by TWCS Authors
Becky thought about it. “That would make sense. They were quite old fashioned flowers and I am happy she’s getting better, but what about last week’s amazing bouquet. That was obviously for a younger woman.”
Jilly smiled. “I think he can explain that to you himself.”
“What? How? He isn’t here—you said.”
Jilly shook her head. “No, but he will be in a minute. I’m texting him now, and by the way, he has a lovely nose. He gets my vote. He is hot! But I didn’t get to smell him yet.”
She pressed the send button on her phone too fast for Becky to react.
“No. Stop, tell me more or at least let me think about this,” she said. “Don’t text him yet. Please don’t send that.”
“Too late. I already had it written. All I had to do was hit send because I knew you’d try to stop me.” Jilly checked the phone screen. “Message sent.”
Becky was mortified. “Jilly, how could you? This is madness.”
“No, it’s not. You clearly like Bob Elders and I have a feeling he likes you, too.” She scooped up her bag and car keys. “Don’t forget to lock the place before you leave.” Then she swiftly kissed her friend on the cheek and swept out the door before Becky could quite figure out what was happening.
“Don’t leave me here,” she said but it was too late. Jilly had done just that.
She was terrified to wait alone but even more scared of getting caught fleeing the scene, so she focused on his beautiful gift to her. It was twice the size of the previous week’s bouquet and it had a message card that had the word “Dinner?” written on it.
Becky studied the card. She knew Jilly’s handwriting. Her friend hadn’t written this. He had! She was so nervous while she waited in the shop but she was excited, too. Was it possible that he was actually a nice guy? What about last week’s flowers? If the hydrangeas were for his cleaner, the other bunch must have been for the girlfriend. Was she to be the mistress? Soon enough the front door of the shop jingled opened again. Usually she liked the sound. It meant company, customers, and people to talk to. This evening, though, she was shaking.
“Bob!” She almost shouted in an attempt at sounding normal.
“Becky.” He gave her one of his slightly shy grins. “I, um, I hope you like the flowers.”
“Oh, yes, they’re amazing. You shouldn’t have.”
He shook his head. “Yes, I should have. I should have done this weeks ago—months ago at this stage, but I’m no good at flowers you see.”
“I can help you there,” she said.
“Well, the thing is—that first day I came in, it was just because I’d pulled off the interstate to get some food and then I saw this little shop. I’d forgotten I’d need to bring Whitney, my cleaning lady, a present in the hospital. Your flowers were perfect, so I called back here once a week for her, and to see you, too.”
“That’s what we’re here for—flowers, I mean.” She put on her corporate smile.
“That’s not what I’m here for, Becky.” He looked anxious.
“What do you mean?” She backed up against the shop counter.
“Becky, the truth is, after that first week, I kept coming back to see you, but then I’d just get so tongue tied. I didn’t know what to say. You could be married for all I know.”
“I’m not.”
His face brightened. “Boyfriend?”
She shook her head.
“Well then, would you do me the honor of dining with me?”
“Yes! Tonight?”
He looked a little surprised but he laughed. “Tonight would be perfect. Now if you like.”
“But wait a minute. What about last week’s flowers? Why did you change so suddenly?”
Bob looked bashful. “Last week, I came in and my plan was to buy you flowers—sort of as a way to break the ice. I wanted to ask you out to dinner, but then you seemed so cool with me, hostile almost. What can I say? I lost my nerve.” He looked adorable and Becky giggled at his awkwardness. “I almost didn’t come this week, but my mother made me.”
“What? How does she know about me?”
“Well, last week I didn’t know what to do with the flowers I planned to give to you. They were too pretty to just toss them in the trash and you’d gone to so much work. In the end, I gave the bouquet to my mother, but she knew something was up right away. She eventually got the whole story out of me—about you and your lovely bouquets. Then she threw me out and told me to visit you and ask you out to dinner properly.”
“She threw you out?”
“Well, yeah, she did. She told me to call her after I’d asked you out.”
Becky grinned. “Well, you’ve done that now and I’ve said yes, so I guess you can phone her now.”
Bob walked over to Becky and offered her his arm. “I think my mama can wait for a while before I call her back.”
She smelled his cologne again. Definitely better than any rose. “Oh, I can’t take your arm and hold my flowers, too.”
“Leave them here for now. We can come back and get them later. If you’re free now, I want to take you to dinner right now. We have so much to catch up on.” He was getting more confident by the minute, and she liked it.
He looked around The Little Flower Shop. “This place really is amazing. You carry an amazing stock for the size of the place.”
“They’re my passion,” she said with pride.
He turned back and looked deep into her eyes. “Your passion, you say?”
Their faces were dangerously close. “Oh, to be one of our birds of paradise,” he whispered, but then he pulled back again. It was just as well, because Becky was falling into his eyes, deeper faster than she thought possible.
She coughed and shook herself out of her stupor. “Come on, there’s a lovely little French bistro just on the edge of town. They’ll be open by now.”
She pulled him out of the shop and locked the door. “Do you live near here?”
“I’m a few hours south—in Victoria. I’ve just bought a new house north of the city and it has a huge garden, but I know nothing about gardens.”
“I love gardening.”
“You do?”
“Sure. Gardening is a way of showing you believe in the future.”
“Wow. I like that. My future is sure looking a lot brighter. You think you could help me with my new garden?”
Becky beamed at him. “I’d love to.”
His smile widened. “That’d be terrific. My mother offered to help, but she’s not talking to me until she meets you.” He looked so adorable when he smiled at her that way. Becky thought her heart would melt. He was just her type and now it appeared he was living near enough and wasn’t having loads of affairs. Did it get any better than this? she wondered.
“I’ll come to dinner with you on one condition,” she said.
“Name it.”
“You’ll let me help you design your new garden and fill it with lots of flowers.”
Again he smiled. “That’s a very attractive deal. I’d certainly agree to that, and you know the funny thing?” He took her arm again. “I’ve always fancied being a gentleman gardener.”
Becky filled a shiver go down her spine. Her grandmother used to say that the sensation meant either somebody was walking over your grave or you were getting a blessing directly from heaven.
She was pretty sure that this one was a blessing.
“Yes, Bob.” She smiled, wondering if perhaps this was the luckiest day of her life. “I think you would make a very fine gentleman gardener.”
Wellesley Wives by Suzy Duffy
Category: Women’s Fiction
Publication date: Sep 27, 2012
ISBN (paper): 978-1-61213-109-2
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-61213-110-8
Summary: Popsy Power, a Boston society-wife, and her best friend Sandra seem to have it all with billionaire husbands and beautiful daughters. But things change . . .
From Bollinger to minimum wage, it’s a r
ollercoaster for the ladies who lunch. When the daughters land in a heap of trouble, too, it’s hardly surprising that their mother should worry about the next generation of Wellesley Wives.
Life can’t always be fun in the sun, but that’s why there’s fur!
http://ph.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/books/detail/66
Coming September 2013
Newton Neighbors by Suzy Duffy
The second book in the New England Trilogy
SHAKING HANDS WAS THE WORST.
Emily pasted a smile on her face as the woman across from her offered her hand. She’d tried, at first, to avoid shaking hands altogether, but people expected it, thought it odd when she’d clear her throat and offer the weak explanation of having a cold or something equally pathetic. So, Emily braced herself, reaching out to shake her hand as briefly as possible. Still, she felt the tendril of awareness, but fought it, reinforcing the wall blocking out the sensation. It was easier after years of experience, but she still had moments when she was caught unaware and the slightest touch would send a surge of knowing through her. Knowing she didn’t want.
This time, though, the wall held strong. She pulled back her hand, resisting the urge to flex her fingers, and gestured to the chair across from her desk.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Samuels,” she said.
“Jessica, please,” the woman said as she sat down, smoothing the fabric of her skirt over her knees.
Emily didn’t need insight to read this woman: taupe business suit—Chanel, or possibly Armani, Emily was hardly an expert—with two inch matching pumps, sensible, not sexy. Her was hair coiffed in a short style that definitely required at least monthly maintenance. Face made up in that smooth, dewy way that ensured the products were expensive and guaranteed to provide a natural look. Diamond earrings large enough to scream wealth, but small enough to avoid being ostentatious.
She knew from her file that Jessica was the youngest daughter of Eric Samuels, an old-money entrepreneur who’d parlayed his inheritance into better than ten figures and never looked back. Yes, Jessica Samuels was the epitome of cultured elegance, and a client that could push Emily’s business to the next level.
Shaking off the unease of the handshake, Emily closed the open file folder before her and clasped her hands on top. “Jessica,” she said with a reassuring smile, “tell me how I can help you.”
She knew, of course, but the question always set the clients at ease.
Jessica fiddled a little with her earring, cheeks flushing slightly. Emily waited for her to find the right words.
“I want to get married,” she said finally. “I want to find my soul mate.”
Emily tried not to wince at the archaic term. It was not her place to challenge it.
“I understand you’re the best matchmaker on the west coast, maybe the country.” Jessica toyed with the earring again—a nervous habit, apparently. “So, I need your help.”
Emily nodded, picking up her glasses and sliding them on before opening the file once again. “I see you’ve completed our application . . .”
“It took me a while.”
Emily flashed her an apologetic grin. “I know. But it’s important that I have as much information as possible if I’m to find your ideal match.”
“So you think you can?” Jessica craned her neck to peer at the folder across the desk. “You can find ‘the one’?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Emily replied, flipping through the application. “So, tell me—why now?”
“I think it’s time. I’m twenty-eight years old.” She considered that for a moment, biting her lip in concentration. “I want to find someone to share my life with.” She smiled softly. “My sisters are both married and starting families. I want what they have.”
Emily peered at her over the top of her glasses for a moment, but to her credit, Jessica met her gaze. She was serious about it, and that was important. Emily set the application back on her desk. “All right then,” she said. “Let’s find you a man.”
“Your mother’s on the phone. Again.” Emily’s assistant Heather shrugged apologetically as Emily glared in response, but she didn’t back out of the half-open door. “You know she’ll just call back if you don’t talk to her. And don’t ask me to lie. You know she can tell.”
Emily did know. It was one of her mother’s gifts. She sighed and removed her glasses to rub at her eyes then ran her hands through her strawberry-blond hair, twisting it once out of habit, before letting it fall back to her shoulders. She’d been combing through computer files after the initial scan to find compatible matches for Jessica Samuels, and when she glanced at her watch, she was startled to find she’d been at it for almost two hours.
“Em?” Heather prodded, brows arched expectantly as she tucked a wayward brown curl behind her ear. It popped back out immediately and she blew at it in irritation.
“Fine. I’ll take it,” Emily muttered. “But I need chocolate.”
Heather grinned and produced a foil-wrapped truffle from her jacket pocket.
“You know me too well,” Emily said with a mock glare, but she took the chocolate and unwrapped it quickly and popped it into her mouth. Muffling her pleased groan, she picked up the phone, swallowing before pressing the button to connect the call.
Heather waved and pulled the door closed behind her.
“Hi, Mom.”
“You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
Emily slouched in her chair, leaning her head back against the cushioned headrest as she squeezed her eyes shut. “No, I haven’t. I’ve just been busy. Big new client.”
“Yes, the Samuels girl.”
“Mom, you know I hate it when you do that.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you came home once in a while.”
Emily could picture her mom waving a hand dismissively. They’d had this argument countless times and Emily could never find a way to make her mom understand that using her gift to peek into her life was an invasion of privacy. Eve Valentine didn’t share her daughter’s disdain for her rather unusual abilities. Instead, she saw it as a natural extension of her five senses and thought asking her to keep from using it was akin to demanding she walk around blindfolded or gagged.
She couldn’t understand why Emily chose to do exactly that.
“Grandma really wants you to come for dinner Sunday,” Eve said quietly. “We miss you, honey.”
Emily sighed. “I know. I miss you, too. It’s just . . . hard.”
Her mother hummed slightly. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“Don’t start, Mom.”
She heard her mother exhale, resignation echoing down the phone line. “I’m not. Will you come Sunday?”
Emily could tell her mother already knew the answer, but she gave it anyway. “Yeah. Seven o’clock okay?”
“Seven’s perfect. See you then.”
Emily Valentine’s childhood may not have been normal by most standards, but even she had to admit it was a happy one. It had been filled with reassurances that she was special, that she had a great destiny to follow in the footsteps of her mother, grandmother, and every Valentine woman for more than two centuries.
A destiny helping others find true love. Their soul mate. Their other half—the missing half.
It was no accident that Emily was a matchmaker.
Throughout history, the Valentine women had been born with unique gifts to aid them in their mission to help love along. Her grandmother, Ellen, could see auras, and the distinctive way they changed when a person came into contact with the one they were meant to be with. Eve had an uncanny instinct about people, an ability to see what they really wanted, even if they didn’t know it themselves or were unable to articulate it. She could also read the people closest to her in a rather unnerving way, able to pick out recent events in her loved ones’ lives and actually feel the impact of them.
As for Emily, her gift was a tactile one—an ability to sense emotions and thoughts through touch. It was m
ore than that, though. With a single brush of her fingers, she could map out the person’s emotional makeup, a web of people joined together by threads of relationship. Some threads were thin, almost transparent—a sign of a casual acquaintance—some were heavy and strong, indicating family or close friends. But the bond of a soul mate was the strongest of all, and even if it hadn’t yet been formed, Emily could see it in her mind, see the hole where that person should be. Once she received that emotional imprint, for lack of a better word, she was able to pinpoint with startling accuracy the love-match for her client, even from a photograph or an item of clothing. Although meeting the match in person gave her an even stronger response—a feeling of connection that was impossible to ignore.
She’d gone into the family business at the age of twelve, spending countless hours around the dining room table with her mother and grandmother as they’d met with clients. She had worked on her homework, munching on homemade cookies.
“Emily, this is Miss Johnson,” her mother used to say, and Emily knew that was her cue.
She reached out politely to shake Miss Johnson’s hand, absorbing the imprint with a friendly smile on her face. She sat down and went back to her homework, and after the client left, the three of them discussed the case. Eve narrowed down the possible matches, and Emily examined their photos until she found the right one. Then, when Miss Johnson finally met the man in question, Em’s grandmother smiled with satisfaction at the sparkling auras mingling just so.
It worked perfectly, and Emily was happy. Until she’d turned eighteen years old and met her father.
Emily’s mother had spoken of him rarely, always with glowing eyes and wistful words. Emily knew little of him other than his name and that he was Eve’s true love. Her mother had never spoken of what happened to him other than to say that their destinies diverged and he’d had to follow his own path.
The three Valentine women had just celebrated Em’s birthday with cake and a traditional toast made up of grape juice for Emily, supplemented with just a splash of champagne. She protested she was no longer a child when the doorbell rang. Emily saw her mother stiffen and pale, but it didn’t really register until she flung the door open to find a tall man with dark hair and eyes—the mirror of Emily’s own—standing on the front stoop, wringing a worn baseball cap in his hands. Emily glanced back to see her mother standing in the kitchen doorway, arms clutched tightly across her stomach.
