by Jo McNally
I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.
She watched the dots floating on the screen. They started and stopped a few times, and she thought he might be sending a long message. But in the end, he just sent one impossible request.
I love you. Help me understand.
First, she’d have to understand it herself. She could imagine him distractedly running his fingers through his hair, still short from his military cut. His square jaw would be flexing, the cords in his neck tight with worry. Owen wasn’t a bad man. She’d loved him. She may still love him. And she’d hurt him.
I’m so, so sorry. Maybe someday I can explain. For now I need time to think.
There was a long pause before he replied with a request.
Can you tell me where you are?
She pulled back, blowing out a low breath. She felt a shadow of the same panic she’d felt before she’d bolted.
Let me figure some things out on my own first.
More bubbles floated up and down.
At least check in once in a while?
She felt a pinch in her chest. There was no reason to refuse him.
I will. Good night.
Dropping her phone on the faded polyester bedspread, she stared at her reflection in the mirror until she heard the dun-DUN of another episode beginning. She turned off the television and the lights. Tomorrow she’d be in Rendezvous Falls, New York. Nikki’s brother and grandmother lived there. They knew nothing about Lucy other than she was Nikki’s friend and needed a place to stay. They had no expectations of her.
In Rendezvous Falls, she could be whoever she wanted to be.
Pink hair and all.
CHAPTER THREE
CONNIE PHELPS WAS in a particularly foul mood. Hell, plenty of people in Rendezvous Falls would say she’d been in a particularly foul mood for years now. But today’s mood was exceptionally, particularly, ultra foul. She tossed an armful of long-stemmed pink roses onto her worktable and scowled at them. Three times she’d tried to gather them into a cylindrical bundle tied with ribbon to put in the front window. And three times her trembling right hand had betrayed her just as she had the ribbon gathered into a pretty bow.
She reached for one of dozens of vases on the back shelf. The minty green one would look nice with the pink, and was narrow enough that the roses would stand tall without being tied. It would still looked summery. A workable compromise.
Connie despised compromises.
She managed to get the June bride’s window display for Rendezvous Blooms Flower Shop finished without any more compromises. And without breaking or dropping anything. Yay, Connie. She draped the pink lace backdrop over the back wall of the display. Then she tossed around giant knots of tule and glittery silvery fabric. The buckets of colorful roses, hydrangeas and lilies looked festive and bridal without requiring a lot of effort on her part.
She unlocked the front door—she was getting good at using her left hand on bad days like this—and steeled herself for another day at the business she’d started thirty years ago. A business she was determined not to lose. But things were getting grim. Grimmer than her mood.
The brass bell above the front door tinkled as her first customer of the day came in. Cecile Manning, decked out in pink as always, her blond curls tucked under a ball cap, smiled brightly.
“Good morning, Connie! The window display looks great, but you know me and pink, right?”
“I think everyone knows you and pink are in a committed relationship.” Connie wiped her left hand on her apron. “As far as this being a good morning, I guess that remains to be seen. What’s with the hat?”
Cecile reached up and touched the cap—which was an uncharacteristic green instead of pink—with a grimace. “Ugh. It’s Charlie’s. I’m on my way to Suzy’s for a trim, so I just stuffed my hair under the hat until I get there.” She looked around the shop. “I saw your window when I walked by and thought I’d say hi. How are you?”
“You mean, have I dropped anything lately? Only a box and a few flowers. But the day’s young yet.” Connie’s right hand began to tremor again, and she slid it into the pocket of her work apron. But not before Cecile noticed.
“Connie, you really need to hire someone to help you. Or, you know, break down and accept some help from your friends.” She gave Connie her sternest look, but Cecile was such a bubbly, the-sun-will-come-out-tomorrow sort that she could never really look stern. “I’d be glad to help in the mornings.”
“I’m fine.” Connie moved behind the counter. “I don’t need charity, and I can’t afford to pay someone.”
“You realize those two statements completely oppose each other, right? If you really can’t afford hiring someone, then you need volunteers.”
Her friend was right and they both knew it. They also both knew Connie would never admit it. Cecile tossed her hands up in exasperation.
“Okay, if you won’t take volunteers, then maybe if you hire someone you’d be able to do more business to cover the expense? Didn’t your doctor say stress and exhaustion were bad for you?”
“Whatever. Are you gonna buy something or are you just here to jaw at me?”
Cecile watched her for a long moment, then her shoulders sagged. “Fine. Give me a half dozen of those purple tulips. I’ll take them to Suzy’s salon.”
Connie went to the refrigerated case and pulled out the container of tulips. Hopefully this latest onset of tremors would subside, as others had over the past year. The flare-ups were scary, but sometimes they went away. If not, she’d have to call Dr. Osgood and discuss the change in medication he’d suggested.
Back at the counter, she plucked out six stems and grabbed a length of polka dot cellophane to wrap them in. But she couldn’t do everything one-handed. Tulips could be fragile, and just as she raised them upright her right hand shook sharply, sending one grape-colored petal floating down.
“Well, shit.”
She turned for the display case, but Cecile stopped her, picking up the wrapped bundle.
“It’s okay. It’s just a little gift to put on Suzy’s reception desk.” She slid a bill across the counter. “They look lovely.”
“Don’t patronize me, Cecile. You know I hate that.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, you hate everything these days. Stop being so ornery, or you’ll take the Town Grump award away from Iris Taggart. And you’re too young to take her crown.”
Iris Taggart was the owner of the Taggart Inn, although the inn was mostly being run by Iris’s grandson, Logan, and his new wife, Piper, these days. Iris had a reputation for being a tough businesswoman...or just tough, period. The octogenarian was a longtime leader of the community business association and several festival committees.
“Too young? I’m almost seventy!”
“Exactly.” Cecile accepted her change. “Iris is over eighty.”
“Humph.” Connie sniffed. “At least Iris’s family supports her business instead of taking it away.”
As much as Connie hated self-pity, she knew that sounded petulant. Maybe she really was becoming the Curmudgeon of Rendezvous Falls. Part of her didn’t care. To hell with what people thought. But one increasingly insistent part of her was growing tired of being unhappy. Cecile put one hand on her hip.
“You know damn well Iris’s grandkids tried to get her to sell that place for years. She just refused to do it. Nikki pushed the hardest, but once Logan came back to town and fell for the new manager, it made sense for him and Piper to take over.” Cecile adjusted her ball cap again, and several strands of curly hair escaped. There were a few bits of gray among the artificial gold. “Is David still pressuring you to move in with him and what’s-her-name up in Syracuse?”
And just like that, the sourness took over again. Connie slammed shut the cash drawer at the register. “Haven’t you heard? There’s a brand-new plan. For once,
my daughter-in-law and I agree on something.” The trembling in her hand grew more pronounced, and she pushed it back into her pocket. “Specifically, that she and I living under the same roof would be a disaster. Her solution is for them to move me into an assisted living complex near them in Syracuse.”
Cecile’s mouth dropped open. “Assisted living? Isn’t that for people who can’t wipe their own undercarriages?”
“Exactly! Just because Susan wants to use the lake house, I’m supposed to move into some studio apartment somewhere I’ve never lived and have my meals spoon-fed? I don’t think so.” That her son was even considering his wife’s suggestion was enough to make Connie’s stomach do somersaults. Thinking about it was not a good start to her day. She gave Cecile a pointed look. “Don’t you have a hair appointment to get to?”
Unoffended, her friend just chuckled. “I’m going, I’m going. I can see I poked the bear one too many times.” She turned back at the door. “But let’s be real. Between the online florists taking your business and you turning down any jobs you’re afraid you can’t handle, your business is down. You can’t take care of that house alone for much longer, especially those overgrown bushes taking over the front of it. If you want to prove to your son that you don’t need assisted living, you might have to break down and accept some help from friends.” She winked. “We won’t tell him, I promise.”
Connie waved her off, but once she was alone again, she couldn’t stop thinking Cecile might be right. The pandemic a year ago had canceled almost every event on her calendar, leaving the business in the red for the first time since she’d opened. Her Parkinson’s tremors had gotten worse over the winter, and word was getting around that she couldn’t handle the intricate arrangements she used to be known for. Lately she’d been declining any event with more than a few items. She = couldn’t take a chance of dropping someone’s centerpiece half an hour before their wedding reception began. Or worse...ruining the bridal bouquet. The thought made her shudder.
Or was that just another Parkinson’s tremor? Damn it all.
* * *
“MAYBE IF LUCY stared into her coffee cup a little longer while waiting for her breakfast at the Taggart Inn, she’d be able to figure out what to do next. She jumped when she heard a small voice next to her.
“Miss Lucy, can I walk with you again today?”
Six-year-old Lily Montgomery had her hands clasped in an adorable—and obvious—plea.
“That’s up to your mom, sweetie.” Lucy smiled at the adorable girl with all her golden curls.
“Her mom says no.” Piper Montgomery Taggart set Lucy’s breakfast in front of her and cast a stern look at her daughter. “You’re going shopping with your grandmother, remember? So dial down the cute quotient, and stop pestering the guests.”
Lily shrugged with a gap-toothed grin and skipped off to a new adventure. Lucy had been at the inn less than a week, and already knew the little girl rarely stood still more than a minute.
“She’s welcome to come with me if she wants.” Lucy smiled up at Piper. “I’m getting bored with just my own thoughts rattling around my head.” Lucy looked at her overladen plate of blueberry pancakes and laughed. “Then again, I’m not sure I’ll even be able to walk after eating this. Y’all are gonna force me to buy a new wardrobe if you keep this up.”
Piper, petite and blond like her daughter, gave her a teasing grin. “You’re too skinny anyway. A few pounds won’t hurt you one bit. Any more thoughts on what’s next for you?”
“Why? Do you need my room? I can...”
“Relax. You’re Nikki’s best friend, and Nikki is my new sister-in-law, which means you have a room here as long as you need it.” She winked. “And no, you’re not putting us out, so stow your Southern charm or Southern guilt or whatever it is. You’re part of the family.”
“What exactly did Nikki tell you?”
Lucy had been keeping a pretty low profile since arriving at the inn on Sunday. She’d slept most of the first few days, worn out from the drive and emotionally drained from...everything. Or maybe she’d been hiding. Yeah...she’d definitely been hiding.
Piper folded her arms. “Nikki said you needed a fresh start in a new place. Something about a wedding that didn’t happen? I asked if you were running from the law, and she assured me you were not.”
Lucy chuckled. “Definitely not.” But she wouldn’t be surprised if Owen’s mother had some private investigator looking to find her so they could sue her to recoup the expenses of a canceled wedding. She’d already received an email from Faye, threatening legal action over the bills. “And yes, there was an almost-wedding. I don’t want to be your charity case, Piper. I know I need to find a job. And a place to stay.”
“You already have a place to stay. Take all the time you need to rest and regroup.” She winked and walked toward the kitchen. “But first, eat your pancakes before they get cold.”
A few hours later, Lucy was walking up Main Street in Rendezvous Falls. It was sunny, but there was a slight chill to the air. The Finger Lakes were definitely not North Carolina. Things were just starting to bloom here, while Carolina already had its spring, followed by pollen season, and was now headed into the steam heat of summer. Here in New York, she could tell the trees hadn’t been leafed out that long.
The flower baskets hanging from the old-style lampposts hadn’t filled out completely, but they added another layer of color in this town. Rendezvous Falls was famous for its wildly painted Victorian houses. Lucy knew that because signs proclaimed it everywhere. The brochure in her room at the Taggart Inn told her all about it, too. Apparently, it was a big deal—big enough to bring in tourists from all over to see them. And the buildings were pretty, especially closer to the center of town. Blues, pinks, yellows, greens...and that was just on one house. To add to the charm, Main Street was lined with flowering trees. The lampposts were festooned with red, white and blue buntings. It was Americana on overload, but...it worked.
The ornamented houses were offset somewhat by the low, stone buildings on the campus of Brady College, which hugged the shore of Seneca Lake at the base of the hill Rendezvous Falls was on. Above the town, acres of vineyards and trees marched up to the blue sky. Lucy walked along, smiling at people passing by. Up ahead was a flower shop, Rendezvous Blooms. It brought happy memories every time she saw it. Lucy had worked in her aunt’s flower shop during high school, and she’d loved it.
This shop was similar, located on Main Street, with a large mullioned window filled with flowers. The display had changed today. It was all about June brides. Of course. It was a pretty basic setup, with a drape of pink lace and big knots of white tule behind buckets of flowers. It said “wedding” as a theme, but didn’t have much wow factor.
Through the window, she could see a customer standing at the counter, talking to an older woman on the other side of the counter who did not look happy. In fact, neither of them looked happy. There was a sparse bridal bouquet on the counter between them. It was none of her business, but...she opened the door and walked in anyway.
The shop was small and tidy inside, if a bit dated. A variety of baskets and vases were stacked on shelves in a center display unit. A cooler lined the far wall, full of flowers and a few pre-made arrangements for customers who needed a last minute I-forgot-our-anniversary bouquet. There was a wide doorway leading to what looked like a bright and spacious workroom in back.
“This is exactly what we agreed on, Melissa,” the older woman was saying. “Pink roses and white calla lilies. Pink ribbon. The bridesmaids will have pink rosebud bundles. I’ll have those together in time for tonight.” Her voice grew more firm. “You signed off on the quote, which included a description.”
“I told my mother we should have ordered the flowers in Rochester. I mean, I sent you a picture, Connie.” Melissa’s voice was hard. “There are supposed to be cascading rosebuds and ribbons, remember? With t
he little seed pearls on them?”
Connie looked to be in her sixties or seventies, and Lucy could see she was stressed. She kept tucking one hand in her pocket, and it was trembling. Connie’s head had a barely noticeable shake to it. One of Owen’s uncles had Parkinson’s disease, and Lucy was quite sure Connie had the same neurological disorder. One with no cure. She was probably just covering the front counter for the actual florist. And she was being ambushed by this bossy bride, threatening to call her father who, of course, was a “very important man.”
Before Lucy took even a minute to think about what she was doing, she embraced her pink-haired Princess Sparkle Pony and jumped into the conversation.
“Melissa, I know just what you’re describing—you want the ones like Princess Marcella carried in April at that royal wedding in Europe, right? I don’t think it’ll be a problem. There are pink roses in the window display we can use, and...” Lucy leaned to the side to look through the doorway to the workroom. There was a long ribbon rack on the back wall. “We have plenty of beads and ribbon back there.”
The older woman, Connie, went rigid with displeasure. “I beg your pardon, but who...”
“I’m the...uh...new assistant.” She winked at Connie. “Or I could be.” Owen always said she was impulsive...why not go with it? Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to Melissa. “What time do you absolutely need the flowers by?”
The bride-to-be narrowed her eyes, assessing Lucy, but finally replied. “My brother is supposed to pick them up at five to bring to the church.” She cast a malevolent gaze at Connie. “Since the florist doesn’t deliver.”
Connie started to protest. “I told you my delivery guy is sick...”
Lucy glanced at her watch. “We can make that happen. Dow you mind if I get started?” Connie just stared. Yeah, Lucy was surprised, too. But she was eager to work with flowers again, so she decided silence was permission. She headed into the workroom. The pickings were a little slim, but there were several rolls of pink ribbon, and she found a box of white seed pearl beads on a shelf, along with a couple of glue guns. She started cutting lengths of ribbon, laying them out side by side on the long porcelain-top table.
