children that I hope will provide them with happy memories all their lives. I know I have a lot of happy memories of being here with my parents.”

  “I suppose your parents have retired and passed on the legacy to you.”

  “Not a chance,” Rod said with a smile. He pointed at a tiny woman clinging to a scaffold as she painted what looked like glue on the wing of a bird. Then she poured black seeds on the area. Some clung and others fell. “That’s my mom over there. I don’t think she’s going to stop doing this. She loves it. And my dad is over at the flower tent. He supervises the flower inventory with Rachel Courtland.”

  Daniel turned to face the camera. “There you have it, folks. The rose parade is a family legacy passed down from generation to generation. And now for a commercial break. We’ll be back for the final segment of our show today at the Rose Parade staging tent in just a few minutes.”

  The director called, “Clear.” Daniel shook hands with Rod Ortega then decided he needed to be with Greer for a few minutes before he had to return in front of the camera and walked over.