by Nina Bocci
“Henry had a girlfriend, Sarah, who we were all convinced he would marry because we never really saw him with anyone seriously. They weren’t together long, but he seemed happy and invested. Then she tells us one day that she got a job offer in San Francisco and that she was going to take it. She never even mentioned it to him. He had no idea she was looking for a job elsewhere, and certainly not that she was planning to up and move cross-country in two weeks.
“He was crushed. He’s had dates here and there since, but nothing serious. Then you come back and all of a sudden that light is back in his eyes. He seems like the Henry we used to know and love, but when you leave, he’ll be back to square one, and we’ll be left to pick up the pieces.”
“Oh,” I replied, finally beginning to understand where Henry was coming from. He’s looking for long-term, I reminded myself just as the knife I was using to open the order forms slipped, nicking my already battered fingers. “Shit.”
“You okay?” Emma asked, concerned at the amount of blood pouring from my finger.
I rolled my eyes at my stupidity while grabbing a napkin to contain the bleeding. “Yeah, can you hold down the fort while I bandage this up?”
She nodded, smiling at the crowd that looked on. “Okay, folks, I’m creating your arrangements! Who’s excited!?”
I headed toward the small office space to find the first aid kit I’d purchased. Rummaging around the storage shelves, I finally spied it on the very top shelf. “Of course.”
There wasn’t a step stool in the back—I had to add that to my list. But for now, I had two options: try to scale the shelving, or bleed to death.
Always so dramatic, my mother’s voice said in my head.
With my foot on the first shelf, I was about to pull myself up when the back door popped open.
“Allow me,” a deep voice said from behind me. I startled, but not from being frightened. I knew exactly who it was.
“Henry,” I breathed, waiting for him to walk into the room before I turned around.
“Emma told me you were back here.”
He walked over quietly, moving behind me to reach up to the top shelf without any aid.
“Here you go,” he whispered, his lips against the shell of my ear.
It took a moment for him to back away. It wasn’t like I was in a rush, either. He inhaled deeply, and I swore I felt his chest rumble against my back. How long had it been since I had a reaction like this to someone? My face felt burning hot; my chest was heaving. I leaned back just enough for my head to fall to his shoulder. That snapped him out of it.
With his hands steadying me by holding on to my hips, he backed away. I turned quickly, but I got a rush. Leaning against the shelving, I glanced up at him. He, too, was flushed, cheeks pink and eyes wild.
“L-Let me help,” he stuttered, reaching for the first aid kit.
As he reached out to grip it, I pulled it back.
It fell to the floor with a clatter. The lid popped open with the contents spilling out.
“Shit,” I groaned, bending to retrieve everything. My finger was bleeding through the napkin I had around it.
“Charlotte, please, let me help,” he insisted, holding my hands still.
His were warm and soft compared to what a mess mine were with the years of nicks and bruises marking them.
“It’s okay, really. Maybe you should help Emma? Is she still alive out there?”
He laughed. “She’s holding her own. She’s already recruited Mrs. Mancini and Gigi.”
“Oh, good,” I said, nervously fumbling with the Band-Aids. “I’ll worry about cleaning it and adding ointment later.”
“Charlotte, relax. Taking two minutes to clean this is better than having your finger fall off. How will you make beautiful arrangements with only nine fingers?”
His voice was teasing, but it held a touch of real concern.
Gently, Henry took my hand and squeezed. Closing my eyes, I tried not to focus on the slight tremor in his hand or how delicately he cleaned and bandaged me up. I just settled in for a quiet moment, enjoying his mending my hand as best he could. Once he was finished, he held my hand for a moment longer than he probably should have. It wasn’t awkward, but unexpected, considering how adamant he had been about not getting close due to my transient status.
“Impressive. Maybe you should have gone to med school.”
“Boy Scouts—taught me everything I know,” he said, but the words hit something deep in me.
“Boy Scouts,” I said simply. “Why does that seem familiar?”
I closed my eyes, trying to remember. All that popped up was a memory of a crop of spiky plants near a fence.
“Charlotte?” he breathed.
Slowly, I opened my eyes. Looking down, I noticed that he’d taken both my hands in his, his thumbs lightly stroking my palms. When my eyes met his, he was staring intently at me, waiting.
“Yes, Henry?” I asked, leaning forward to close some of the space between us.
Slowly, he inched forward, matching my position. I parried, and as he was about to lean in, the door swung open.
I slid back, knocking over the stool beside my desk. Henry, to his credit, hadn’t moved an inch.
“Hey, guys, it’s getting crazy out here,” Nick said, looking between the two of us. I must have looked tremendously guilty, because he raised a dark eyebrow. When I glanced at Henry, they seemed to be having a silent broversation.
“Sorry, sorry, hurt my finger. You know. Thanks, Henry,” I sputtered, and slipped out of the room. To my surprise, I ran right into Max.
“Hey there!” he said cheerfully. “Some crowd you’ve got in here.”
I smiled, stepping to the side to greet a woman who just came up to the counter. “Give me a moment?” I explained, but he sidestepped me.
“Come on, take five. I brought ice cream,” he said, holding up a paper cup filled with vanilla.
“Oh, Max, I’d love to, but I can’t stop now. I’ve got people to greet and orders to take. It’s a great problem to have, but I can’t take a break right now. How about later? I’ll shoot you a text.”
He looked disappointed, but I couldn’t be worried about that right now. Not when there was a line of people waiting to place an order.
Thankfully, he got the hint and recovered nicely. “Sure, no problem.” He took the ice cream and left.
“Okay, that was both the sweetest and the most poorly timed gesture I’ve ever seen.” Emma laughed.
“I swear, instead of things being easier between us, they get more awkward.”
Henry didn’t come back into the main area of the shop after I bolted through the swinging door. He must have slipped out the back door, into the alley. Or, he’s still back there …
But he wasn’t. I peeked as soon as there was a slight dip in the crazy. With only about twenty minutes left, the crowd, thankfully, thinned to a handful.
The one person I was anxious to see, Gigi, who was zipping around the store trying to upsell everyone, looked as exhausted as I felt.
“Mrs. Mancini, thanks for coming and bringing Gigi. It meant a lot. Why don’t you guys head home? I’ll bring you dinner after I clean this place up a bit.”
Gigi took my hand, pulling me down to eye level. “Tomorrow is another day. Don’t wear yourself out, my darling. I’ll see you when you get home.” She kissed my cheek and waved goodbye to Nick and Emma, both of whom looked like they were ready to drop at any minute.
What was left of the crowd inside split apart as if Gigi was Moses commanding the Red Sea. A few people bent to kiss her cheek; some gave her a soft hug as she was leaving. It was adorable and humbling to see how many people loved her.
“Almost done,” Emma whispered, dropping another slip into the file folder. It was bursting open.
“I’m going to have to bring that home to sort through so I can get the ordering done by tomorrow morning,” I said, eyeing the folder skeptically. “If the delivery truck comes by midweek, I can pu
t in two solid days before the weekend and get through a chunk of these.”
“What can I do to help?” Emma offered, looking at the wholesale vendors’ price sheet and ordering information.
“Nothing, really, but thanks. One of these days I’ll teach you how to order tulips straight from the Netherlands.” My heart was beating fast, either from excitement at the prospect of filling the orders or worry, because how the hell am I going to do this?
“I need to figure out how to categorize the orders,” I continued. “Something easier to follow. This was the way I used to do orders back in New York, but the volume wasn’t like this, and there were six of us to spread the work out to. This was far more than I imagined for one person.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust my system?” she said in mock offense.
I laughed weakly.
“Of course I do!” I said, mollifying her. “You make Martha Stewart look like a slacker when it comes to planning.”
Emma preened. “On a serious note, you’re going to be extremely busy, Charlotte. Busier than even I thought. I think you really need to hire someone to help, or a couple part-timers. This is too much for one person to do.”
I nodded. “I don’t disagree, I just don’t know the first thing about hiring. I’ve only ever done the design work and planning.”
Emma paced around, collecting errant papers and straightening the shelves as she did so. She moved in contemplative silence. Was this her process? The way she ferreted out issues and found solutions? She has her problem-solving CDO hat on, I realized.
“For the events you’ve done, you had to get subcontractors, right? Caterers, servers, the whole nine?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Did you use a service? I’m sure New York has a ton of ready-to-hire companies staffed with people,” she said, stacking a set of decorative boxes into a pyramid on one of the glass shelves.
I sank, exhausted, onto a metal stool.
“We did use a service once, but it wasn’t the best fit. After that, we just figured out the calendar for the month and my boss hired based on— Oh.” I paused, the light bulb coming on.
“See, you do have experience hiring people. It just might not be for subcontractors and parties yet.” She smirked when I rolled my eyes.
“Okay, fine. I can hire someone to help, but can we talk about this at another time? I’m beat.”
With a nod followed by a long, loud yawn, Emma pulled me in for a hug. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks for today. For everything.”
“Always,” she said, moving wearily toward the door.
Once it closed behind her, I rolled out a small piece of carpet that I’d found at Gigi’s and settled onto the floor again. I wasn’t sure why, but that spot in the very center of the shop was turning out to be my favorite place to just sit and think.
If I knew how to do yoga, I would do it here, but my lack of coordination prevented it when a hard floor was involved. The breathing, though—that I could do. In and out, eyes closed, mind wandering. Bliss.
Slowly, the weariness started melting from my bones. Minutes passed in peace and quiet while I contemplated life’s great mysteries.
Was Henry going to kiss me today?
I lay back onto the rug to stretch and dream about it. While it wasn’t exactly a great mystery, it gave me something to think about. Until an actual mystery jolted me awake.
“Oh, shit! Emma was my ride. How the hell am I going to get home?” With everyone being exhausted, it must have slipped her mind. I know it did mine.
How hard is it to get a driver’s license again?
Unfortunately, life’s great questions meant I wasn’t relaxed anymore.
Customers. Emma had been sure they would come out in support today, but I assumed that meant come for the coffee and snacks she insisted we provide and maybe a photo op with the Hope Lake Journal. I honestly didn’t believe it would translate to an abundance of orders.
And a couple of leads on party-planning opportunities.
Through a yawn, I rolled over onto all fours to try to pull myself to my feet. My back was facing the door when I heard someone enter the shop. A customer?
I knew I should have locked it.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, struggling to get up with my ultra-stiff back, “but we’re closed for today.”
The snicker urged my eyes to bolt open. “Henry?” I gasped, turning to see him lingering by the front door. He took up much of the frame with his large body.
He had changed his clothes from earlier, but he was still dressed casually, his arms crossed over his broad chest and covering much of the navy-blue polo shirt he wore. His jeans were worn out in all the right places and fit perfectly.
“You were expecting someone else?” he asked, glancing behind him.
I did my best to stand up gracefully. By the way his eyes followed my movements, I would say I failed. “No, no. I was just having a bit of a postmortem. Alone, in the dark, you know.”
Postmortem? Jesus, Charlotte! Can you at least try to have a filter?
Why was I incapable of normal conversation with this guy?
He laughed. “Not sure I follow.”
I sighed, straightening my shirt that had ridden up. Looking down, I realized how filthy I was. Smudges of dirt streaked across my shirt; green foam bits were under my nails. I was the walking, talking definition of a train wreck.
“Pull up an inch of carpet, I’ll explain,” I suggested, sitting back down on the rug. Classy Charlotte was a futile wish at this point. I might as well try to get comfortable in this awkward bubble we were in.
Henry gracefully situated himself on a corner of the rug, stretching his legs out to the side. “This was on the front door,” he said, handing me another envelope.
“Oh!” I snatched the envelope away from him. Max must have left it prior to the ice-cream incident and no one had noticed. I was hoping more would arrive, but what I wasn’t thrilled with was the randomness of how they were left. There was no rhyme or reason to them.
“Thanks. I’ll just tuck this away,” I said, carefully sliding the letter into the back pocket of my shorts. Henry eyed it curiously but didn’t ask about it, thankfully.
“What is it?” he asked.
I examined his face—furrowed brows, thin lips, and a worried look. He genuinely looked like he had no idea what they were. While I suspected they were from Max, there was a small part of me that hoped they might have been from Henry.
“Oh, just a little letter,” I said, not embellishing to see how he’d react.
We sat silently for a few minutes: me decompressing, and Henry seemingly happy to just sit beside me.
Finally, I felt that I either needed to move or curl up and fall asleep on the rug. “So …”
“So,” he replied, turning toward me. “Tell me about this postmortem?”
I laughed awkwardly. “Since I don’t have a crew, you’ll have to be my postmortem buddy.”
He looked around the darkening shop. The only lights now were the security night-lights dotted around the room and the tiny desk lamp that sat next to the computer.
“Should I be worried?” he asked, his smile shining through the darkness. “I’m not going to be autopsied, right?”
I chuckled, scooching closer to the center of the rug. It’s not that I was trying to get closer to him, but I wasn’t not trying, either.
“It’s not that kind of postmortem,” I began, just as he leaned back on his arms. He looked so relaxed and put together. Meanwhile, my heart was about to burst from my chest.
Fidgeting with my hands, I tucked in for story time. “When I was in college, I had a part-time job with an event-planning company. It was as close to a perfect job as I could get at nineteen. Anyway, we used to decompress after every event. All of us together, sharing wine, canapés, and desserts. Whatever might have been left over from the shindig. The whole point was for us to chat about the event. The highs an
d lows, what went right and what could be improved. The owner used to call it a postmortem and take extensive notes. Nothing was ever perfect for her, though. She always thought we could improve.”
“She sounds tough,” Henry said, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. He smiled after he caught my eyes darting down to watch it slide across his mouth.
I cleared my throat. Maybe I should walk around? Let some cool air pour out of the coolers? Put an ice cube down my shirt?
Shaking my head, I looked anywhere but at him. “She was actually really awesome. She wanted the best for us and the business. Now, my last boss? She was an overbearing, egotistical nightmare. Anyway, the point is, I was going to have a postmortem with Emma on the way home about how today went, but she left, and now I’m a bit stranded.”
Mentally, I was trying to calculate how long it would take for me to walk home, especially given my already-exhausted condition.
“I noticed she zombie-walked out of here. I had to call her to make sure she got home all right,” Henry explained, running his hand through his hair. “Once I realized no one was coming for you, I popped in, thinking you’d need a ride.”
My heart warmed. “Thank you. That was amazingly kind of you to not leave me here after the day I had.”
“It looked busy, to put it mildly. Steady stream of people all day. It worked for the bookstore, too, since your customers came to visit every shop in the square after they visited for the grand opening.”
“It was great, but I know we can improve the system we have in place. Hence, the postmortem.”
“I can do it with you,” he offered simply. But there was nothing simple about his words. My face warmed as if a fireplace were lit right next to me.
I swallowed, looking up at him as the remaining solar streetlights clicked on, leaving balls of startling white light on the sidewalk in front of the shop.
He, too, realized what he had just said. “I mean, I can drive you home and you can use me for your postmortem. I wasn’t here long, but I heard a lot of feedback while I was at the bookstore today.”
His eyes stayed locked with mine while I thought about it. I did need a ride, and the company certainly was choice. And a willing ear to bend about the day?
