One Way Ticket

by Melissa Baldwin

  She probably had to use an entire bottle of hairspray to get it like that.

  “Sweet Lord, it’s hot out there,” she announced. “You would think that after livin’ in Florida all my life I would get used to this heat.”

  I knew right away that she must be the infamous Mrs. Watson.

  “I know exactly how you feel,” I announced. “I’m from San Francisco and the average temperature this time of year is in the mid-sixties.”

  “That’s nice,” she said unconvincingly. She glanced at Isabella. “Is Addison here yet?”

  Isabella looked at me.

  I cleared my throat and put on my most professional behavior. “Actually, Addison is still out of town. I’m helping her out while she’s away. My name is Sabrina, and you’re Mrs. Watson, right?”

  She frowned. “How did you know my name?”

  I didn’t know how to take her reaction. On one hand, you would think she would like the personal attention, but on the other, she seemed irritated by it.

  “Addison gave me a rundown of everything that happens here at Blooms. She told me you’re one of her favorite customers to work with.”

  I felt confident that was a good answer, but I may have been wrong.

  “One of her favorite customers? Who else would that include? Are you talking about Faye Stanley?”

  What was she saying? Who was Faye Stanley?

  Mrs. Watson stood there with her hands on her hips, waiting for my answer. I gave Isabella a side-glance. Her eyes were open so wide, she looked like a deer in headlights.

  “I apologize, I don’t know who Faye Stanley is,” I said, my voice slightly shaky.

  Mrs. Watson’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Good, because I’d hate to have to take my business to that new shop, Fuchsia Flowers and Gifts. From what I’ve heard, the shop is darling, but I’m a loyal woman and Addison knows exactly how I like my arrangements. I have several friends interested in attending the new shop’s grand opening. I’ve been very clear that I have no interest in going.” She finally paused. “Which brings me to my order for this week. I’m going to need fifteen centerpieces instead of ten. I also need to add a bouquet of roses—all colors. Probably two dozen.”

  What was happening? She completely lost me at Fuchsia Flowers. Addison didn’t mention anything about a new shop opening. Not that it was a big deal; there were loads of competitors out there.

  Isabella remained very quiet. I got the impression she was used to Addison handling this sort of interaction with Mrs. Watson.

  “What was your name again?” she asked, dragging me out of my thoughts.

  “My name is Sabrina.”

  “Tell me, Sabrina—what kind of experience do you have with floral arrangements?” She gave me a smug look.

  This was my chance to let Mrs. Watson know I was perfectly capable of doing the job.

  “Actually, I’ve been in the business for a few years now. I own a very successful flower shop in San Francisco. It’s called The Flower Girl. It’s in the Ferry Building in Embarcadero.” I hoped she would be impressed. She didn’t show any emotion. “I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of creating some stunning arrangements. If you want to see some of my work, you can check out my website.”

  Crap! I realized what I’d said too late.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Website? Do you mean on the computer? I don’t use computers, those machines are the devil!”

  I tried not to laugh, but she totally reminded me of that Adam Sandler movie. I quickly covered my mouth with my hand. She clearly wasn’t amused, and I didn’t want to make things worse.

  Isabella was busily typing on the computer—or at least she made it seem like she was.

  “I totally understand. I could print out some pictures for you to look at, if you’d like?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t need to see any pictures. I suggest you get in contact with Addison, she knows what I want.”

  I nodded. “Of course. And if I may ask, when is this Fuchsia Flowers supposed to open, and where is it located?”

  One corner of her mouth curled up into a half smile. “Why do you ask? You want to check out the competition?”

  She was clearly trying to push my buttons. “I was just curious, since I’m new to the area and I don’t know my way around yet. Anyway, we’ll get started on your order right away.”

  A few minutes later she was gone. Exhausted, I slumped back down on my stool and tried to make sense of the last few minutes. “Is she always like that?” I asked Isabella.

  She shrugged. “Most of the time, although she seemed especially defensive with you. Maybe she’s like that around new people?”

  I nodded. This was not good. Addison’s best customer already disliked me and had basically threatened to take her business to a competitor. One thing was for sure: I needed to do my best work.

  This was exactly the kind of distraction from my life I needed. I was definitely up for the challenge.

  Chapter 5

  Addison

  It is so hot here in Orlando! How do you stand it?! But the theme parks? My inner child is doing cartwheels right now. I can’t wait to go.

  My phone buzzed frantically on the nightstand, pulling me out of a deep, dreamless sleep. I reached for it and saw Sabrina’s blurry name on the screen.

  “Hey,” I croaked, and immediately pulled the phone away from my ear as it was blasted by a loud siren.

  “Oh, Addi! I’m so glad you answered!” Sabrina yelled into the phone, her voice piercing my brain. “I need the alarm code for Blooms again! I think I wrote it down wrong.”

  “Hold on.” I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I needed to wake up—fast. What was my code?! I pointed my index finger in the air, mimicking the way I punched it in each day. Confident I had it right, I held the phone up to my ear once more and immediately regretted it. “Sabrina?”

  “Yes!”

  “It’s four seven nine three.”

  “It’s what?”

  “Four seven nine three,” I said louder into the mouthpiece.

  “Four-seven-nine-three?” she repeated, the alarm still blaring.

  “You got it!”

  “Thanks, gotta go!” She hung up, and mercifully, the room fell into silence once more.

  I slumped back against the pillow. Well, that isn’t a fun way to wake up. I wondered if I’d given Sabrina the wrong code in the first place or if she’d written it down wrong. I guessed it didn’t matter now: problem solved. Even if it had meant a rude awakening for me.

  I glanced at the time on my phone. It was ridiculously early, but with Orlando being three hours ahead of California, it was almost shop opening time for Sabrina. I expected the alarm going off was just a minor hiccup. Although I’d only known Sabrina for a short time, I just knew Blooms on Valencia was in good hands.

  I loved my florist shop. I think I even missed it, despite having fallen in love with San Francisco in the time I’d been here. In fact, if it wasn’t for Blooms, I would probably have packed up and gone back home to New Zealand a long time ago.

  I yawned and stretched, touching the top of the wrought iron headboard behind me with my fingertips. I had may as well get out of bed. After that auditory assault, there was no way I was going back to sleep now. And, just to confirm my decision, the now familiar foghorns started up.

  I slipped on my socks and one of the new sweaters I’d purchased yesterday and prepared to face the day.

  Although Sabrina was technically on “The Honeymoon That Wasn’t,” I decided to go into her florist shop, The Flower Girl. I wanted to familiarize myself with the place and its processes, ready to open up in a few days’ time.

  Since I wasn’t going to see any customers today, I slipped on my shorts and sweater and an old pair of beat-up tennis shoes. I may not have been the picture of fashion, but I was going to be comfortable.

  Over my coffee and granola, I read through Sabrina’s notes, looking for how she got to work each day. I was still a little shaky
after crashing Velma yesterday, even if that cute guy had called it more of a “flop” than a bona fide crash.

  My cheeks immediately heated up as I thought of him, my Knight in Shining Sneakers, rescuing me from that hedge. Meeting him had definitely been one of the highlights of my time in San Francisco so far.

  I only wish I’d had enough presence of mind at the time to ask him his name.

  Perhaps I’d head back to the scene of the crime later today in the hopes of “accidentally” bumping into him—without Velma, of course.

  Finding what I was looking for in Sabrina’s notes, I dropped her apartment keys into my purse and slipped out the door. I walked the few blocks to the F-line stop, the tourist in me perking up: I was about to go on a streetcar in San Francisco! Okay, it wasn’t one of the famous cable cars that climb those steep hills with passengers hanging off its sides, but it was pretty darn close.

  Once I reached my stop in the touristy Fisherman’s Wharf, I didn’t have to wait too long before a green and cream tram came gliding to a stop. I clamored on with a bunch of other commuters and managed to grab a seat. I watched out the window with rising excitement as the streetcar went from stop to stop, making its progress toward my destination. The fog was minimal today, so I got the chance to glimpse the deep blue of the bay, sparkling in the early morning light.

  I disembarked at my stop in Embarcadero and made my way across the busy street to the Ferry Building, where Sabrina’s flower shop, The Flower Girl, was located. It was a grand, old building at the end of one of the city’s main streets, with a tall clock tower standing proudly above.

  With an air of anticipation, I walked through the main entrance and was immediately struck by the interior. I took in the high ceilings, the artisan stores, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I let out a contented sigh. This place was incredible!

  I wandered from store to store, my mouth salivating at the cheeses, the pastries, and the delicatessen treats. Eventually, I spotted a wooden sign hanging beside an arched entranceway that read “The Flower Girl” in gold writing against a dark background. Sabrina’s shop!

  I paused at the barred door, admiring the perfectly trimmed “golf ball” plants in two large, black pots, flanking the entranceway. I pulled the keys out of my purse and tried a large brass key in the door lock. It fitted perfectly. Checking my hand, where I’d written the alarm code in large, bold letters—one alarm mishap was more than enough for the florists of the world today—I pushed the door open and stepped into the darkened store.

  The alarm gave a warning beep, detecting my presence. I located the panel on the wall, exactly where Sabrina had told me it would be in her notes, and entered the code. The alarm panel light turned to green, and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding.

  I closed the door behind me, flicked on the lights, and looked around. It was just how I’d pictured Sabrina’s florist shop to be. Oh-so stylish, very urban chic and orderly, but somehow friendly and approachable.

  There were potted plants lining the mirrored walls, with exquisite orchids on low oak shelves, and a large glass chandelier of clear balls cascading down from the high ceiling, all the way down to the top of a group of lush evergreens placed on a rustic central oak table.

  Not a stuffed toy, fake flower, or helium balloon in sight.

  This place was pure class—just like its owner.

  I glanced down at my shorts and sweater. I was going to have to dress considerably more glamorously when I opened the shop up to fit in here.

  I pulled my phone out of my purse and took a selfie standing next to The Flower Girl sign above the register. I typed a text to Sabrina, attaching the photo.

  I love your florist shop!

  She texted straight back.

  Thank you! You know you don’t have to open up for a few days, right?

  I replied, explaining I wanted to get familiar with the place before I opened.

  Leonardo can help. He knows everything.

  Sabrina had mentioned Leonardo. He was her part-time assistant who had agreed to work longer hours until I got used to the shop. From the way Sabrina talked about him, he sounded quite the character.

  I located the register and slipped my purse into one of the drawers. I wandered around, familiarizing myself with the place. It reminded me of my own shop, only it was much slicker than mine, much more “city.” It wasn’t very large, but the layout made it feel spacious.

  I could see the vases Sabrina put her fresh-cut flowers, in groups, dotted around the floor and shelves. I picked up an unusual ornament, flipped it over, and nearly dropped it when I saw the price. With trembling fingers, I placed it quickly back on the shelf.

  I returned to the register and had a good look around, noting where the papers were for wrapping, the ribbons, the scissors: all the tools vital for the florist’s trade. I powered up the computer and logged in, checking Sabrina’s orders and which markets she bought her stock from. With my head buried deep in her processes, it took me a moment to notice the young woman standing at the door, smiling and waving at me.

  “Hello!” she called out.

  I walked over to the door and pulled it open. “Look, I’m so sorry, but we’re closed today.”

  “Addison, right?” she said, pointing at me and grinning.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Yes, that’s . . . me,” I replied tentatively. “Should I know you?”

  “Yes!” the woman replied, her eyes dancing as she brushed her long, straight hair over her shoulder. “I’m Naomi!”

  I still wasn’t getting it. “Sorry, who?”

  “Sabrina’s maid of honor! I was hoping you’d be here. I’ve been dying to meet you!”

  “Naomi. Right. Of course,” I bluffed. I remembered Sabrina telling me she had a maid of honor who had helped her get into her wedding dress, but that was as much as I had retained in my brain, full to the brim of Sabrina’s life as it was. “Did you want to come in?”

  Naomi glanced over my shoulder into The Flower Girl. I grabbed the chance to look her over. She was beautifully dressed in a little black dress with a high cream collar, studded with seed pearls, a pair of knee-high black boots, and some Audrey Hepburn sunglasses placed atop her dark head.

  Next to her, I felt like the poor cousin who fashion forgot.

  Were all Sabrina’s friends as much tall and gorgeous glamazons as her?

  Naomi crinkled her nose. “That’s okay. Why don’t we go to Peet’s so we can chat? My treat.” She nodded toward the coffee shop I had walked past when I was soaking up the Ferry Building atmosphere earlier in the day.

  “Sure, thanks. Let me just lock up and I’ll see you there.”

  I returned to the counter and collected my purse from the drawer. I waited until Naomi was out of sight before I sent a quick message to Sabrina.

  What have you told Naomi?

  I stood, staring at my screen, awaiting Sabrina’s reply. I tapped my foot. I sent another message.

  She’s here in the shop!!

  Still nothing. I bit my lip. After another minute of waiting, I slipped my phone back into my purse and locked the shop up.

  I was on my own.

  A few moments later, our orders placed with the barista—mine a vanilla latte with extra cream and Naomi’s a much more sensible sugar-free version—we stood together, waiting for our beverages to be made.

  Naomi studied me, making me feel uncomfortable. I smiled at her and looked away, willing the barista to work super fast.

  “So, you’re going to be taking care of The Flower Girl for Sabrina while she’s away?” Naomi asked, smiling at me.

  “Yes.” I glanced surreptitiously at my phone inside my purse, hoping to have a text from Sabrina. I was met with my home screen and no message.

  I had no choice but to play it safe. Sabrina had made it very clear to me she didn’t want people to know where she was and what she was doing—not until she’d worked a few things out, at least.

  Was her best fri
end included on that list?

  “So, how did you two meet?” Naomi asked.

  “Well, I . . .”

  The barista announced our coffees. I used the interruption to my advantage. “Shall we go outside? It looks like a gorgeous day out there, and I’ve not been here before.”

  She raised her eyebrows. This was clearly new information to her.

  Dammit!

  “Really? Sure, that sounds good.”

  We collected our drinks and walked out of the café.

  “Let’s find a seat by the water,” Naomi suggested, gesturing to the back of the building, an area I hadn’t visited.

  We pushed our way one-handed through a set of heavy glass doors, out into the brilliant morning sun. As I pulled my sunglasses out of my purse, I checked my phone again.

  Still nothing.

  I felt like a foreign spy about to be interrogated by the enemy. Only I had no idea what I could or could not say.

  “How’s this?” Naomi asked, pointing at a free bench about fifteen feet away.

  “That’s great!” I replied a little overenthusiastically.

  What was I allowed to say to this woman? On the one hand, Sabrina and Naomi must have been good enough friends for Sabrina to have had her as her maid of honor in the first place. Surely she told her everything, like I did with Tonya, my best friend back home?

  Only, now that I thought about it, I hadn’t told Tonya I’d switched lives with someone I met in an airport.

  Perhaps Sabrina hadn’t given Naomi the full story yet.

  Whatever the case, I needed to play it safe.

  We reached the bench and both sat down. A ferry was coming in to dock at the far end of the wharf, and a bridge stretched all the way across the water on the other end. Despite the beauty of the surrounds, my nerves were almost getting the better of me.

  Before Naomi had the chance to ask more probing questions, I launched into the subject myself in the hopes of controlling its direction. “Okay, what has Sabrina told you?” I took a sip of my latte.

  “Well,” Naomi began, her long hair moving in the breeze, “Sabrina texted me the day of her wedding. Well, the day that was supposed to be her wedding. She told me she was going away for a while.”