War of the Roses

by Iris Morland

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  Love, Iris

  War of the Roses

  A Petal Plucker Prelude

  Iris Morland

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Also by Iris Morland

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by Iris Morland

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art by Resplendent Media.

  Chapter One

  The day Jacob West walked into my store after breaking my heart nine years ago, I had just gotten my hand stuck in a vase and was trying rather desperately to free myself from its glassy confines.

  I don’t make a habit of getting my hands stuck in things, vases or otherwise. But today had been a shit-show, starting with my dad being afraid I was going overboard on the lily bouquets, and then my first customer complaining that her cut flowers had died. After two weeks, mind you. And then I’d dropped my nice little flower clippers inside a vase. Just as I’d gotten my fingers around the handle of the clippers, I realized that my wrist was too wide to get out of the vase.

  And that was how Jacob found me. Because of course that would be how he first saw me after nine years.

  “Dani?” he said, stepping toward the register. “Is that you?”

  My back was turned, and I hadn’t yet laid eyes on him. I muttered, “Sorry, one second.” But when I whipped my head around and saw that face, the hand that had the vase attached to it dropped to the counter and made such a loud sound that we both jumped.

  Jacob looked—the same. But not the same. He was older, obviously, and his blond hair had darkened to a deep gold. His eyes were the same bright blue, but he had a few fine lines at the corners of his eyes. It only made him seem more interesting. Stubble dotted his jaw where once he’d been smooth as a baby. I couldn’t remember him ever sporting facial hair as a teenager. Since he was so blond, I’d assumed his beard would grow in patchy or red.

  Not that I’d ever thought that deeply about Jacob’s facial hair.

  He seemed taller than when he’d been seventeen, and he was more filled out. He wasn’t that skinny teenager anymore, although he’d always been muscular in a skinny-boy kind of way since he played so many sports. But now he looked like a man, whereas before, he’d just been a boy. A boy who’d stood me up for prom, who I’d watched drive off with his ex-girlfriend when he should’ve been at my house putting a corsage on my wrist.

  After that betrayal, I’d dated a bunch of guys who’d turned out to be weirdos, shady motherfuckers, or guys who worked for the mob but had neglected to tell me. Pretty hard to believe that I had trust issues, right? It might be the reason that I was twenty-six and had yet to have sex. I’d pretty much resigned myself to dying a virgin. Very tragic, I know.

  It was amazing, though, how a history of lies and betrayal and ruined proms could fly out the window so quickly when face-to-face with someone. That someone being insanely, ridiculously, I-hate-my-fucking-life hot.

  Why did he have to get hot?

  I heard the dangerous saxophone sounds of “Careless Whisper” playing in my mind. I hadn’t heard that song in my brain in nine years, and I hadn’t missed it one bit. When I was kid, that song played like an absurd soundtrack every time I so much as saw Jacob’s name written on top of his homework.

  In seemingly slow motion, I watched Jacob approach the counter. Was this a dream? I pinched my leg with my free hand, but Jacob didn’t disappear.

  “Um, do you need help?” He pointed to the vase.

  I’d forgotten about the vase. Nothing had mattered except that Jacob West was in the same place as I was. I picked up my hand, stared at the vase as if I’d just become aware of my current predicament, and said bluntly, “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Like I was going to let Jacob help me. I said something vague and hurried to the back, desperately trying to get this thing off my hand. But to my immense humiliation, it wasn’t going to budge. My wrist ached. I pressed my forehead against the cool wall and took in deep breaths.

  Jacob. West. Was. Here.

  Why was he here? He’d left Seattle right after high school and had been apparently making plenty of money as some kind of stockbroker in New York City. The last I’d heard, he had some penthouse and a hot girlfriend with fake boobs. I had a feeling that when you made enough money in a place like New York, the hot blonde with fake boobs came with the penthouse.

  Okay, that was probably unfair. I’m sure his girlfriend had perfectly nice boobs, real or otherwise.

  He was probably visiting his parents, but there was no reason he needed to come into my family’s flower shop, Buds and Blossoms. He could go to his parents’ flower shop if he needed to buy a bouquet for his girlfriend.

  Yes, both of our parents ran flower shops, although I’d taken over my family’s a few years ago. It’s a long story full of rivalries and bitter mistrust. Think of our families like a version of Romeo and Juliet, except with the Montagues and the Capulets being obsessed with making bouquets.

  I inhaled a few more deep breaths, willing my heart to slow. I let myself inhale the scents of flowers of all kinds, which normally I found soothing. But today, seeing the arrangement I was working on for the biggest design competition in the country made me want to throw up. Or maybe I just really wanted to throw the arrangement at Jacob’s head.

  Except I was extremely proud of this design: a purple monochromatic arrangement of roses, buckeye flowers and porcelain vines. I liked using flowers and plants that other people thought were common or weeds. It might have to do with the fact that I was named Dandelion, after that infamous weed.

  But there were more important things at hand. I briefly considered simply shattering the vase stuck on my hand, but I didn’t want to end up with glass in a rather important artery. Sparing myself the humiliation of asking for Jacob’s help only to die from a dumb accident would be slightly worse than asking him for help. By a minuscule amount.

  “Dani? Do you need help?” Jacob had followed me to the back.

  Why did he have to be nice, too? I wished he would go away, except now I needed his help. He came to the doorway, and I could see him assessing what probably looked like a complete mess back here. There was a reason why it was called the back: it was so customers didn’t get to see the not-so-pretty aspects of this job.

  I thrust my hand at him. “Help, please.”

  His lips twitched, and my traitorous, stupid heart flip-flopped in my chest, just like it used to when we’d been kids. Why couldn’t he have gotten fat and bald? Where was the justice in this world, I ask you? Boys who stand girls up for prom should end up with a beer gut, a large hairy mole on their face, and a distinct body odor that no deodorant could eradicate. It was only fair.

  “How did you manage to do this?” Jacob peered at my hand. “I�
��m kind of impressed.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Save your compliments for later. My hand is starting to ache.”

  He took hold of the bulb of the vase, twisting it back and forth before he pulled so hard I was sure my shoulder was going to be pulled from its socket. Then with a pop, I was free, my clippers clattering to the floor.

  I rubbed my wrist. “Thanks for that.” I took the vase from his grip and got my clippers before asking, “What are you doing here?”

  “Saving you from vases, apparently.”

  “No, I mean—why are you here? And don’t tell me it’s because you need a bouquet, because we both know that’s not true.”

  “How do you know what I do and don’t need?”

  Good point. I shrugged, mostly because my heart was still pounding so hard that I was a little breathless. I wished rather belatedly that I had put on some mascara this morning, but today I was my usual, frizzy-haired self sans makeup. Normally I didn’t care, but I tended to care about a lot of dumb things when it came to Jacob West.

  He’s just some guy who you don’t even know anymore. Don’t get all weird.

  We returned to the front finally. Jacob perused the flower arrangements that were for sale. “Do you run this place now?”

  “Yes. I took over a few years ago when my dad retired.”

  “That’s nice,” he said, like we were catching up over lunch.

  “You never did answer my question. Why are you here?”

  Jacob leaned on my counter, all casual-like. He was way too good at casually leaning. “Can’t a guy stop by to see one of his childhood friends?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “A friend you haven’t talked to in almost a decade?”

  He winced a little. Damn, I was being a total bitch. Forcing myself to retract my metaphorical claws, I added, “Sorry. It’s nice to see you. How’s it been with you?”

  “I’m actually back in Seattle for good.”

  I almost dropped the clippers again. “Why?” My voice was embarrassingly shrill at this point.

  “My dad had a stroke recently, and he needs me to help take over the business.”

  I swallowed, a lump in my throat. My hands were shaking. Jacob West was back? Jacob West was going to be my direct competitor? Things were getting more complicated at a speed faster than light.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I managed. “About your dad, I mean. Are you living in the neighborhood?”

  “I am. I just got a place a few blocks from my parents’ place.”

  Oh God, that meant he’d be in my neighborhood. I lived in an apartment right next door to Buds and Blossoms, which also happened to be four blocks from both my parents’ and Jacob’s parents’ houses. The thought of running into Jacob all the time made me want to crawl into a hole and die.

  “Well, welcome back,” I finally managed to croak.

  His smile did annoying things to my insides. Oh God, was I going to do something stupid like get a crush on Jacob West again? I considered myself a smart woman. I knew how the world worked, even if my dating experience was limited to nonexistent.

  Okay, yes, I was a virgin at twenty-six. What could I say? I’d been busy going to college, then learning the business, and then running it. I didn’t have time for Tinder, hands down my pants, and a quick dry hump that ended with the guy collapsed beside me, snoring. I liked to tell myself I just hadn’t gotten around to it, like someone else hadn’t gotten around to cleaning out their garage. It’d happen—eventually. I wasn’t in any hurry.

  Suddenly, though, that whole virginity thing felt a bit bigger in my brain than cleaning out the garage. Because here I was, a virgin florist with a neurotic cat, and it just so happened that my first ever crush looked like some golden angel who was now wandering around my store.

  Thankfully, Jacob wandering gave me a second to collect my thoughts. And to ogle him, if I were being honest. He wore what looked like an expensive leather jacket and a watch that gleamed in the natural light that flooded through the windows of the store. I wondered why his parents hadn’t sold their business instead of having Jacob give up his career. I didn’t know the Wests well anymore, but from everything I’d heard, they were immensely proud of Jacob’s success.

  Since I’d taken over running Buds and Blossoms, I was primarily in charge of designing arrangements and making bouquets. Currently we employed two other workers, Judith and Will. My dad still tried to help, but my mom would force him to come home, insisting that retirement meant not working. But he wasn’t thirty years old anymore, and working sixty hours a week simply wasn’t possible for him now.

  Right now, the shop was filled with gardenias I grew in my apartment, along with the usual types of flowers people could easily recognize: roses, lilies, hydrangeas, tulips, daisies, to name a few.

  All I wanted was to expand Buds and Blossoms and start giving classes while winning the most prestigious floral design competition in the country this summer. With the prize money and the year-long contract with a major wedding vendor, I could achieve all of my dreams with the added revenue. I didn’t have time for complications.

  Jacob West was a major complication.

  Jacob bent down, and I couldn’t help but ogle his ass. I wanted to touch it. Squeeze it. Make him groan. My lady bits perked up at the thought, but I had to douse them in cold water. Metaphorically speaking. Because no matter how amazing Jacob’s ass was, it was not mine to grope.

  He pointed to a gardenia arrangement. “This is nice. Did you make this?”

  “I did the arrangement, yes, and I grew the gardenias.” I couldn’t keep the pride from my voice.

  “I could never get gardenias to do what I wanted. Or maybe I just never had the patience for them.” He touched one of the bright green leaves. “But my mom loves them. She has one that sits in our kitchen window.”

  “You just can’t let them get waterlogged. They’re fussy, but worth it.”

  “I know. Also, that sounds like every woman I’ve met.” His fingers caressed a petal, and Christ, I wanted him to caress my petals in that very moment.

  “Now you’re just being sexist,” I groused.

  He flashed me a grin. “And you’re just as charmingly sweet as when we were kids.”

  It was strange, having him reference the past so easily. Did he ever wonder what would’ve happened if we’d remained friends? I doubt he’s thought much about me in nine years, I reminded myself.

  “I was the kid who ripped up dandelions for fun. You knew what you were getting into,” I said.

  “Did I?” He sounded almost like he didn’t know the answer himself. He gazed down at me, the laughter in his eyes suddenly gone. The moment felt almost unbearably intimate. But why should it? Jacob was nothing to me. He’d only been a mixture of nostalgic childhood memories and painful adolescent realizations until this random reunion.

  “Why did you rip up dandelions?” he asked suddenly. “I don’t think you ever told me why.”

  “Because I was a weird kid who also carried around plants in her backpack?”

  “I’d forgotten that. I kept hearing rumors in high school that you were growing pot in your locker.”

  I scoffed. “You can’t grow marijuana in a dark locker. At least, it would be a huge pain in the ass. It prefers a nice, humid climate.”

  “I’m so relieved you know the ins and outs of marijuana cultivation.”

  I bit back a smile. “Well, it’s legal here now, so for all you know, I have a huge greenhouse overflowing with pot, with all kinds of species and strains.”

  He smiled, shaking his head. “You never answered my question.”

  Leave it to Jacob to pull me back to what he really wanted to know. Why had I ripped up dandelions? Probably because we shared a name, and for whatever reason, I had wanted to claim them. As I’d gotten older, I’d grudgingly begun to respect dandelions’ hardiness. When you ripped them out of the ground, their root systems were so complex that they would grow back, like they hadn’t even noticed
that you’d tried to kill them.

  “Well, since you answered mine. I guess I just liked to see if I could kill them,” I said. Right then, the front door bell chimed, and a customer walked inside.

  Thank God. This entire conversation was just getting weird.

  “That’s morbid.” Jacob shook his head. “I’ll take this one,” he added, before he set one of the gardenia arrangements on the counter.

  “I thought you said gardenias were too fussy for you?”

  “Just because I couldn’t get a flower to do what I wanted when I was younger doesn’t mean I can’t manage it now.” His words held a promise that made me shiver, a flame curling inside me. If I weren’t sane and aware of who I was, I would’ve thought he was flirting with me.

  After paying, Jacob held his gardenia plant like a newborn baby and saluted me. “See you, Dani. Don’t get any more vases stuck on your hand.”

  “What did that young man say?” said my customer, who was the old woman who’d been angry that her cut flowers had died and who also tended to yell because she refused to wear her hearing aids. “You got mace stuck on your sand?” she yelled.

  “Yes!” I yelled back, because that sentence made about as much sense as this entire day had—absolutely none at all.

  Chapter Two

  I usually had dinner with my family every Sunday evening. My older sister, Marigold (who we all called Mari), sometimes joined us if she wasn’t busy doing something with her fiancé, David. My younger sister, Kate, only joined us because the food was infinitely better than the stuff they served at the dorm cafeteria at UW, and, as she would elegantly put it, “I can’t eat Chipotle every day or my asshole will explode.”