by Maggie Way
“Oh,” was all I could say, and I gave him a dry laugh.
Mr. Bad Joker scratched his forehead. “I did forget our anniversary.”
“Hmmm, you need a big budget then.”
“Dozen roses?”
“Bigger.”
“Two dozen.”
Wow, seriously, men have no clue.
“More than two dozen?”
“Why don’t you leave it up to me?” I patted his arm and because I could, gave it a little squeeze. Firm.
He followed me around the shop as I picked up flowers, naming them one by one since he’d requested for me to do so. Once I had an armful, I lead the way to the long bench where we put together bouquets, and spread the flowers on the tabletop. The bottom shelf was filled with vases and containers, and the drawers were full of spools of ribbons, raffia and such.
“When was your anniversary?”
The customer brushed his hair back. “Last month.”
“Oh boy,” I breathed out, “We’re going to need more flowers.”
“Whatever it takes.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and pick a few more, either of the same color or kind.” I waved a hand toward the display.
While I cleaned the flowers I’d gathered, I kept an eye on him, and as always, my mind wandered to my own past relationship. Far too many times, Bob had forgotten or ignored our anniversaries. On our first wedding anniversary, he’d showered me with presents, wined and dined me, and did all sorts of things—good things—to me in the bedroom when we got home. Young love. Fresh and beautiful. Fleeting.
The second year, Bob brought flowers from the corner store and a box of cherry chocolates. I hated cherries. I hated them even more when covered in chocolate. The third year, he completely forgot and didn’t remember until two weeks later. It was downhill from then on.
The man returned with dahlias and ranunculus. “I was out of town for work.”
“Hmmm?” Trimming the stems of Gloriosa lilies, I kept my head down.
“When I missed our anniversary… I was at a work trip. I asked her to come with me but she decided to stay. Rachel’s an interior designer and she had a difficult client to deal with.”
I didn’t make a sound and continued with the work, arranging lilies, peonies, ranunculus, seeded eucalyptus, and ferns in a somewhat pleasing bundle. He kept talking, explaining his reasons.
“Wow, you’re good at that,” the customer said, offering me a charming smile when I looked up. “What’s your name?”
“Morgan.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Pardon me for saying, but you don’t look like a Morgan to me.”
I grinned wide. I had my Italian mother’s thick, dark brown curls—although lately I’d been thinking of covering up the gray creeping slowly along my temples—chocolate eyes, and my father’s fair skin with light freckles dotting my nose. “Well, if you must know, I am Maria Isabel Morgana De Luca O’Connor.”
“That is… Morgan it is. I’m Tim Matthews. Just Tim.”
“Hello, Just Tim.” I let go of the shears and shook hands with him.
“My father, a solid Irish man, hoped to have a son, and had chosen Morgan as a name. He got me instead, but the name stuck,” I continued blabbering.
I didn’t often chat with male customers this much, and most days, we’d have female customers popping in for plants or gifts to their friends or mothers or what have you. The most interaction—if anyone could call it that—I would get with the opposite sex was with Darwin and his grunts and mumbles. Tim had such an appealing personality that I found myself yapping more. We were both laughing at his pathetic attempt at cooking his wife’s favorite meal when Darwin walked out of the back room and stood right by my side, unusually close to me.
“You can leave now,” Darwin said, his voice hoarse and authoritative.
I tied raffia around the stems a few times and formed a bow. “I’m almost done.”
Darwin stepped closer and nudged me out of the way, “It’s all wrong. I’ll have to do it again.”
“I think it’s beautiful.” The customer—Tim—smiled sweetly at me.
“Oh, thank you.” I gushed. My smile dropped instantly when I turned to Darwin.
He cleared his throat, a bit too loudly and if I didn’t know any better, rather predatorily. “You can take off. I’ve got it covered.”
“For the rest of the afternoon?”
“Hunh,” he grunted and I took that as a yes.
“Why don’t we take care of the payment now, while he works his magic with my mess?” I told Tim.
He switched his gaze between me and the grumpy florist, who had all his focus on the flowers. Thankfully, Tim followed me to the cash register. I rang his order in, and before I could finalize it, Tim reached over and placed his hand on mine. As attractive a man he was, I didn’t get the same giddy feeling as when Darwin touched my arm earlier.
“Wait a second. Could you add three more roses?”
“Roses? There aren’t any roses on your bouquet.”
“Well, what do you like?”
“Me?” My hand flew to my chest.
“Not roses? Lilies? Or one of those puffy pink ones.”
“Peonies.”
“Yeah, you like peonies?”
“I like peonies.”
“Perfect, add those in…make it six peonies. Here’s my card. I’ll get them myself.”
Confused, I took his black credit card and entered the extra flowers. When Tim returned to the counter, he held out the peonies. “These are for you. I picked the best ones.”
“Oh no, you didn’t have to…” I began, even though my hand was already reaching for them.
“Thank you for putting together my apology bouquet. Rachel’s going to love it.” I pushed my nose into the petals and sniffed. “And I’ll check out that cooking site you told me about.”
“Here’s your bouquet.” Darwin appeared beside us, slapping the arrangement on the counter. I eyed him curiously.
Tim turned to the intrusive, sour man and picked up the bouquet. Darwin, no matter how horrible his mood was, could make a gorgeous arrangement even with dying flowers, and what he put together for Tim was no exception.
“Thank you, Morgan.” With one last look and a wink, and ignoring the sour puss beside me, Tim carried his bouquet out.
It had been a while since I’d received flowers, and nothing as beautiful as the ones I held in my hands. Because of that, it was difficult to hide the smile on my face…until I felt Darwin’s stare burrowing through the back of my head. I pivoted and ignored him as best I could.
“I’ll be in at five tomorrow morning,” I reminded him. Some words came out of his mouth, but the only coherent word was ‘night’. It was more than I’d expected from him.
Chapter Two
Sunday…
The storm had poured from skies relentlessly all night, and there were no signs of it stopping. Great for greenery, but not so good for an outdoor afternoon wedding, the reason why I’d gotten up too early on a Sunday. I dashed from the bus stop to the shop, struggling against the wind that threatened to whisk away my umbrella. I had no idea why I’d bothered with it, as I was soaked from head to toe by the time I entered the shop.
Leaning the useless umbrella against the back-door entrance, I shook off my coat and squeezed water from my hair. It would take at least an hour for it to dry and by that time, it would be a frizzy, curly mess. But I had no time to worry about my hair or how I resembled a drowned rat, because Darwin was staring daggers at me for being half an hour late.
“I know I said I’ll be here at five but hell, Armageddon has begun out there,” I reasoned, pulling my damp cardigan off.
“Next time, call.”
I could deck him, but then I’d be out of a job…one that I actually enjoyed. Ignoring his snide remark, I dumped my lunch bag by the kitchen table and donned my apron. Pushing my sleeves up and wrestling my hair into a decent bun, I announced, “Ready to wor
k, what would you like me to do?”
When I turned around, I was alone. Sometimes, talking to Darwin was like engaging a brick wall in a conversation, and other times—like this moment—I was talking to a real wall. I exhaled loudly, hoping it would expel my frustration. The man knew how to test my patience. Then, one look around, and I saw he’d already done everything we needed to do for the wedding this afternoon—from end-of-church-pew wreaths, to nine elegant bouquets, to nine simple yet intricate boutonnieres. Had the man slept at all?
I heard him shuffling back down the staircase he used to access his apartment. “You could have called me and told me not to come—” I paused, seeing the tray he held in his hands.
“I made coffee.” He raised the tray before sliding it down the kitchen table.
“And baked croissants?” I eyed the pastries, which sat on a glazed ceramic plate beside a bowl of fresh berries and a white bud vase with rich red blooms.
“Nica came by last night and dropped off the pastries. She’d hoped to catch you here. Eat. We still have the flowers for deliveries on Tuesday to prepare. Coffee’s hot.”
Taken aback, all I could do was stare at him. It was the most he’d said to me in a month. But I wasn’t one to say no to free food. The chair legs scraped the tiled floor when I pulled it from under the table. Darwin hovered a few seconds, like he had no idea what to do next, like he had more to say, then he grumbled and stood awkwardly a few feet away.
“I can’t eat all these.” I sat on the single chair and took one of the croissants, offering him the other on the plate. “Have some with me.”
He hesitated, furrows appearing on his forehead. I didn’t move until he took the plate. He placed it back down the table and said, “I’m going to get some coffee.” And he was back up the stairs.
While he was gone, I wondered what had made him do something nice and sweet for me. I couldn’t think of a reason. It was so out of character, but I wasn’t one to look gift horse in the mouth. Maybe I should ask for a raise. I laughed at the thought. After researching how much most retailers pay their employees, I discovered Darwin was paying me quite well, and he’d always been good at keeping track of my overtime hours.
The coffee was hot and delicious, a perfect solution for a chilly morning. I settled on the chair and sipped. Darwin came back not long after with his own mug, pulling a short stool up to the tiny kitchen table.
This should be interesting…
“Where did you buy these berries? Are they ever sweet.” I popped one in my mouth.
He regarded me over the lip of his cup. “From my garden.”
“You have a garden? Of course you have your own garden. They’re delicious.”
“I grew the mint too.”
Leaning forward, I pushed the berries around and found bits of mint mixed with the fruit.
Darwin sipped his coffee, and when he placed his cup down, keeping both hands around it, he cleared his throat and nodded his head at the flower. “I didn’t know you liked peonies.”
Furrowing my brow, I glanced up at him. “I like them. Is this one a peony? I’ve never seen one like this.”
“Peony Diana Parks. They’re a rare breed.”
“It’s beautiful. You grew this one too? We should sell them. I bet they’ll be a hit.”
He shook his head. “They’re only for special occasions.”
My mouth formed into a small ‘o’ as I didn’t know how to reply. I leaned my back in the chair and ate quietly until I remembered his comment about me liking peonies. He was referring to yesterday, when Tim bought me a half a dozen flowers. A thought started forming in my head, and I was about to test if Darwin would open up more, when the shop phone rang. The clock on the wall said it was quarter to six. Darwin and I both knew only one person would call at this hour.
I moved to stand but he stopped me, a hand hovering over mine on the table. “Sit and relax, I’ll take the call. It’s probably Nica.”
Relax before a busy day? He didn’t have to tell me twice.
I was in the middle of de-thorning roses when Darwin reappeared, picked up the tray with the empty plates and cup and left again. I might have imagined the small smile appearing on his lips when he saw I’d finished my meal. Whatever had happened to him overnight, I wished it would happen again…everyday.
By eight o’clock, we had the wedding flowers loaded in the van. Once again, Darwin helped me up in the passenger seat. When he began humming to the radio, I couldn’t help but worry. Darwin did not hum.
How could I ask if the real Darwin had been abducted by aliens and replaced with an impostor—a much nicer, kinder impostor—without upsetting him? I ran every possible phrasing of that question around in my head and, by the end of our drive, I couldn’t find a way without seeming impolite.
Nica greeted us with a golf umbrella large enough to double as a boat at the church. “Isn’t this rain nuts?” she asked in her cheery tone, holding the umbrella over me as I climbed out of the van.
“They say it’s not gonna stop until tomorrow. How does your bride feel about this?” We walked to the back of the van and watched Darwin unlock the panel doors.
“She’s okay right now.” Nica leaned her head lower and added in a whisper, “I think her mother-in-law gave her half a Xanax. You should have heard her this morning.” She lifted her head and waved at Darwin. “Good morning, Dar.”
“Morning. Beautiful day.”
I beg your pardon? I almost said out loud. Nica nudged my jaw up and close with her finger. I sent her a worried look and mouthed, ‘Is he okay?’ She smiled and shrugged.
While Nica and I waited for the big burly men to unload the flowers for the church, I thanked her for the pastry.
“Good. I told Dar he needed to share it with you. He promised he would. Did it work?”
“Did what work?”
“He said he was an ass to you yesterday and needed a way to apologize. What did he do?”
Confused, I watched the mysterious man carry the wreaths into the church. His long-sleeved shirt had clung to his chest and defined toned muscles I never knew had existed.
“I don’t know. He was his usual self.”
Nica laughed. “Well, he said he was out of line.” Her gaze followed Darwin to where he was setting up at the front of the church. “He’s really super awesome once you get to know him. It takes a while, but there’s a warm gooey center in all that tough exterior.” She sent me a knowing smile. “We’d better get a move on. I have to sort out the reception venue after this.”
“You’re right.” I followed her down the aisle, patting my wayward hair in place, ready for another busy day.
Despite finding myself thinking more about Darwin and the peaceful, relaxed breakfast we’d shared, and wondering if in fact it was his way of apologizing for his behavior yesterday…or any other day…I kept my hands busy.
I drove to the reception venue with Nica and continued our work there. Then we headed back to the church with Darwin to distribute the bouquets. When the bridal party arrived, we were right behind Nica. While she handed out the bouquets, I gave the men their boutonnieres, which Darwin carried in a small box.
Darwin remained by the door when we returned to the suite with the bride and her friends. I noticed a man sitting quietly on a corner chair. He had the look in his eyes that I could only describe as admiration. His smile resembled that of the bride’s, and I immediately knew who he was. I approached the father of the bride with the last remaining boutonniere in my hand.
“She’s beautiful. You must be very proud,” I told him.
He appeared to be about Bob’s age. His smile brightened his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s all grown up. Her mother would be in tears if she were still with us.” Taking the boutonniere from me, he struggled to pin it on his lapel.
I tugged at my skirt and knelt on the floor in front of him. “Let me help you with that.” He was so close that his minty breath tickled my nose. Hand held out, he he
lped me get on my feet, and I patted his lapel in place. “There. Very dapper.”
“Grazie, bella.” I blushed when he lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. What a charmer.
With my hand on my chest, I turned away, smiling something silly at myself. When I raised my head, Darwin’s dark stare caught my attention before he pivoted and left.
The drive back to work should be interesting.
He said nothing to me as we drove in the rain. Not unusual for him, but it made me uncomfortable. When Bob was angry, I knew it right away. He threw things at the wall and had a propensity for calling me vicious names. With Darwin, it could be anybody’s guess what he was thinking about.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling his sour mood was because of me.
I opened the shop as soon as we arrived, and did the daily rituals. Darwin retreated to his apartment and I had no idea if he’d ever come back down.
During lunch, Emily came in, which was a surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
“Dar asked me to work for an hour so you can eat.”
My eyes flitted to the backroom door. He couldn’t have said anything to me? Was he that mad? Over what? A headache bloomed. The man was a difficult puzzle. I hated puzzles.
“Then I’ll head to the back. I was in the middle of processing the orders for the funeral this weekend, would you mind continuing that?” I slid off the stool.
Emily raised her hands. “No way, man. That’s not part of my job description.” In all honesty, I didn’t think she had any. “Dar doesn’t trust me with numbers. I’m surprised he’s letting you do them.”
I scratched my head. I’d taken care of orders and deliveries right from the start, thinking it was par for the course.
I left Emily to her own devices and sat at the kitchen table, reading one of my romance books from the library.
Darwin came in and dropped a set of keys on the table. “Here.”
Closing my book, I put the keys up. “What are these?”
“Keys to the shop.”
“You want me to lock up?”
His lips were flat. His hands stuffed in his denim jeans. “No.”