Romantic Interludes

by TWCS Authors

  “Great, thanks.” He grinned and a dimple appeared in his chin that she hadn’t seen on his last visit. He had a nice voice, too. Becky’s heart soared when he smiled.

  “I’ll get the same again.” Her heart plunged just as fast when she heard that he wanted to repeat the order of boring hydrangeas. Either the lady in his life had no flair for flowers or she was in love with him and would take anything that represented a token of his affections.

  She scrunched up her tiny nose despite trying not to. “You’re sure you wouldn’t like to try something new this week?” Becky looked at the display of incredible flowers along the benches.

  “I have the most amazing birds of paradise in at the moment,” she said. “They’ve been flown in from South Africa.”

  “You like those?”

  “They’d have to be one of my favorites. They really do look like exotic birds.” Becky came out from behind her counter.

  “Um, excuse me.” She smiled up at him.

  “Oh, sorry.” He took a sideways step but there was so little room she had to brush by him close enough to smell his cologne. Do not blush, she told herself again, and keep moving.

  “These.” She pulled a single bird of paradise from its bucket of water.

  “Wow, it really is amazing and it does kinda look like a bird but, to be honest, I don’t think it’s right for me, for my . . . for what I want. I’ll just go for the same as last week, if you have them.” He glanced at the other flowers on display.

  Had she known for sure that he was coming in, she might have even gone so far as to hide the darn mophead hydrangeas. But there was no warning. What could she do? Becky saw his eyes fall on the hydrangeas and she was cornered.

  She placed her precious bird of paradise back in its watery cradle and yanked out the hideous hydrangeas that he wanted. Then she went back to the sanctuary of her counter. Becky knew she was being a little more curt than usual, but it was breaking her heart that she couldn’t impress this lovely man with her flower-arranging abilities. It upset her that she couldn’t run up a little magic of colors, shapes and perfumes to dazzle the woman in his life and maybe him, too, but no—he wanted just what he’d had the week before. She wrapped them up as beautifully as clear plastic would permit and handed them over. He paid cash. Again.

  “Would you like to join our mailing list?” she suddenly asked, remembering that then she’d need his email address. “I can update you on things going on in the shop.”

  For a moment he looked confused. Then he smiled and the dimple came back. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  Why is he grinning as he says no? she wondered. Did he think she was into him? How wrong was he? She didn’t want to, but Becky felt herself sulking.

  “No problem, sir. It was just a suggestion.” Sir, did I seriously just say sir? What in the hell is wrong with me? she wondered. She knew she was being churlish but he just nodded and headed back out the door.

  “Well, you really showed him.” Jilly laughed when she came in to say hi, later that day. “You even had a week to prepare for his visit and still you got nothing out of him. That said, I’ve never seen you looking so good—go you.”

  “Well, what does it matter? If he’s become a regular customer it’s because he’s buying a lot of flowers, and if he’s doing that, it’s because he has a woman in his life so why do I care what his name is?”

  “Why do you care? I’ll tell you why, Becky. Because he’s clearly a hunk or at least you think he is. I can see written it all over your face.”

  “I’ll grant you he’s cute but I’m sure he’s spoken for.”

  “We don’t know that yet.”

  “No. Nor do we know if we’ll ever see him again. So why don’t we just change the subject. I told you—I tried to get his email and he wasn’t happy about that, so let’s just move onward, shall we?”

  “Okay.” For a second Jilly looked defeated but then she grinned.

  “We’ll move on to next Monday when he comes in again. We have to plan tactics and make a strategy to figure out who he is and what he’s up to. Remember what the sign says.” Jilly pointed to the little wooden sign up on the wall behind Becky’s head. “Tomorrow’s flowers are the seeds you plant today. We need to do some planting!”

  Becky rolled her eyes. “I give up.”

  The 3rd & 4th Monday

  She really did try the following Monday when he came in again and the Monday after that. She tried to make conversation, but he was too quiet and distant. She made sure she looked her best again. She wore her nicest dress on Monday number three and a new skirt on Monday number four. Like before, her hair was always shiny and she wore a little makeup.

  Becky knew she was looking her best and trying to be her most charming. Short of banging him over the head with a club and dragging him back to her cave, she was out of ideas. The only possible solution was that he was already committed. Jilly instructed her to find out once and for all if he was married or living with someone or if he even had a girlfriend. At least that way they would know—one way or the other.

  “I used to hate Mondays. They were my worst day of the week. Now they’re my best and worst day wrapped into one. Before his visit I’m ridiculously hopeful and I feel like a teenager, and after he’s gone, I’m thoroughly fed up and wonder if I’m just over the hill.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Becky,” Jilly said. “You know the landscape’s changed. There’s simply, no such thing as over the hill anymore, thanks to Joan Collins and Madonna. You don’t even have to date an older man. You can pick a younger guy if you like.”

  “If I can’t have a gentleman gardener, my second choice would have to be my Monday Man, but I’m still not sure if he’s out in the field or pot-bound.”

  “This Monday you have to find out once and for all. No excuses.” Jilly had given her a list of questions that would be reasonable to ask after four visits.

  The 5th Monday

  This week, Becky was ready. She had memorized her boss’s list and she was determined not to let another chance go by without discovering more about him.

  “I have to tell you, you’re one of my best customers at this stage and I don’t even know your name,” Becky said on his next visit. That was exactly what Jilly had told her to say.

  “My name is Bob. Nice to meet you.” The dimple reappeared and so did her goose bumps.

  “Becky.” She reached her hand out to shake his, but just as they did, his cell phone rang. He looked apologetic but answered the call.

  Becky pretended to focus on wrapping the flowers and taking his cash while he spoke with somebody called Whitney. It didn’t sound romantic but how would she know? Just as he finished the call another customer walked in. What were the chances? On a Monday? Of all the times to get busy, she thought miserably. He seemed to hover for a moment, but he left before her next customer did so they never got to chat.

  Jilly was incredulous. “You didn’t even manage to get his last name? You would never have made it as a spy,” she said at their now routine post-Monday-Man-visit chat.

  They talked about him all week. They hatched plans and fantasized about his life. Maybe he was a huge businessman. Perhaps he was married with fifteen kids.

  “Have you considered that maybe he’s gay?” Becky blurted out one day but Jilly shook her head straight away.

  “Your gaydar would have picked it up. You would have sensed it and he would have had much better taste in fresh cut flowers.”

  “That’s gayist,” Becky said. “Gay people are just as entitled as straight folks to have bad taste in flowers.”

  Jilly laughed. “I don’t think so. Gay men in Texas, in my experience, are better dressed, have smarter homes, and like more sophisticated cut flowers than straight guys. Just sayin’.”

  “I’m thinking that’s not gayist, it’s straightest—not that it matters because he’s not gay,” Becky said. “He can’t be and he’s the best smelling man I’ve ever had the pleasure of
sniffing.”

  “Better than a Princess Diana Rose?”

  “Yep.”

  “Not better than Sarcococca in full bloom?”

  Becky nodded solemnly. “Better.”

  “My word, I had no idea he was that good smelling. For that I would even overlook a large nose.”

  “His nose isn’t that big!”

  “I’ll reserve judgment.”

  As the week rolled on, Becky got more and more uptight. Over the weekend she bought a whole new outfit for work that Monday. All the time she worried that one of these weeks, he would simply stop coming. She knew nothing about him. He could walk out of her life just as easily as he walked in, and there wasn’t a darn thing she would be able to do about it.

  By that Monday, Becky had reached her snapping point. She couldn’t take anymore, so she decided to do something drastic. She would ask him out. The two girls had discussed it at length and they were in agreement. What was the worst that could happen? A little momentary embarrassment if he said no. They might lose him as a customer which would be a shame, but at least it would put them out of their misery. Anything was better than this. Becky resolved to go through with it.

  The 6th Monday

  “Bob, good to see you. I was expecting you.” She gave him a broad smile when he walked into The Little Flower Shop that afternoon.

  “You were?” He sounded mildly surprised.

  “Sure.” She pretended to be blasé. “You’ve kind of become a regular fixture in my Mondays over the last, um, six weeks. Don’t worry, it’s a good thing. We’re here to sell flowers and I’m grateful you come in to buy them. A bunch of white hydrangeas, I assume?” She headed for the bucket of mophead blooms.

  “No. I think I’ll get something else this week.”

  Becky nearly fell into the flowers in a dizzy heap. It certainly threw her carefully planned conversation out the window. “Oh, um, what will you have this week then?” she asked, feeling very lost in the shop that was practically a second home to her at this stage.

  “I don’t know.” He looked helpless. “What was it you were suggesting the first week I came in here?”

  Becky picked out the red irises again and matched them with her raging red roses. She paired them up with some zinging-orange zinnias and jet-black grass. She could do this on remote control which was a good thing because quite suddenly Becky didn’t feel too happy about her Monday Man.

  She avoided chatting with him and even pretended to make a phone call so she didn’t have to speak with him as soon as she’d finished his order. How could she talk pleasantries with him when it was so obvious what he was up to?

  “He’s moved on,” she told Jilly when her boss arrived later that evening to hear the latest.

  “What? Bob? I don’t believe it.”

  “My Monday Man has moved on—from one woman to the next. In the six weeks that I’ve been standing here and daydreaming about him, he has quite obviously moved from one woman to another and he’s changed flowers to suit his new girlfriend.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Jilly, stop. We both know from experience that when a man is buying for two women he often adopts two very different styles of flowers—like he’s trying to keep the alternate parts of his life further apart. All men are idiots.

  “Well, you weren’t really that into him anyway, were you?” Jilly asked. “I mean you don’t even know his last name.”

  “I guess not.” Becky agreed, but in her heart she knew she didn’t mean it. There had been nobody serious in her life since Jack and she was sort of used to that but somehow Bob re-awoke that part of her. Yes, there had been a few indiscreet flings when she went to Austin on girls’ weekends but not a single second date. There were no available guys that she liked in Waylin, but there wasn’t any way she’d move out of town, either. The little Texan town was her home. She’d grown up there, buried her dad there. The idea of leaving was even worse than the idea of living a single life. Before Bob had entered her world on a cloud of mophead hydrangeas, she was happy enough with her single status, but now she felt a pang of something. What was it? A vacuum. Had he left a hole in her heart now that she knew he was with somebody else?

  “Darn him, anyway.” She stomped around the little shop, not doing very much. It felt even smaller than usual—claustrophobic. “I have to get out of here, Jilly. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all, honey.” Jilly watched her with sympathetic eyes, but this made Becky feel even worse.

  “Becky, you weren’t even trying to find love, but it very much looks like love found you. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be the lasting kind.”

  The week dragged by and both women avoided discussing Bob. It was hard. Becky couldn’t remember what they talked about pre-Bob. With spring in the air, the shop was fairly busy, but even that didn’t cheer her up. On the Saturday evening when they were closing up for the weekend, Jilly asked Becky if she wanted to take the following Monday off.

  “It’s not that bad,” Becky said.

  “No, it’s worse. I’ve never seen you like this. I think you need to take some garden leave. At least take Monday off. It’s not a problem. I’ll do it.”

  It didn’t take much for Becky to weaken. Bob’s visits had worn her down and the fact that they only met once a week didn’t make it any easier. In fact, it made it worse because Becky had a full week to fantasize about him between visits.

  “I just feel the break from Bob would do you good. We can swap days. I’ll work Monday and you do Tuesday for me.” In the end Becky agreed. The truth was she had been dreading seeing him again. He was obviously a player. He’d moved from one woman onto the next in the space of a week. That was some pace and to think she actually thought he was a nice guy! Maybe that was his style. Girls fell for his slightly goofy, well dressed, nice guy personality—which she now knew was false. There was another thing that irked her. She had never seen him around town. So he must live somewhere else. That meant he came to Waylin just to buy the flowers in a town where he wasn’t known. That was something a guy who was having an affair would do. Becky’s affection was turning to anger pretty fast.

  The 7th Monday

  It felt odd not getting up for work on Monday. She tried to sleep in, but failed, so she started the day by reading. She’d worked Mondays for seven years and her week had a rhythm that she was accustomed to. Now that was broken—ruptured thanks to a guy whose second name she didn’t even know. How annoying was that?

  Her Mom had bridge on Mondays so she couldn’t even waste away the afternoon listening to her mother lamenting about the fact that her daughter was single. Her book worked well at distracting her, but she got so into it that she read the entire thing in a matter of hours. Then she was looking at the four walls again. Becky had never been crazy about exercise, but she took her frustrations out on a long walk. It kept her busy, but it didn’t occupy her mind like the book had. Damn Bob Whatever-His-Name-Was. This was ridiculous and she was behaving like a love-sick lamb. Wasn’t she too old for this? she thought. With no book to read, she went to the library and got a new one. Next she did the jobs she might do on her normal day off. She visited the drycleaners and then had a coffee. Becky kept looking at her watch, wondering if he’d been to the shop yet. Was this the week he would simply stop coming? She really didn’t want to bump into him, but she couldn’t help being curious.

  The shop usually closed at five-thirty and he’d never come that late before, so Becky reckoned she was safe to visit her friend then. Jilly looked up when she heard the jingle of the doorbell.

  “I wondered if you’d show up.” She gave nothing away in her voice.

  “I waited until I was pretty sure the coast was clear. Is it?” Becky asked, sounding anxious as soon as she walked in.

  Jilly smiled. “It’s clear.”

  “Well, did you do any better than me getting info out of him?” Becky asked now, desperate to know more about him.

  “Darn sure I did.” Ji
lly smirked.

  “And?”

  “And . . .” her grin broke into a broad smile. Then she bent down from behind the counter and lifted an enormous bunch of flowers up and onto the counter. “These are for you!” she said, her smile now lighting up her whole face.

  “They’re my Birds of Paradise. Is this some kind of a joke?”

  “No, not at all. He bought every single one we had in stock. Bob Elders came in just as usual, but he looked a little sad when he saw you weren’t here.”

  “Elders? Is that his last name? Bob Elders? I never would have guessed that.” She walked up to the counter and touched one of the flowers in her bouquet. “Have you Googled him yet?”

  Jilly laughed. “Not necessary. I talked with the guy! I struck up a conversation with him and told him that we thought he had a new girlfriend when he changed his flower order so drastically.”

  “You didn’t.” Becky was aghast. “Whatever happened to the florists’ code of silence rule?”

  “This was an emergency,” Jilly raised her hands in the air like her friend had a gun. “Becky, this is you we’re talking about—not just some random stranger. I had to find out what the heck was going on. Anyway it turns out that the mophead hydrangeas were for his cleaning lady who’s been in the hospital in Austin. He told me everything. She’s been cleaning for him for decades and he said that they’re her favorite flowers. He lives just outside of Victoria. It was pure chance he found The Little Flower Shop that first week. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know that the same woman is out of the hospital now and on the mend.”