Duke gave her a genial smile, but when he looked at Bobbi, lightning flashed. He quickly looked away, but not before Hope spied a dangerous answering flicker from her sister. Oh, no. What was brewing here? What happened to picking Mr. Right, to no more bad boys?
This man couldn’t be all bad if he was friends with Jason. Then again, men weren’t always that discerning when it came to friends. Hope sneaked a look in her sister’s direction. Bobbi was looking at Duke like he was the last piece of chocolate left in the world. This was not good. Her sister needed to stay on track, especially now that she had Mr. Right’s heart in the palm of her hand, not only for her sake but for Jason’s, too. He would be so hurt if Bobbi dumped him for his friend.
“We’ve got my truck outside,” Jason said. “What goes to storage?”
As he was talking, Duke slipped off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, revealing a tattoo: a skull with a scorpion twisted around it and the word Scorpio written below it in blood red. Hope had to forcibly pull her eyes back from bug-out mode.
This was Bobbi’s favorite type of man, the bad boy kind who always broke her heart. Concern now joined the jumble of feelings Hope had been dancing with ever since Bobbi pulled her in as a secret weapon in her campaign to win Jason.
Bobbi set the men to work loading up her couch, and, as soon as they were out of the apartment, Hope gave her a low-voiced third degree. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean what am I doing?” Bobbi quickly got busy wrapping a glass in newsprint.
“I saw how you looked at Jason’s friend.”
Bobbi stared at her, faking affront. “I just looked at him. There was no how to it.”
“What happened to picking Mr. Right?” Hope hissed. What happened to all the work and sacrifice?
Bobbi’s eyebrows dipped down in a scowl. “I have picked Mr. Right. I don’t want Duke.”
“You just remember that,” Hope warned as the guys came back in for more.
By five o’clock, all Bobbi’s possessions were either in storage or at Hope’s apartment.
“Okay, time for burgers,” Bobbi said, and went to the kitchen of her new home. “And we’ve got beer.”
“I could definitely use one of those,” said Duke, following her. “Need help?”
Hope watched as Bobbi smiled up at him. Yes, her sister definitely needed help. Professional help. “I’ll make some oatmeal cookies,” she offered, joining Bobbi and Duke in the kitchen. It was too small for three people, especially when one of them was a six-foot-tall construction worker, but Duke didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. So Hope helped him on his way, accidentally on purpose pulling the silverware drawer into his hip. “Oops. Sorry.”
“No problem,” he said, looking at her like she was a lethal weapon. But he moved to the other side of the kitchen counter.
Both he and Jason were back underfoot the minute the cookies came out of the oven.
“Hey, these are good,” Duke said, spitting crumbs as he talked.
“You’re a good cook,” Jason told Hope.
“I’m good at a lot things,” she said coyly, and turned to pull salad makings from the fridge. Now, where had that come from? Shades of the good old days when she actually dated.
“All right, we’re ready,” Bobbi announced, and set out a platter piled with burgers.
Duke moved to her side, like one of Pavlov’s dogs. “These look good,” he said, but Hope couldn’t tell if he was talking about the burgers or the view he was enjoying looking down Bobbi’s top.
Jason seemed oblivious. He was helping himself to another cookie. Well, he was either confident or clueless. Probably clueless, Hope decided. Lucky for him, she was there.
As they ate, she tried to gently interrogate the newcomer. “So, have you got family around here?” she asked. Obviously, he didn’t have a girlfriend.
“Nope,” Duke said, and took a swig from his second beer. “I’m really up here because Jace convinced me the area’s growing. Lots of construction work.”
“How do you two know each other?” Mr. Dependable and Mr. Grunge Tattoo.
“We went to high school together,” Jason said.
“Yeah, then I split for California. Did the beach bum thing, played in a band.”
Got tattooed. Hope pointed to his arm. “Is that where you got this?”
He gave her a John Malkovich kind of grin. “That was the name of my band.”
“I like it,” said Bobbi, and he turned his Malkovich grin on her. If Hope could have reached her sister from under the table, she would have kicked her. Why were they working so hard to snag Jason for Bobbi if she was going to blow it all by drooling over this guy?
After they’d eaten, they found enough energy to play Spoons, a wild card game that involved diving for and fighting over a limited supply of spoons. Bobbi managed to gouge both men with her fingernails before the game was over. Hope was the first one out and it gave her a chance to observe her sister’s behavior carefully. She laughed and flirted with both men, but the way she looked at Duke made Hope nervous.
Still, she breathed easier when the guys finally stood by the front door, ready to leave, and Bobbi hung on Jason’s arm. “Thanks for being so awesome,” she told him.
“That’s what we do best,” Duke answered for him, and sauntered out the door.
At least he’d had the grace to leave. Hope did the same, all the while, sending her sister a psychic message. Don’t be a fool. Mr. Perfect wants you. Take him.
A moment later, Hope heard Jason’s big truck roar to life, and the front door shut and Bobbi came into the living room, wearing the smile of a woman who had just been thoroughly kissed. Okay, good. Her sister was back on track. She could quit worrying.
But she couldn’t quit remembering Jason’s smile as he ate that oatmeal cookie.
SEVENTEEN
HOPE’S FIRST CUSTOMER on Monday was Amber Howell. The shop was a jungle of tempting goodies: teacups brimming with silk tea roses, beribboned baskets full of potted flowers, garden art, and wind chimes made by a local artist. Amber looked around her like a woman hungry to spend money—a good thing for business, but probably not a good thing for a family with a husband out of work. As Hope greeted her, she silently vowed not to let Amber throw herself under the financial bus.
“I need to order an arrangement,” Amber announced.
“How about this?” Hope said, picking up an affordable pot of irises.
Amber shook her head. “Nope. It needs to be something special. It’s for Millie. I owe her big time.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a fistful of bills. “Thanks to her lavender and carrot cookie recipes, I am rolling in the dough, and I need to majorly thank her.”
Okay, she didn’t want to talk Amber out of a nice gesture. “How about a bouquet of yellow roses. They symbolize joy and friendship.”
“Perfect! Can we tell her that in the card?”
“Absolutely,” said Hope.
“On second thought. Don’t. Maybe when we’re at the garden again, I’ll have her guess.” Amber began peeling bills off her wad.
Hope didn’t let her peel very far. “That should cover it just fine.”
Amber looked at her suspiciously. “This is not enough for roses.”
“It is today. I’m running a special.”
Amber cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah? Since when?”
“Since you walked in. Don’t give me grief,” she added. “Otherwise I’ll make you go to the grocery store, and those flowers won’t be nearly as nice as mine.”
Amber shook her head. “You’re a tough businesswoman, you know that?”
Hope shrugged. “I know. I’m a killer.”
Amber pulled off one more ten and pressed it into Hope’s palm. “Me, too. Can it go out today?”
“Absolutely,” Hope promised.
Amber was barely out the door when Bobbi entered, bringing coffee—decaf for Hope—from the Coffee Stop. She nodded at Amber, walking off down the street. “So
, was that an order?”
“As a matter of fact, it was. You are going to be a busy bee today. We’ve got a lot of important orders to deliver.”
“Busy is good. I need to earn my keep.”
“You already are,” Hope assured her. “Believe me.”
They worked companionably for the next two hours, the creative process interrupted by a handful of phone orders and a woman who came into the shop needing a bouquet sent to her sister ASAP.
Bobbi had been helping her, but she quickly pulled Hope out of the back room, saying, “We need expert advice out here.”
That was an understatement. This customer needed Dr. Phil. Her eyes were bloodshot and she looked like she would happily ingest belladonna.
“She’s really mad. If she ever speaks to me again, it will be a miracle,” the woman moaned.
“I’m not sure we can guarantee a miracle,” Hope told her, “but we can guarantee a lovely arrangement that will help you get your message across. Purple hyacinths say ‘I’m sorry,’ and we have some in the cooler. And I often use camellia for greens. Camellia symbolizes admiration. How would that work?”
The woman’s eyes were tearing up. She didn’t speak, probably couldn’t for the lump in her throat. But she nodded vigorously.
Hope typed up the order. “How would you like the card to read?”
“Please forgive me.” It came out as a whisper.
“And would you like me to add what the flowers mean?”
The woman nodded and produced her charge card.
“I think we can get those out today,” said Hope.
“Absolutely,” said Bobbi. She laid a comforting hand on the woman’s arm. “And you know what? I’ll bet, deep down, your sister feels as bad as you. Things will work out. Sisters are like treasure, and who wants to lose treasure?”
“Thank you,” the woman breathed. She smiled at Bobbi, then looked at Hope like she was Mother Teresa, Joan of Arc, and Oprah all rolled into one.
No pressure. “I hope it works out,” Hope managed.
“I’m not sure we should be making those kind of promises,” she said to Bobbi after their customer had left.
Bobbi looked at her, mystified. “What kind of promises?”
“Like that it will all be okay.”
Bobbi chewed her lip for a moment, considering, then said, “But I think it will. You know why?”
“You’re psychic?”
“Nope. Just smart. That woman was so miserable. She wouldn’t be if she and her sis weren’t close. I’ll make a great bouquet and you can write something really cool on the card. By tomorrow, she’ll be back in here kissing your feet.”
Hope just shook her head. “Okay, let’s get this finished, then after lunch we can load up the wagon.
The wagon was a used PT Cruiser, yellow with Changing Seasons Floral scripted on its side in green. Impossible to miss, it was like a billboard on wheels.
“Okay now, remember, drive carefully,” Hope cautioned as Bobbi slipped in behind the wheel.
They had a lot of inventory stashed back there: three birthday arrangements, one anniversary special, something to celebrate a new baby, a delivery to welcome a newcomer to Heart Lake, Amber’s thank-you gift to Millie, and the all-important reconciliation arrangement for the angry sister. But probably the most valuable thing in the truck was a showy arrangement for a booksellers’ reception Hope’s friend Erin Rockwell was in charge of. The event was a big deal. So were the flowers. If all went well, Erin would give Hope more business as her new event-planning company grew.
Bobbi was now no stranger to making deliveries, Hope reminded herself. Still, she couldn’t help reminding her sister one last time to drive carefully.
Bobbi gave a snort of disgust. “What? You think I don’t know I’m carrying valuable stuff here? Of course I’ll drive carefully. I always drive carefully.”
Hope nodded and stepped away from the car. She’ll be fine, she told herself.
She had barely sent Bobbi off when the shop bell jangled and in walked—“Clarice?”
Her hair was blue now instead of maroon, but other than that, she was the same old Clarice, pierced and grinning. “Have you missed me?”
Missed the coming in late and leaving early? “Of course. But what are you doing here?”
Clarice spread her arms wide. “I’m back.”
“What happened to Vegas?”
“Vegas is history,” Clarice said with a shrug. “Anyway, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Right?” she added with a grin. She crossed the room and squatted in front of Audrey and gave the giant Christmas cactus a friendly rumple. “Hey, Audrey.”
“Did you leave Bork in Vegas?” Hope asked.
“Borg,” Clarice corrected her. “Of course not. He’s back, too, job hunting.”
“What happened to the one at his cousin’s garage?”
“It didn’t work out. Anyway, we decided we’d rather live here.” Clarice straightened slowly. “Uh, speaking of jobs, I thought maybe you could use some help.”
Hope was torn between regret that she couldn’t hire Clarice back and relief that she didn’t have to. “Gosh, I’m sorry. My sister’s working with me now.”
Clarice’s casual expression melted into disappointment. “Oh.” But, being Clarice, it was only momentary. She shrugged. “Oh, well. I just thought I’d give you first dibs.”
“Thanks.”
“I figured I owed you,” Clarice added, “after leaving so, uh . . .”
“Suddenly?” Hope supplied.
“Yeah. I felt bad, by the way, really. But what can you do? It’s stupid to let love get away.”
The words buzzed around the back of Hope’s mind after Clarice left. Too bad Bobbi hadn’t been around to hear them. A little positive reinforcement would have been good for her.
REALLY, BOBBI THOUGHT as she tooled along Lake Way, Hope was such a worrywart. What did she think was going to happen anyway?
Bobbi decided to make the new baby delivery first since that was the farthest away, on a side road off the far end of one of the curves at the top end of the lake. Heart Lake was shaped like a two-mile-long valentine, and, at this end, the roads tended to be a tangle and the addresses often didn’t make sense. Even though she’d MapQuested the address, she still got lost. Clouds had taken over the morning’s blue sky and now it was raining, which wasn’t great for visibility. At the rate she was going, she’d be driving around in the dark, delivering flowers right along with people’s dessert. And Hope wouldn’t be happy about that.
Bobbi was relieved when she finally found the address. The house was hidden at the end of a tree-encased gravel drive that could easily get an award for the most potholes ever put on one road. She didn’t waste any time getting the flowers to the front door.
The new mommy’s eyes lit up like Bobbi was holding out a tray of diamonds instead of an arrangement of blue carnations and baby’s breath. “For me?”
“For sure. Happy baby.”
“Thanks. They’re gorgeous.”
“That’s what we do,” Bobbi told her. Lord, she loved this job. Except for the running back and forth from the car to the houses in the rain. Yuck.
She hopped into the car, then bumped her way back down the potholed drive. Once she was on paved road again, she floored it, making up for lost time.
She’d barely gone a quarter mile when her cell phone rang with her latest ring tone: Blondie singing “Call Me.”
Of course, she would never talk on the cell phone while driving. She picked it up off the front seat and did a quick look to see who it was. And then things got bad. Even as she was looking at the phone, she saw the dog, an old dog, limping out onto the road in front of her. “Noooooo!” She stomped on the brakes and cranked the wheel to the right. The Cruiser fishtailed like she was in the middle of a chase scene with Jason Bourne, the phone went flying, and Bobbi let out a screech. She could hear tires squealing, gravel spitting, and Blondie shrieking, “Call me!” And, i
n the back of the Cruiser, things were going thump, thump, thump. When the car came to a stop, she was on the shoulder of the road and her heart was racing ninety miles an hour. And the dog, where was the dog? She jumped out of the car and ran to the front. No dead dog under the wheels. Her anxious gaze swept the road.
There went the old guy limping off into the bushes. Thank God. She leaned against the car and let out a sigh of relief.
The relief was short-lived. The front wheels were as close as they could come to being off the shoulder. And the flowers, what about the flowers? She ran to the back of the Cruiser and pulled it open. Oh, no.
Flowers lay on their sides everywhere, their little boxes upended, many of them had slid right into the side of the car and the little plastic forks that held the gift card envelopes had been snapped. Rivulets of water snaked toward three cards that had managed to get dislodged.
“Oh, crap!” Bobbi growled. “Crap, crap, crap!” She scooped up the envelopes, one just as a finger of water scraped across its corner. Meanwhile, at the front of the Cruiser, Blondie was back. “Call me!” Bobbi didn’t even have to look. She knew it would be Hope again. CRAP!
She wiped off an envelope and then began righting the arrangements, all the while chanting, “Please be okay, please be okay.” Hope was going to fire her, for sure. Fired twice in one week, and once by your sister. Did it get any worse than that? Stay calm, she advised herself.
But she didn’t listen. Instead, she did some serious crying, wailing loud enough to be heard from one end of the lake to the other. It took her a full five minutes to calm herself down. And to realize the engine was still on.
She turned it off and went back to examining the arrangements, heedless of the chilly spring rain that was pelting her. Thank God, no vases had broken. A couple of the hyacinths had taken a beating. She pulled them out and threw them in the gully beneath the shoulder of the road, then rearranged the flowers. There, you couldn’t even tell it was missing a couple. A rose in another one of the arrangements had suffered a broken neck. It followed the hyacinths into the gully. There, that took care of that. She fluffed the rest of the flowers and coaxed the arrangements back into place. Good as new. She’d stop by the gas station and refill the vases and everyone would be fine.
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