Coming Up Roses

by Staci Hart

  “I don’t want reconciliation, Ivy.”

  “Why not?”

  “It was ten years ago. He’d think it was ridiculous, and it is.”

  “Then get over it and move on.”

  “I have! It’s not like I have an effigy of him in my closet or anything, Ivy. It’s just that…” I sighed, running a hand over my face, then swearing when I remembered it was dusted with dirt. “He caught me by surprise yesterday,” I said, swiping at my face. “The knowledge that he’ll be working here with us every day is the worst news I’ve had in ages.”

  She reached across the table and wiped away the dirt I’d been smearing around. “You were surprised. But he didn’t do anything wrong, did he?”

  “Besides harass me? It doesn’t really absolve him that he thought I was you. If we had an HR department, they’d be having a field day.”

  “Fair enough, but deep down, you know his intentions were innocent. Luke would never in a million years have come on to you like that. Right?”

  My sigh weighed a thousand pounds. “I mean—”

  “Right,” she answered for me. “And what about all the good things he’s done?”

  “So far he’s groped me, been late, and if I had to guess, he’s about to bang Judy. What has he done right again?”

  Ivy rolled her eyes so hard, her irises almost disappeared. “Came back to help Mrs. Bennet. Dropped everything to rush back. Came into the shop before noon. What?” she added, watching my expression. “That’s a big deal for him, and you know it. You’re just so focused on all the bad things, you can’t see the good.”

  I was pouting, and I knew it. I just couldn’t seem to erase the expression her bitter truth had inspired. “The product of years of practice, I guess.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time to unlearn it, if for no other reason than to keep the workplace hospitable. You’re going to make the flowers sad with all your bad energy.”

  I chuckled, picking up my shears again to avoid her eyes. “We can’t have that.”

  “No, we can’t. Give him a chance—if not for the shop, for Mrs. Bennet. It’d kill her to think you hated him like you seem to.”

  For a moment, I imagined the sadness and disappointment on her face if she knew I’d rather eat mulch than make nice with Luke, and my guts twisted against the sight. “All right,” I conceded, snipping a branch off. “I’ll try to be good. But if he pushes it, I swear …” I pointed my shears at her in warning.

  “Hey, if he deserves it, all bets are off.”

  “If who deserves what? And who’s getting stabbed with those shears?”

  Luke’s voice set my spine straight as an arrow, my gaze snapping up to find him standing at the end of the table.

  God, he was handsome, his jaw square and smattered with dark stubble. Those full, wide lips were constantly fixed at an irreverent tilt. His nose was as Roman as his name, with the slightest flat plane on the bridge, just enough to make him look rugged without interrupting the elegant lines of his brow and cheekbones. Crisp and bright were his eyes, sharp with wit and mischief.

  He had been designed to entice and did so at his leisure. As easily as he lured you in, so easily would you be consumed.

  And I had no desire to be consumed.

  I blinked, realizing we had yet to answer. I found myself unable to fashion a response.

  Ivy picked up that ball and ran, betraying me with a smile. “If you deserve a dressing-down, you’ll get one. And the shears too, if you’re not quick on your feet.”

  “Ah,” he said, still smiling. “Well, I don’t think Tess minds dressing me down whether I deserve it or not.”

  That made me both huff and swat away a flash of guilt. But before I could decide how to answer, he placed a pink box on the counter, revealing a paper caddy carrying two cups of coffee.

  “Speaking of—” He set down the carrier and bowed ever so slightly in my direction. “I come bearing gifts of peace. Coffee,” he said, gesturing to the obvious, “and donuts.”

  When he opened the box, Ivy and I leaned in.

  “Blanche’s!” Ivy gasped, full-on clasping her hands to her chest. “Oh, tell me you got the lavender and lemon ones.”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “No,” I said, smiling.

  His eyes shifted to mine, catching them, holding them. His smile softened into something more sheepish, the effect making him look like the boy who’d once kissed me in the greenhouse.

  Brutus leaped onto the table, striding over with his tail flicking. But before he got close, Luke scooped him up, petting his short, dark fur.

  “Those aren’t for you, buddy.” He scratched the cat’s head, which didn’t seem to distract Brutus. His golden eyes were locked on that box. “I got raspberry creme, lemon-blueberry, and strawberry icing with sprinkles. But Tess gets dibs,” he said, giving Ivy a chastising look.

  Ivy in turn gave me a look, one that said, See? Donuts!

  The realization that she was right—thus making me wrong—sent a twisting cramp of aversion through me. I hated being wrong. I hated that Luke made me feel this way, and I hated that he’d done something nice when all I wanted was to keep on hating him.

  But you know what I didn’t hate?

  Donuts.

  I licked my lips, peering into the box and deciding on a lavender-lemon donut. When I looked up, his eyes were on my mouth, hungry as I was for the pastry in my hand. And then they met mine with a nearly audible click.

  I took a breath, filling my lungs to power my will. “Thank you, Luke,” was all I could manage.

  And the words set his smile tilting again.

  “You’re welcome, Tess. I really am sorry about yesterday.”

  “I know,” I admitted. “Me too,” was the closest I could get to an apology, considering he was the one to grope me. “For being so…”

  “Bitchy,” Ivy finished.

  We laughed, and I flushed. She wasn’t wrong. But Luke did that to me.

  “So, truce?” he asked, eyeing me with mock doubt.

  “Truce,” I echoed.

  At that, he grinned, flashing brilliant teeth. “I knew donuts would work. Donuts always work.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t talk. You ruin it for everyone when you talk.” I took a bite, and the second it hit my tongue, the donut melted like spun sugar.

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that today.”

  Just like that, the donut turned to ash on my tongue. I’d forgotten he’d just come from Judy’s. Had he slept with her? And why the hell did I care? And why the hell was I scanning him for signs—mussed hair, hickey, anything.

  And why, oh why, did I find myself so satisfied to find none?

  Ivy shot me another look as she took a rude bite of her own donut.

  Be nice, that look said.

  I forced a smile. “Your mouth might be the only predictable thing about you.”

  Ivy choked on her donut.

  But Luke smiled. “Oh, my mouth can definitely be counted on.”

  For lies and kisses you don’t remember.

  “Ivy, weren’t you going to show Luke the registers?” I offered in my best effort to put some space between me and the devil.

  “Mmhmm,” she hummed around her food.

  “Oh,” Luke said with a snap of his fingers. “We’re meeting here tonight to talk about plans for the shop if you two want to come. Around eight-thirty, here in the back. You in?”

  “Of course,” Ivy answered with a smile.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, meaning it. This shop was all I’d known, and its future was too tied up in mine to miss a single decision they’d have me be a part of.

  “Good.” His smile was too pretty to be real. “Then it’s a date.”

  He turned before I educated him on the meaning of the word date, and Ivy stayed me with a glare, just in case I had a mind to speak. But I kept it to myself, choosing instead to fill my mouth with his peace offering as I watched his stupid, fine ass walk
away.

  I’d agreed to a truce, dazzled by pastries and struck by Ivy’s insistence. I’d give Luke Bennet a chance.

  And I sure did hope he didn’t waste it.

  6

  BIG IDEAS

  LUKE

  “All right, all right—settle down,” I said over the din of my siblings.

  No one settled down.

  We sat around one of the big tables in the back, all hitched on stools. The only lights were the hanging tin farm lamps over the table, making it feel more like a clandestine mob meeting than a chat among siblings about the future of a flower shop.

  “I need a gavel or something,” I said half to myself.

  “Here,” Tess said, thrusting a hand spade into my palm.

  “Thank you,” I said before banging the handle on the wooden tabletop.

  Slowly, the noise dimmed, their faces all turning to me.

  “All right, Bennets, Tess, Ivy. Tonight marks our first meeting, hopefully of many. We all know the shop is in trouble, and it’s up to us to save it. I was thinking about it this morning and have some ideas.”

  “Before or after you boffed Judy?” Kash called from the back.

  “Before. A little during. Mostly after.”

  Laney groaned, Marcus rolled his eyes, and I didn’t miss Tess stilling next to me.

  Marcus folded his arms across his chest. “This is going to be like the lemonade stand all over again, isn’t it?”

  My siblings burst into laughter, but Ivy and Tess looked confused.

  Kash leaned on the table, smirking at them. “Luke’s notorious for rallying us for some big cause—lemonade, cookie sales, dog-washing for tips. Ask me how many he actually worked at.”

  Another round of laughter and a superior, though amused, look from Tess.

  “Listen—the lemons would have stung my cuts from Mom making me work on the roses, I wouldn’t have stopped playing with the dogs long enough to wash them, and I’d have eaten all the cookies before we got our first customer. You guys didn’t want me there.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Guess we’ll never know, will we?”

  “Oh, give him a break, warden,” Kash said. “You lorded over us with a cash lockbox, a calculator, and a legal pad. It’s not like we blamed him. And anyway, you have to admit—he always had good ideas.”

  “And I’ve got another one,” I started, glancing around the table to meet everyone’s eyes.

  They sobered, waiting silently.

  “We all know why we’re here, why we’ve come back. Longbourne needs us. Mom and Dad need us. Their future depends on this shop. And I know we can save it all, but not if things stay the same. We have a legacy, but there’s nothing fresh about our presence. We have no social media to speak of. Our website hasn’t been current since 1999. The storefront hasn’t changed in fifty years. We have no window display, no aesthetic, no vibe. Longbourne’s been left untended for so long, it’s overgrown and being choked to death by proverbial weeds. How’s the money, Marcus?”

  His brows drew together, his lips flattening. “Not good. The finances have been mismanaged for a decade. The debts are so substantial, Marty shouldn’t have been depositing anything into our trusts. If we doubled the shop’s income tomorrow, it would take us somewhere around five years to really get back on track.”

  A sigh, deep and painful in my ribs. “Do we have any capital to work with?”

  “After buying the shop, acquiring the debts, and trying to figure out how much we’re actually making, I only have a little capital left to invest. So we’d better have a workable plan.”

  “Shoestring budget—got it. I can work with that.”

  “To do what?” he asked dubiously.

  “Implement phase one: give this place a complete facelift.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Laney asked, her excitement visible in the lighting of her eyes and straightening of her spine.

  “Storefront first—that place is a cave. I mean, when was the last time the windows were cleaned? The brick is dark, the ceiling dark … I say we paint everything white.”

  Laney, Tess, and Ivy perked up.

  “It would brighten everything up,” Tess said, her smile growing as she imagined it. “The lighting could be incredible.”

  “And,” I added, smiling back, “we have piles of ancient pieces to use for displays. Tables and drawers, old desks and benches. Buckets and rope and God even knows what else we’ll find in storage. Laney, what are you thinking for social?”

  “I’ve got big ideas too, starting with a new logo. Check it out.” She passed her phone down the table and to me.

  The logo was hip and current, two arrows crossed with LFS in the left, top, and right spaces and an illustration of a rose below. It was simple and modern and absolutely perfect.

  “I’ve got Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter set up, and Jett and I are working on the website,” Laney said.

  “We’re gonna need pictures though,” Jett added, looking a little worried about the fact.

  “I can help with that,” Tess offered. “I’ve been playing around for a couple of years with studio lighting, and my Instagram is pretty strong.”

  Laney chuckled. “You’re being modest—your Instagram is enviable. I was going to ask if you’d be interested in heading up ours.”

  “I’d love to,” Tess answered, flushed and smiling.

  “Anyone have any objections to the logo?” I asked.

  Negatives came from the lot of them.

  “Good. I can paint the walls and wash the windows, go through storage and take inventory. Laney, how do you feel about designing us new signage?” I asked.

  “Real good.”

  Marcus looked skeptical. “I think we should wait until we get some more capital in the door.”

  “Even if I can get us a discount?” I asked. “My buddy Davey’s brother makes signs. I just need a design to show him.”

  “Davey?” Marcus’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yeah, we used to wait tables together.”

  “Which time?” Kash asked like the smartass he was.

  “Does it matter?” I asked, forging on before he answered. “I can prep to paint tomorrow. Jett, can you help run deliveries?”

  “I’m not going to Judy’s, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  A laugh rolled through them.

  “You say that now.”

  “I can help paint tomorrow,” Tess offered. “It’s my day off, but I don’t have much else going on.”

  At that, my smile ticked up a notch. “Sounds good. I’ll pick up supplies in the morning. I’ll get into storage too, see what I can drum up. We can rearrange the interior, and then comes the fun part. We’re not going to be ready to advertise, not until we have this place cleaned up, the signage done, our social moving. So I was thinking—what’s the best way to get people in the front door?” I paused, scanning their faces. “We go old school. Window installations.”

  “Luke, that’s genius,” Tess breathed, and it might have been the nicest thing she’d ever said to or about me.

  “Thank you.” I smiled, feeling like I’d won a major award. “I renovated houses with a contractor for a while in LA, and I worked set design too. I even helped with installations at The Getty and for a while at Anthropologie in Santa Monica. Dad has all the tools I’ll need to build you guys whatever you want.”

  “It’s perfect.” Laney beamed.

  Kash laughed openly. “You worked at Anthropologie.”

  I shrugged. “I dated a girl who managed one, and I happen to like their candles.” I’d earned another chuckle. “Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, you’re the brains here, Laney. I’ll be the muscle, and Tess, I think, should take the lead on design.”

  Tess’s face swiveled around, her eyes wide and stunned. “Me?”

  “We’ve all seen what you can do,” Laney said, backing me up like I knew she would. She’d be crazy not to. “Of all of us, you are the one with the aesthetic and know-how when it co
mes to floristry. Luke is right. This is your wheelhouse, and I think we should lean on you.”

  The color rose in her cheeks, her lashes brushing them when she looked down at her hands. “I … I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Say yes,” I urged. “I want to stop every person who passes our window dead in their tracks. I want our windows to lure them in. I want to become a staple in this city again, and this? This is going to set us apart.”

  She’d looked up during my speech, her eyes soft and rich, stirring something in my chest. A familiarity, like a memory I couldn’t grasp, like a dream that had slipped away when I woke. But then it was gone.

  “All right, I’ll do it.”

  A chorus of cheering and relieved laughter filled the room.

  “Ivy can take over for you in the back while we get plans together for the front and implement them for the weekend—there’s a big event in Washington Square, and we should have more foot traffic than usual. It’s the perfect time to unveil the new look,” I said. “Kash, you keep doing what you’re doing in the greenhouse. Jett, you’ll float between doubling for me and helping Mom around the house. Marcus, keep working on untangling the finances. Laney, you let us know what you need for marketing. And I’ll back up Tess. Tomorrow, we start. Tomorrow, we’re going to take the first step to turning this ship around. And if we don’t make Mom cry from sheer joy by the time it’s done, I’ll eat Laney’s raincoat.”

  Another laugh, this one a little bawdier.

  Chatter broke out among them, and for a moment, I stood at the head of that table and watched them all, the accomplishment empowering and the excitement intoxicating. I could see it all, see the shop full of customers, that little bell dinging until the clapper wore out. Ideas on ideas on ideas fluttered through my mind—painting the front door a bright, cheery shade of blue, running beams across the ceilings so we could hang planters and racks and installations from them, imagining the walls crisp and white against the dark old counter and the black-and-white-tiled floor. I wondered what kinds of ideas Tess would have, wondered if she’d let me in on them or if she’d just give me orders and expect me to march on them.