by Carrie Elks
‘Jules?’ Lucy prompted.
‘Yeah?’ She shook her head, trying – and failing – to get him out of her mind.
‘Go to sleep. You look exhausted.’
‘So do you.’
Lucy grinned. ‘Thank you kindly for the compliment.’
‘Goodnight, Luce.’
‘Night, sweetie. Oh, and Jules?’
‘Yes?’
‘Call him.’
‘Momma, there’s another one!’ Poppy called out from the kitchen. Juliet pulled her hair back into a ponytail, snapping it tightly in place with a band, and ran down the hallway, muttering to herself as her feet slapped against the floor. They were running late. Again. Thanks to her phone battery dying a slow death as she listened to his message over and over, and the alarm failing to go off.
By the time she reached the kitchen, Poppy was trying to fit the key into the back door, the metal scraping against the door as she failed to push it into the slot.
‘You know better than to open the door without me here,’ Juliet scolded. ‘What are you doing, anyway? It’s freezing out there.’
Though the snow hadn’t lasted long after they arrived home last night, the temperature was still frigid. She could hear the boiler working overtime in an attempt to counteract the cold.
‘I wanted to see the flower.’
‘What flower?’ Juliet asked. She walked over to where Poppy was standing, staring out of the kitchen window.
There was a single red rose on the doormat, just where the daffodil had been the previous night. The bud had only just come into bloom, the petals nestling tightly together as if to keep warm.
‘Another one,’ Juliet murmured, pressing her forehead to the glass.
‘It’s pretty,’ Poppy said. ‘Where do you think it came from?’
‘I don’t know.’ It was only a white lie. Designed to buy some time. Her phone felt heavy in her jeans pocket, a reminder of his message. Juliet tapped it, but didn’t pull it out. She should call him, she knew it. But what if the flowers weren’t from him?
That thought made her want to giggle. It wasn’t as if she had a string of admirers lining up at her door. It was either Ryan or Thomas, and since she knew Thomas didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, there really was only one answer.
Was he doing all this from New York?
Glancing at her watch, she let out a sigh. She didn’t have time to be thinking about this now.
‘Right, we need to go. You’re going to be late again.’
‘Can’t I stay home and see if any more flowers come?’ Poppy wrinkled up her nose. ‘I want to make them look pretty like you do.’
‘No can do. You need to go to school and I need to get to work.’
Half an hour later, Juliet pulled her car into the parking lot in front of the shop. As usual, Lily had opened it for business, and Juliet rushed in, giving her a quick wave before shrugging her coat from her shoulders.
‘Everything okay?’
‘All good. We’ve had a few orders this morning. Can you make them up while I work on the Devereaux table pieces?’
Juliet nodded, grabbing her apron and wrapping the ties around her waist. ‘Hey Lily, has anybody bought any roses or daffodils lately?’
Lily frowned, looking up from the arrangement she was working on. ‘I’ve no idea. Probably?’ She shrugged. ‘I can go through yesterday’s inventory and see what was in it if you like.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Juliet said, ignoring the way Lily was looking at her, as if she’d gone slightly crazy. ‘I was just wondering.’
The old brass bell hanging over the shop door rang out, as somebody pushed it open. A young man, twenty at the most, stepped inside. He was holding a huge bouquet of gladioli, with large purple florets blooming from the long, green stems. Looking around the shop, he began to frown, reaching up to scratch his head.
‘Can we help you?’ Juliet asked.
‘Is this a flower shop?’ He shook his head as if to try to get some sense in there.
She bit down a laugh. ‘Yep, that’s right. Are you looking for something in particular?’
‘I’m looking for someone called … ’ He trailed off, then looked at the card nestled in among the plastic wrapped flowers. ‘Juliet.’
‘That’s me.’
‘I’ve got a delivery for you.’ He held the flowers out. ‘Though why somebody would send flowers to a flower shop I have no idea. It’s crazy.’ His shocked look was a picture. She almost wanted to snap it with her phone for posterity.
‘They’re for me?’
‘Yeah, really. This is 1981 Lower Street, right?’
‘Yep, that’s us.’
‘And you’re definitely Juliet?’
She grinned. ‘The last time I looked.’
‘Okay then. I’ll leave these with you.’ He held the flowers at arm’s length, as if he was afraid to get any closer. Maybe he thought the crazy was catching. From the corner of her eye she could see Lily watching with interest.
As soon as she took the proffered bouquet, the boy turned around and headed for the door. She could hear him muttering under his breath. ‘Who the hell sends flowers to a flower shop?’ By the time he opened the door, the amusement was almost bursting out of her.
‘What was that about?’ Lily asked, coming out from behind the table where she was laying out an arrangement.
‘I’ve no idea. But you should have seen his face.’ Juliet was still smiling. ‘He looked as though I’d just run over his favourite dog.’
‘Who are those from, anyway?’ Lily asked, gesturing at the gladioli. ‘Why wouldn’t they just phone here and order flowers?’
Juliet shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Open the card.’
Plucking the small white envelope from inside the bouquet, Juliet ran her finger along the paper, opening the flap. Inside was a florist’s card – from Simeon’s Flower Shop – with four simple words written in blue ink.
Because you are strong.
‘No name,’ Lily murmured, reading it over Juliet’s shoulder. ‘Still, I bet if I call them they’ll tell me who sent them.’
‘No, don’t,’ Juliet said hurriedly. ‘I don’t want to know.’
‘Why not?’ Lily’s question reminded her of Poppy. They were simple words and yet the answer was much too complicated to form. But there was something wonderful about everything that had happened since they’d arrived home last night. Something miraculous in the flowers and the meanings behind them. She didn’t want to spoil it by confirming her suspicions.
She was going to do this his way.
‘Because I don’t want to know.’
‘If you say so.’ Lily shrugged, her eyes still narrowed with suspicion. ‘I want to know, though.’
Juliet smiled, looking down at the flowers. They really were beautiful. Strong, vibrant, the kind of structural flowers she’d use to build up a bouquet. On their own, though, they were magnificent.
She grabbed a tall glass vase and filled it with water and sugar solution, clipping the bottom of the gladioli to make them fresh. Then she arranged them in the vase, putting it on the counter in front of her, happy to have something lovely to look at as they worked on their orders.
As it turned out, the gladioli weren’t the only delivery she had that day. They came in fast and steady – one every hour – from seven different florists in Shaw Haven and the surrounding towns. And with each delivery she made up another vase, until all eight were standing in front of her, covering the counter completely.
Purple gladioli for strength. Pink and white hibiscus for beauty. Red poppies for pleasure. White orange blossoms for fertility. Pink carnations for gratitude. Sky blue forget-me-nots for memories, pink camellias for admiration. The final two, brought in just before they were due to close, were full of red tulips and even more red roses – meaning true and undying love. She stared at them, these flowers that must have cost him a small fortune, so many of them out of season, and he
r heart felt full with the message he was trying to convey.
‘You must know who it is by now,’ Lily said. ‘It’s not Thomas, is it? Are you two getting back together?’
‘Oh, they’re definitely not from Thomas. He wouldn’t know an orange blossom if it hit him in the eye.’
‘But you do know who it is?’ Lily prompted.
‘I’ve got my suspicions.’
Her assistant perked up. ‘Come on, you have to put me out of my misery. I’ve been trying to work it out all day. Hey, it’s not Fred Simpson from the florist’s in Mayweather is it? He’s always had a thing for you.’
‘No, definitely not Fred,’ Juliet said. ‘He’s way too tight to order from any other store. If it was him, they’d have all come from Simpson’s.’
‘True story,’ Lily agreed. ‘So you’re really not going to tell me who you think it is?’
Juliet took pity on her assistant. ‘Look, once I’ve confirmed my suspicions, you’ll be the first to know, I promise.’
‘Okay. But you better tell me fast, because I can tell I’m going to be losing sleep over this.’
‘Me too, Lily. Me, too.’
Juliet turned the ignition off and unclasped her seatbelt, leaning back against the car seat while she stared out of the window. The house was empty – Thomas had wisely agreed to pick Poppy up for the weekend straight from school, avoiding an encounter between him and Juliet. And thank God he was sensible enough to know she didn’t want to see his face for a while.
Walking up the porch steps, her eyes were drawn to the mat, and she wasn’t disappointed. Perched upon it was a small, china teapot with an image of London painted across it, depicting Big Ben and Tower Bridge along with red buses and telephone boxes. And planted in the top were delicate pink and purple flowers. Viscaria, or Sticky Catchfly.
An invitation to dance.
She picked the teapot up by its handle, lifting the flowers to look at their delicate blooms. They weren’t expensive – she usually used them as fillers in the shop, but they were beautiful, nonetheless.
And they meant everything.
‘They reminded me of you.’
She turned around. Ryan was standing on the porch behind her. He was wearing a thick blue sweater and jeans, his hair neat, his face freshly shaven. But it was his eyes that made her heart swell. Those deep blues, staring straight back at her, telling her everything she wanted to know.
‘I thought you were in New York,’ she said quietly. Her fingers tightened around the handle. There was no way she was going to drop the teapot, even if her whole body was shaking at his sudden arrival.
‘I decided not to go.’ He was still staring at her, his gaze soft as wool. She was staring back, too. Had it only been a few days since she last saw him? It felt so much longer. There was a hunger for him, rumbling deep inside her. Like a distant train that was speeding straight for the station. It made her blood run hot.
‘Why not?’ Her feet were glued to the floor. She didn’t dare reduce the space between them, not when he was looking at her like that.
In the end it didn’t matter, because he took a step towards her instead. Reaching out, he brushed a stray lock of red hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. ‘I was sitting at the airport bar,’ he told her, ‘surrounded by people travelling to one place or another. And I realised that I could be going anywhere in the world and it still wouldn’t be enough. Not without you.’
‘You can’t say things like that.’ Her voice was hoarse.
‘Why not?’ He dragged his fingers down her cheek, leaving a trail of fire and ice on her skin. ‘Why can’t I?’
‘Because … ’ She was lost for words. He brushed his thumb against her mouth, sending a shiver down her spine. ‘Ryan, I … ’
He was beautiful. She stared at him, trying to take in every aspect of his face. His stare was heavy and deep. It drew her in without asking her permission. She could feel her whole body start to tremble at his touch.
‘I’ve been to some amazing places,’ he continued, sliding his hand to the back of her neck. ‘I’ve seen so many beautiful things. But nothing compares to the way you look when you stare up at me like that.’ He pressed his hand to the skin on the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. She stepped forward without hesitation.
They were only inches away now. Close enough for her to breathe him in. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling his warmth, his strength as their torsos brushed against each other. It was impossible not to be overwhelmed by him.
They were more than the sum of their parts. So much more.
‘You left me,’ she whispered. ‘You walked away when things got tough.’
She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, his gaze filled with an intensity that made her heart leap. ‘I did, and I hate myself for it. Those were old behaviours, London. Old, ingrained reflex responses to feeling rejected. But I can promise you this, if you ever agree to take me back in your life, I won’t be walking away again.’
Tentatively, she reached up to brush her fingers along his jawline. The heat behind his eyes deepened.
‘But I didn’t reject you,’ she said. ‘I asked to see you, remember?’
‘By that point my mind was made up,’ he admitted. ‘I’d called you as soon as I got out of the police cell. All night I’d sat in there, staring at the bare brick walls, and you were the only thing on my mind. Then when I found out you were with Thomas, I lost it.’
She could feel the muscles beneath his jaw tighten. ‘I was with him because I wanted to persuade him to drop the charges. I didn’t trust him not to do something stupid, and I thought if I kept an eye on him I could stop him. Honestly, Ryan, the last thing I ever want to do is get back with Thomas.’
He breathed out a warm mouthful of air. It breezed against her fingers. ‘I know you wouldn’t. I think I even knew then. But it was like I was a kid again. Being rejected by my mom … ’ His voice broke. He looked down, shaking his head. ‘I’ll tell you about it sometime.’
She knew better than to push. He’d already opened up more than she’d ever expected. Vulnerability was written on his face, making him look young, almost frightened.
‘So about those flowers,’ she said, trying to change the subject. ‘They were beautiful. Thank you.’
A half-smile formed on his lips. ‘I was afraid you’d think it was lame. Sending flowers to a florist.’
‘I love flowers, that’s why I do what I do. And nobody ever thinks to send them to me.’
‘I’ll send them to you every day of your life if that’s what it takes for you to realise.’
‘To realise what?’
‘That you’re worth it. That you’re worth everything. More than the shit you’ve been dealing with for years. You’re a prize, London, and I’m going to fight with everything I’ve got until I win you.’
Oh God, this man. This man. He knew how to seduce her with a few words and a look. Her body tingled at his proximity. ‘What if you’ve already won me?’ she whispered.
‘Then I’ll fight to keep you. I know this isn’t a one-time deal. I’ll do whatever it takes every morning to let you know how lucky I am to have you in my life.’
She blinked back the tears. ‘That sounds like a pretty good way to wake up every day.’
He lowered his head until his lips were a breath away from hers. ‘I can think of other good ways to wake you up, too.’
The corner of her lip quirked up. ‘Oh yeah? Like what?’
His smile was more than skin deep. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way he was touching her. Hear it in the way his breathing sped up as he pressed his mouth against hers. His kiss was soft and slow, but she could already feel it shooting straight through her. He reached his hands up to cradle her face, angling her so he could deepen it, his tongue slowly sliding along the seam of her lips, until a small gasp from her parted them.
They were all lips and hands and heat. His fingers tangled into her hair, while sh
e looped hers around his neck, pressing her body against his so she could feel his desire pulsing against her. Her own body was pulsing, too, her nipples hard, her thighs aching, and with every kiss he was making her need him more.
He turned around, pushing her until her back was against the front door, pressing himself ever closer into her until she didn’t know where he ended and she began. Sliding his hands down her back, he cupped her behind, lifting her until her legs were wrapped around his hips, and his groin was pressed right into hers.
He flexed his hips and she moaned softly into his mouth. Flexed them again until she gasped. Still holding her tight, he slid his lips along her jaw, down her neck, finding that sensitive spot at the side of her throat.
‘Ryan.’
‘Mmm?’ he mumbled against her neck.
‘Do you want to come inside?’
He lifted his head, a deliciously wicked glint in his eyes. A slow, sexy smile formed on his lips, making her heart beat faster at the intent she could see there. ‘Babe,’ he said, still holding her up with his big, strong hands. ‘You have no goddamned idea how much I want to come inside.’
30
Loving goes by haps;
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps
– Much Ado About Nothing
Compared to Ryan’s, Juliet’s bedroom seemed as though it would be more at home in a doll’s house than anywhere else. It was small and the floor space was filled with a small double bed and closet. Unlike his, though, she’d made it look like home. A pretty bedspread lay pooled at their feet, and the scatter cushions were now lying on the carpet where they’d thrown them in their need to get on the mattress as fast as they could. There were pictures on the wall – some snapshots of Poppy, and paintings of flowers and their meanings. He grinned again, still not able to believe his luck.
Because he was lucky. He had no doubt of that.
‘Which flowers did you like the best?’ he asked her, as she lay naked, nestled in the crook of his arm.
She rolled over, placing her hands on his chest, and leaning her chin against them. Looking up at him through thick lashes, a smile formed on her face. ‘I loved them all. Every single one of them. But if I had to choose one, it would be the daffodil you left on my doorstep last night.’
