Coming Up Roses

by Staci Hart

  “Huh. That’s true, and I didn’t even know it.”

  “I mean, not that you’re down much. But you got fudge ripple with me after my mom died. And the day Wendy came back.”

  I sobered. “I’m still sorry for that.”

  “And you still have no reason to be. It’s okay, Luke. I trust you. I’m just sorry you have to deal with the uncertainty. That would drive me nuts. I’d probably go looking for a confrontation just to have some sort of resolution.”

  “Confrontations with Wendy don’t typically end well. Broken furniture or stitches maybe, but the fallout usually isn’t worth the price paid.”

  We walked in silence for a moment, the heat beating down on us. It was oppressive, the weight of it. The weight of Wendy between us.

  “She’s always been like this?”

  “As long as I’ve known her. But she didn’t show it until after we were married. And then … well, she was my wife. I wanted to help her, take care of her. It just never got better. She would try for a while, but inevitably, it’d fall apart again. Mom likes to remind me I’m not responsible for her, but that’s not how it feels. It feels like I’m the only one who can be responsible for her, including herself. How do you walk away from that? How do you turn your back on someone who can’t help themselves, knowing you’re the only one who can?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered softly. “I don’t know that I could either, not when you put it like that. But … well, at the same time, I hate her for what she did to you. For hurting you.”

  “Join the crowd. What nobody gets is that she can’t help it.”

  Tess glanced at me.

  “I know it sounds naive, but I mean it. I think I’m the only one who knows her. When you live with someone like that for so long, you know what’s real and what isn’t. Everything she feels, she feels it with all of her. Good or bad, high or low. She loved me, but she slept with another man. And I just couldn’t get past that.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  I paused, feeling guilty for knowing the answer was no, not able to lie and say yes. “Wendy isn’t who I thought she was when I married her. I love her in the way you love a person for having endured something with them. But the truth is that our relationship wasn’t built on trust or respect. It was built on fear and guilt. And that’s not the kind of love I want.”

  “It’s not the kind you deserve. You are too generous, too giving for a love that takes so much.”

  I reached for her hand, smiling down at her. “What happened to me being a lazy, selfish player?”

  “I was wrong,” she said with adoration on her face and a smile on her lips, a smile that I kissed away before pulling open the door to the ice cream shop.

  We ordered our cones and headed back outside, turning for the park. I did my best not to watch her lick her cone like a perv, I swear. I failed miserably.

  “Can you believe,” she said around licks, “that you’ve been working at the shop all day, every day for weeks, and you haven’t even gotten a rash or broken out in hives or anything?”

  I laughed, glad to note that Tess couldn’t quit watching my mouth either. “I know. I mean, we’ll see how I feel in five months, but it’s been good. I think because, even though I’m in the same place, every day is different. There’s always something new to do, a new project to work on, a new problem to solve. It hasn’t once felt like work, you know? Not like being a bank teller. I lasted one day. One.”

  “You? A bank teller?”

  “It was a little death, Tess. I could feel the years ticking off my life with every second on that big, ugly clock. They put it right in front of you—I assume so you can keep tabs on your mortality.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “Listen, Ace—I’m pretty sure you could do anything you wanted to, what with being good at literally everything.”

  “I just said I was a terrible bank teller.”

  “I doubt you were bad at your job, just bad at staying at your job.”

  “I think the Santa Monica Bank and Trust would disagree. How about you?” I asked. “Do you want to work at the shop forever?”

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “I’ve always wanted to be a permanent fixture at the shop, but …”

  “But …” I prompted when she didn’t continue.

  “Well … I had this dream to publish my own book on floristry. A sort of how-to, basics on flower design, that kind of thing. I’ve been making notes and outlines for years.”

  “Why not pursue it?”

  She shrugged. “I dunno. What if I fail?”

  “You? Fail? Impossible.”

  A chuckle. “I’ll do it someday.”

  “Promise?”

  She bumped me with her arm. “Promise.” She licked her ice cream. “Have you ever thought about contracting? You’ve been so good with our renovations, and you seem to really enjoy it.”

  I paused, considering it. “I do. It’s the same as working in a shop in that every job is different. I would have kept helping out my buddy in California if something better hadn’t come along.”

  We made it to the park, the arch proud and tall, the fountain bubbling. We stopped a ways off, taking in the sight.

  “Do you always move on when something better comes along?” she asked quietly.

  “Not always. When I commit, I go all in, Tess.”

  Tess looked up at me, her eyes soft and heart open. “All in?”

  I slipped my free hand around her waist, pulling her into me. “All fucking in.”

  She reached for my face, and I granted her request, bending to press a kiss to her lips.

  All in, all the way into my heart she found her way.

  And I let her in without thinking twice.

  Without thinking at all.

  18

  FIXER

  TESS

  There were few greater joys in life than watching Luke Bennet use power tools.

  I’d walked out of my room to grab him and drag him to the shop for the meeting with the magazine editor. But watching him, all my plans—as well as my concept of time—fell out of my head like apples tumbling out of a sack.

  He was up on a ladder, installing crown molding, his back rippling and sweating and dotted with sawdust. A pencil rested in the crook of his ear, his big, square hands holding a nail gun. His body jolted with every pop and hiss of the machine, his muscles flexing in sync as he braced for each nail.

  A swooning sigh slid out of me, and for a second, I just stood there like a fool, watching him nail a board to a wall even though we were about to be late.

  He reached for the corner, displaying his impressive wingspan, and popped the last nail into place before turning to climb down the ladder. He spotted me, smirking when he caught me gawking.

  “I’d make a gun-show joke, but it feels too easy,” he said, hopping off the last step with a crinkle of the plastic tarp he’d laid out.

  “You should have gone for it,” I said, smiling up at him as he approached. “Woulda worked on two levels.”

  He stole a quick kiss. “Time to go?”

  I nodded, my smile fading. “I don’t want to be late.”

  “The shop’s ready. Everything’s going to be perfect—don’t worry.”

  “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

  “Or I do, and that’s why it’s my job to reassure you it’s gonna be fine.”

  I gave him a look, fond and teasing, as I changed the subject. “Are you going to shower or show up shirtless and musky?”

  He hooked my neck and brought my nose into his sweaty chest, my squealing and wiggling doing absolutely nothing to ease his grip. It was like trying to fight my way out of a giant’s fist.

  “You like my musky shirtlessness.”

  I swatted at him blindly, giggling. “I do, but not for a business meeting.”

  He kissed the top of my head and let me go. “I’ll swing by the house and shower.” He met my mighty frown with a sideways smile. “Seriously,
don’t worry. Give me ten minutes—I’ll be ready to roll and musk-free, on time and as promised.”

  I eyed him. “A ten-minute shower?”

  “No, a four-minute shower and six minutes to pick out my outfit.”

  I followed him toward the door, calling my goodbye at Dad over my shoulder.

  When we stepped out, I asked, “How do you take a shower in under five minutes?”

  He shrugged, stuffing the hem of his shirt into his back pocket rather than putting it on. “Any longer than that, and you’re just masturbating.”

  A laugh burst past my lips.

  We trotted down the stairs, leaving the little elevator for old Mrs. Reynolds upstairs and Dad.

  “You nervous?” he asked as we stepped out into the heat.

  “Are you kidding? I had a nightmare last night that all the flowers died overnight, and the editor laughed us out of town.”

  He chuckled. “She’s just coming to look around. Don’t worry, Tess.”

  “You keep saying that like it’s actually going to make me stop worrying.”

  Luke grabbed my hand, looking down at me with that smile of his, the one that made it seem like nothing could ever go wrong, nothing in the whole world.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  I sighed. “I do.”

  “Then let me worry for the both of us.”

  He squeezed my hand, which was lost somewhere inside of his. And for a second, I did.

  We kissed goodbye at his front stoop, and he darted up the stairs and disappeared inside. As for me, well, I headed into the shop and immediately started worrying again. I worried over the installation. I worried over the front display table. I worried over the arrangement I’d started with the full intent of finishing it only once I had an audience. Ivy watched me, teased me a little, but let me fuss.

  It just made me feel better. Idle hands and all that.

  Twelve minutes later, Luke was downstairs, his black hair damp and rutted from his fingers. When he kissed me, he smelled like soap and tasted like mint, and the combination made me wish he were shirtless again.

  But alas, the bell over the door rang. And when we turned, it was to find a woman who seemed only a little older than us, looking smart in a pencil skirt and tailored shirt, assistant at her side.

  I followed Luke out into the shop, the two of us giddy and smiling.

  She stuck out her hand, smiling broadly back at us. “Good to see you, Luke.”

  “Natalie. Thanks for coming. This is Tess Monroe, our head of design and production and the mastermind behind the window installations.”

  I almost laughed—my title sounded so official. “It’s nice to meet you, Natalie,” I said, offering my hand, which she took and pumped.

  “You too. The space is gorgeous. You say it’s been in the family since 1849?”

  Luke nodded proudly. “A long line of women have passed Longbourne down to their daughters.”

  “Until now,” she said on a chuckle. “Now it would seem the majority shareholders are male.”

  “The bane of my poor mother’s life, I assure you,” he teased. “If only she could have bred a pack of girls instead. We’d be easier to marry off, I’m sure.”

  Another laugh. God, he was charming. A snap of his fingers, a flash of that smile, and the world was at Luke Bennet’s feet.

  “I’m sure you have no issues getting dates, Mr. Bennet.” There was a tone to her voice that made my eyes narrow.

  “But few would have the constitution to deal with us long-term. Only the strongest and most willful of women could tame the Bennet brothers.” He slipped an arm around my waist, still smiling that million-dollar smile. “Trust me when I say we’re all counting the minutes until Tess figures out she’s too good for me.”

  I blushed like a teenager, chuckling up at him. But I wound my arm around his waist and leaned in. He gave my hip a squeeze.

  Natalie smiled amiably, a little embarrassed and with the understanding that her place had just been noted. “Well, with talent like she has for flowers, I can see why. Tess, can you tell me about the installation, your process, that sort of thing? And then can I get the tour?”

  “Of course,” I said, sliding away from Luke to head toward the windows.

  I walked her through the concept, how we had come up with it, the work Luke and I had done together. I showed her through the shop, answering the multitude of questions she had. And back into the workspace we went, where she met Ivy and doted on the arrangement I’d been working on, poppies and pods and chrysanthemums in shades of orange. I’d ditched the orchid once I had a little distance and with the visual of Luke making out with a dreamsicle ice cream cone on my mind.

  Natalie asked all the right questions. She was knowledgeable and inquisitive, and I found I liked her very much. Luke followed us silently, letting me take the lead like he always did.

  When she asked to see the greenhouse, Luke ushered her away, winking at me over his shoulder on the way out. And Ivy and I waved, shooting him a thumbs-up.

  This is it, I thought, adding flowers to the vase in front of me without seeing anything.

  National recognition. We were about to break out in a way we hadn’t in fifty years.

  And it was all thanks to Luke.

  Everything was.

  LUKE

  I walked Natalie through the greenhouse, showing her our new setup to accommodate our higher yield. She met Dad and Kash and, last but certainly not least, our matriarch.

  She was blissfully charming for the five minutes we’d allotted for her—after that, my mother tended to nervous-talk the ear off of whoever’d stumbled into her.

  In five-minute increments, she could rule the world.

  Natalie seemed impressed, smiling and engaging and audibly gasping when she walked into the greenhouse. She asked a hundred questions and wandered through the rows of teeming blooms, occasionally bending to bring her nose to a bud.

  It’d been a banner meeting, by my estimation.

  “So,” I started, opening the swinging doors separating the greenhouse from the workspace, “what do you think?”

  “I think Floral would love to do a piece on Longbourne,” she answered with a smile.

  Tess and Ivy perked up from their table, smiling.

  Natalie scrolled through her calendar on her phone. “Our next feature spot is for November. Do you think you’d be willing to do a fall window for the shoot?”

  I glanced at Tess for confirmation, and she nodded emphatically.

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  “Great,” Natalie answered, clicking away at her calendar. “Tomorrow?”

  Tess stilled, her smile dropping into an O.

  “Tomorrow?” I echoed stupidly.

  “I know. It’s an insane request. Our planned feature fell through, and I’ve got to fill the spot now. I have another florist who might be able to do it, but I’d much prefer to feature Longbourne. The history, the fact that you grow your own flowers, the part you play in the neighborhood…it’s just such a great story, one I think our readers would really connect with. But I understand if you can’t get it done in time. Our next open spot would be …” She paused, scrolling through her phone. “March.”

  Tess looked like she’d been electrocuted, but she nodded once.

  “We’ll do it,” I said.

  Natalie smiled. “Perfect. I’ll be here tomorrow at seven. We’ve got to get the morning light for the front of the shop.” And with that, she was heading for the door to the click of her heels on the concrete.

  When I walked her out, I hurried back to Tess, wondering how the fuck we were going to come up with a concept, get supplies, and build an installation in less than twenty-four hours.

  Tess did not look any more confident than I felt.

  She chewed on her lip, her brows knit together and face scrunched in thought. “A fall window. In August.”

  “We can’t get gourds or anything that will be in
season.”

  “No. It’s going to have to be by color. Warm oranges, yellows. Wheat, dried pampas. What if …” she started, brightening up. “What if we took one of the pole frames, like the one we used for the rain and shine display, and hung dried pampas grass by the stalk? Hang them close together, use dyed twine. Maybe in a rust.” Her pace picked up, excited. “We can hang them like a wave or at angles. Oh! At angles! Almost to make a triangle if you were standing in front of the shop. Oh—oh! We could use different shades of twine from brown to rust to orange to mustard in shades, so it fades from one color to another.”

  I could see it and smiled. “Yes. And we have almost everything we need. But …” I frowned. “Will it be enough?”

  “No.” She deflated for a beat before popping up straight, beaming. “Wheat fields.”

  She grabbed her notebook from the table and doodled. Ivy and I leaned over her shoulder.

  “We can make frames, like this.” She drew a rectangle. “Chicken wire inside. Take the wheat in bunches and make a field and angle and twist them so it looks like the wind is blowing through in a current. And on the display table—gosh, even under it—we can use the old rain boots and fill them with sunflowers.”

  “It’s genius,” Ivy said, grinning ear to ear. “What do we need?”

  Tess’s mouth quirked as she nibbled on her lip again. “A shitload of wheat. I have a bundle of dried pampas, but I think I’ll need some more. And twine. Lots and lots of twine.”

  I nodded. “I know where to get the grasses and more sunflowers. What about the twine?”

  “There’s a fiber shop a few blocks from here,” Tess said. “I’m positive they’ll have what we need.”

  “All right. I’ve got to go—if I don’t leave now and the supply store doesn’t have what I need, I’m gonna have to run around. Are you guys good until I get back?”

  Tess nodded, smiling. “This is simple and bold enough, it just might work.”