Dutch Crocus (Flowers Can Be Fatal)

by Clare Revell

  “You mean the shop?”

  “The shop, plus the flower rota at church, not to mention the seniors’ lunches. I have no idea how she managed it all.”

  “Me, either. I’m not sure I can manage simply the shop.” She took a long drink of the coffee. “This is meant to be a fresh start, but—”

  “But?” he probed.

  “I don’t know. The house seems to need a lot of love and attention. Perhaps more than I can give it. Decorating isn’t my forte. I can put paint on walls, but that’s about it. Anything else just goes zoom.” She moved her hand over the top of her head.

  “I’m sure you can’t be that bad, but if you want a hand, give me a shout.” He placed his empty cup on the table. “Thank you for the coffee. I’ll make a move and let you get on with unpacking. Enjoy the casserole.”

  “I will, thank you. And thank you for the offer of help.”

  “Anytime. I mean it, just give me a shout.” He dearly wanted to check the condition of the remaining walls under that paper, because he had a horrible feeling about the condition of the house.

  2

  Despite leaving the heating on all night, Grace woke cold and in a damp house. The wind had picked up and howled through creaky window frames, which she discovered were rotten. As a temporary measure, she decided to nail heavy duty plastic over all the windows until spring. Just as soon as she got to a DIY store to pick some up. But first things first.

  Carnation Street Florist stood in a row of shops, almost opposite the house. Grace ran across the road and let herself in, the quaint bell over the door tingling. Dust lay over the counters. Empty buckets and vases stood on the floor. She shut the door and dumped her bag on the side before heading out the back. The small work room was just as filthy, as was the office. In fact, the whole place needed a good cleaning before she could even think about re-opening.

  No one had been in here since Aunt Tilja had gotten sick and had closed the shop.

  She sighed. Emotionally and physically drained after the last month, during which she’d watched her aunt get frailer and die, Grace struggled to find any smidgen of enthusiasm for her new career.

  And failed.

  “Look, Gracie. This won’t do. Aunt Tilja wouldn’t want you to give up at the first hurdle. Clean it and take stock afterwards. One step at a time. You can do this. You know you can, so stop procrastinating and just do it.”

  Rolling up her sleeves, she tied a scarf over her hair, not wanting to get dust in it again—purely because she couldn’t face another cold shower to wash it out. She pulled the cleaning supplies from the box and began to scrub the counters. Once she was sorted here, she’d think about staff.

  The bell above the shop door tinkled. “Hello?” The voice was decidedly male and familiar, and to her horror, sent warm shivers down her spine—Mr. Wallac.

  She caught sight of her reflection in the glass counter. She was filthy. What would he think of her? And why did it matter what the bloke who lived next door thought of her anyway? “Hello.”

  “And here I was, thinking that finding you covered in dust yesterday was a one off.” Elliott’s tone was light and almost teasing, matching the twinkle in his intense blue eyes.

  Instantly at ease with him, she returned the smile. “I happen to like the unkempt, dusty look.”

  He extended his hand. “I come bearing gifts…well, coffee. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so got a regular.”

  Taking the cup, she sipped it. “Thank you. I haven’t yet met a coffee I don’t like.”

  “You got a smudge.” He reached out and wiped it away from her cheek, then looked embarrassed at having taken the liberty.

  A blast of heat shot through her. Don’t be stupid, I’ve only just met him. Someone so handsome is bound to have suitors aplenty. She inhaled deeply. “So, what brings you over here?”

  “Coffee. To say hi, see how you are doing. You weren’t at home and as your car is on the drive, I figured you’d be here.”

  Grace nodded. “So long as you’re not actually stalking me,” she said half seriously.

  “Just being neighborly, I promise. How’s it going?”

  She sipped the coffee. “Well, I found the suppliers and employees list, so I’m going to give it a go. I can always fail spectacularly and return to being an accountant. The tricky bit, at least as far as I’m concerned, will be making bouquets. See, my idea of flower arranging is just to chuck them in a vase without even taking off the elastic band around them. But I guess even Aunt Tilja had to start somewhere. And right now, that is making this place sparkle.”

  He ran his finger along the top of the shelving unit. “I’m free for the next hour, if you’d like a hand to clean.”

  Grace pushed down her immediate reaction. Pride would do her no good here. He’d offered and it would be the prudent thing to accept. “Thank you.”

  Elliott shed his jacket, hanging it over hers. He grabbed a cloth, rinsed it, and began cleaning.

  She admired his form for a long moment. His muscles rippled under his shirt, which tucked into a snug pair of jeans. “I’m guessing my aunt told you about us?”

  He inclined his head slightly. “You have a brother, Rick, who’s a cop, and a sister, Faith, who’s an artist. Tilja was very proud of all of you.”

  Grace smiled faintly. “Did she also tell you I’m single? She mentioned my lack of attachment every time I saw her.”

  “She did. She was worried about you.”

  “She shouldn’t have worried. I’m content with my lot. You, on the other hand, have me at a disadvantage, for I know very little about you.”

  She paused, wringing out the cloth in her hand. “Actually make that absolutely nothing, apart from the fact you live next door and know how to fix the gas.”

  Elliott chuckled. “I can solve that very easily. I have a brother and a sister. Not married, no children. I am a builder by trade and a church elder.” He scrubbed the top shelf with such ease it made her almost jealous of his height. “You’d be most welcome to join us on Sunday at the morning service.”

  “Depends how the unpacking and cleaning is going. Although to be honest, it would be nice just to spend the day doing nothing. I haven’t had a day off in several months now.”

  She hadn’t been to Sunday services in a long time, not since she’d had a choice in the matter, and didn’t plan on going again anytime soon. Work had been a convenient excuse, and with the amount of work needed get the store up and running, and to get the house sorted as well, the excuse would do her well into next month, if not the month after.

  They worked for a while, and then he dried his hands. “I must be going. I’m due on site soon. I meant what I said about the decorating at your place. Let me know if you want the help.”

  “Thank you.” She watched him leave and closed her eyes. As much as she’d like a Mr. Darcy to waltz in and sweep her off her feet, it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. She couldn’t let it. Not again. Love led to betrayal. Just look at what it had done to Faith.

  Picking up her phone, she rubbed the cloth over the glass cabinet with one hand, speed dialing her sister with the other. “Hey, sis, it’s me. How good are you at arranging flowers?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered if you wanted a job. You could come live here. The house is big enough for two.”

  “I have a job. And a deadline. Besides, I have Damien.”

  “You’re not married to the bloke.”

  “Engaged—”

  “But not married.”

  Faith sighed. “Grace, don’t start.”

  Grace tapped her foot in irritation. “Why can’t you see it, Faith? A bloke who raises his fist to a woman never does it in love, no matter what he says.”

  “He didn’t hit me. The chair he threw hit me. And before you say anything, he didn’t throw the chair at me. He said he was sorry.” Faith’s tone took on the petulance that Grace knew all too well.

  “He always is and I bet h
e said it would never happen again.” She didn’t give her sister time to answer. “Just like last time he took your bank card and the time he wrecked your car and the time—”

  “At least I have a bloke, unlike some I could mention, who won’t go anywhere near them,” Faith snapped. “Look, I’ve got to go, there’s someone at the door. Love you, bye.”

  Grace looked at the dead phone in her hand, the passing jibe going deeper than she would admit even to herself. “Love you, too.”

  Four hours later, she eased her hands against her aching back. It’d been hard work, but the floor shone, counter tops gleamed and glass cabinets sparkled. As far as the flowers went, she’d start with what Aunt Tilja usually did and perfect those, before even attempting anything else. And she’d call the staff who used to work here. See if they wanted their jobs back and could start immediately. She opened one last door to the stairs leading up. The attic could wait.

  She locked the shop as rain fell hard and fast, bouncing off the pavement almost as quickly as it landed. Huge puddles littered the road and dark grey mammatus clouds hung low overhead.

  As she let herself in the house, she shivered. On her way to hang her wet coat in the bedroom she heard a drip and peered into the second bedroom. Water trickled down the wall and the paper she’d started removing now hung half to the floor. She sighed. There must be a loose tile or something. She threw her coat on the bed and pulled more of the peeling paper from the wall, revealing yet another crack. She really did need to go and find that DIY store.

  She glanced out of the window. Elliot’s car was parked outside. She’d return his casserole dish and ask if he knew where the store was. Grabbing the container and towel, she ran through the rain and rang the bell.

  After a long moment, the door opened.

  She smiled. “Mr. Wallac, I brought your dish back.”

  He took it. “Thank you.”

  “I was wondering if—” She stopped dead as the front door shut in her face. “Well, really. That’s rude.”

  She turned away, heading back to her house. Actually, that was beyond rude, and no way for a church elder to behave. Another reason not to go anywhere with him on Sunday, or any other day.

  ~*~

  The next morning, Grace shrugged into her coat and grabbed her bag. Slamming the front door behind her, she ran across to the shop. Her task for the day was to go through the books, work out what she could afford, what she couldn’t, and how to contact the supplier. She took a deep breath. She could smell…coffee, but there wasn’t anything to make coffee with. So where was the smell coming from? Maybe her need for caffeine was overriding everything this morning.

  Have to add coffee, milk, sugar and biscuits to the list of things to get this afternoon. Along with a new fridge. The one here is on its last legs.

  She dumped her bag on the counter and turned, unbuttoning her coat.

  Elliott Wallac stood there, cup in hand and that wide-eyed, glistening smile on his face.

  But it no longer had the same effect as the previous couple of days. Since the door slamming incident. Oh, who was she trying to kid? It still knocked her sideways. It was just a shame his manners didn’t match his appearance.

  “Morning, Grace. I brought you some coffee.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She took the cup and breathed deeply. “I thought I could smell coffee.”

  His eyes twinkled. “How’s it going?”

  She studied him before answering, more than a little confused. He really did have a Jekyll and Hyde personality disorder going on. “OK, I think. I was just about to go through the books and contact the supplier.”

  “Have you rung Tilja’s staff? They’d be able to give you a better idea of what’s what.”

  “It’s on my to-do list.” She paused. “Where’s the nearest DIY store to here? I need to get some paint and things for the house.”

  “I’ll give you a lift, if you like. I’m heading over that way to pick up some supplies for work.”

  She took a large sip of the coffee. What should she do? She really needed the stuff and might not find the store for another week. But did she really want to get in a car with someone who apparently suffered from some personality disorder? Did she really have a choice? “Only if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

  “None at all.”

  ~*~

  The store was much larger than Grace imagined and the choice of paint was vast. Elliott left her to browse, and she spent fifteen minutes weighing up the various merits of different paints before finally deciding on a brand, a different color for each room and white gloss for the woodwork.

  Just have to hope it covered the plaster repairs.

  Elliott came back, pushing a trolley laden with lumber. He took the tins of paint and added them to the trolley. “Did you need anything else?”

  “Plaster to fill in some cracks in the walls.”

  Elliott furrowed his brow. “How big are the cracks?”

  “Most aren’t too bad,” she said quickly. “Maybe a finger width in places. There are a couple bigger than that, but nothing plaster won’t fix.”

  He nodded, his frown deepening for an instant, and headed down another aisle. “That one is the best,” he said pointing to a small tub.

  “Thank you.” Grace looked at the filler. She’d need more than one, but she wasn’t about to say as much. She would just have to return for more now that she knew how to find the store. She put the medium-sized tub on the trolley. “I also need some heavy duty plastic to cover the windows for the remainder of the winter. It won’t be ideal, but it’ll do for now.”

  His frown deepened further still.

  She tilted her head and studied him. “What’s that frown for?”

  “Are you planning on sealing all the windows?” He couldn’t sound more disapproving if he tried.

  Her stomach lurched. “For now; and it’s not as if I’ll have the windows open in the winter anyway. I can’t afford replacement windows for a while yet.”

  “And what if there’s a fire? How will you get out or how will the fire brigade get in?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far, but it was cold last night with the wind howling through the windows. And I can’t afford double glazing at the moment. Nor can I afford to heat the house for said heat just to escape through rotten window frames. However, it is just plastic.”

  Why was she even attempting to justify this to him? It was her house. Her grandfather had done it every winter for years, and he’d lived to be over a hundred.

  “OK. The plastic is this way.”

  He really was the most infuriating man. One minute he wouldn’t give her the time of day and the next he was almost pushy in his concern.

  Well, she didn’t need it. Not now, not ever.

  They paid and headed back out to the car.

  Elliott loaded the boot. “Are we taking this to the house or shop? Just so I know which side of the road to park.”

  “The house.”

  “OK.” He held the door open for her.

  “Thank you.” She leaned back in the seat, watching the scenery as he drove.

  “Will you come to church with me on Sunday?” he asked.

  “I can’t. I have far too much to do right now. With trying to get the business up and running, Sunday is the only day I have to work on the house.”

  He glanced at her. “Please, just think about it. The service only lasts an hour and a half. That gives you twenty-two and a half hours to work on the house.”

  “OK,” she said. “I’ll give it some thought.” Hoping that would be a good enough answer, Grace watched the rain hit the windows. “I don’t suppose you know how to get mold off of walls, do you? Well, ceilings, actually. The bathroom has a large patch in the corner. I meant to ask earlier and forgot.”

  He nodded. “I have some stuff in the shed in the garden. I’ll bring some over when we get back.”

  “Thank you.”

  ~*~

  Elliott helped Grace take h
er shopping inside, and then ran home. He picked up the tub of mold remover from the shed and headed back.

  Grace answered the door, once more covered head to toe in dust.

  Elliott resisted the urge to laugh, even if she did look cuter than normal. There was a vulnerability about her that set his heart aflame at the same time warning signals curled around the pit of his stomach. “This is getting to be a habit.”

  Grace shrugged. “What can I say? Dust seems to be attracted to me. I’m a veritable dust magnet.”

  “Here you go. Just mix this in water and paint over the ceiling. The directions are on the label.”

  She took the tin, grasping it tightly. “Thank you.”

  He glanced past her at the wallpaper and caught his breath. Was that really what it looked like? Or was he worrying too much and making a mountain out of a molehill? “Is that water damage? May I take a look?”

  “If you want.” She stepped aside to let him in. “I figured it was just condensation.”

  Elliott ran his hand down the wall. It wasn’t a mere trickle or condensation. The alarm bell in his head turned into a klaxon. “No, it’s more than that.”

  “Must be it’s a loose tile or something, then.”

  “I’ll go up on the roof and have a look. If that’s all right with you?” He studied her, fully expecting her to say no. He tilted his head, almost daring her to, so he could insist.

  “It’s raining out there.”

  “All the more reason to check out the roof tiles. Put the kettle on, and I’ll be back in a few.”

  He shot her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and headed back to his place for his ladder and tools. Let me be wrong here, Lord. Let it be something as simple as a loose tile. But things just aren’t adding up. Or rather, they are, and they’re making far more than just two. If I’m right, it could spell disaster.

  He spent the next hour on her roof fixing several loose tiles. He took his tools back home and changed out of his wet clothes. Then he popped back next door.

  Grace opened the door holding out a cup of steaming coffee. “My turn to make this,” she said.

  “Thank you.” The cup was hot in his cold hands. “That’s sorted the roof for now, but you will need it replaced at some point.”