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“No, I….” I couldn’t believe his words, couldn’t understand why Dahlia didn’t mention this to me. “Tell me who’s running the garden now. Who did she leave it to?”
“Come on, Everett.” He looked straight through me. “Who do you think?”
ELEVEN
Dahlia
“Help! I need to place an emergency order!” An older man rushed to the counter half an hour before closing time. “I have to get some flowers for my ex-wife as soon as possible.”
“Well, you’re in the right place.” I pulled out a pen. “Would you like to add a note to the order?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “It needs to say, ‘Dear Farrah, saw these today and thought of you…Hope you’re miserable, you crusty-faced, dry-pussy bitch.”
“Um…Sir, I don’t think?—”
“For the flowers, I want you to give me a bouquet that is near death.”
“We don’t sell dead flowers, sir.”
“What about those?” He pointed to the ones in the mistake box. “Those look pretty bad.”
“That’s why they’re not on sale.”
“So, you can’t just give them to me?”
“Knowing what you’re trying to do with them, no.”
“Oh, okay.” He looked at me, then at the box.
Without another word, he jumped over the counter and scooped up the box, rushing out the store with a dozen half-dead carnations.
I took that as a cue that it was time to go home.
After shutting down the register, I set the overnight sprinklers on timers and headed outside to lock the door.
“Are you closing early tonight?” a deep voice said from behind.
It was a voice I’d recognize anywhere, a voice that still haunted my best memories.
I turned around to see Everett. New Everett.
His black hair was slightly longer now, but every strand was perfectly coifed and pushed off his face, like a cover-star-worthy executive. He sported a slight stubble on his chiseled chin, and although he looked far more mature, his sky-colored irises still looked as youthful as they did when we first met.
“Do I need to repeat my question?” he asked.
“I heard you, sir.” I looked away. “Yes, we’re closing early because I have somewhere to be.” I locked the door and walked past him.
“Wait a second, Dahlia.” He followed me. “Dahlia?”
I picked up my pace, rushing to my car.
Slipping behind the wheel, I tried to shut the door, but he grabbed the handle and held it open.
“What the hell do you want, Everett?” My heart betrayed me with a reaction. “A verbal promise that I won’t show up to ruin your big day next year? I’m not coming, okay?”
“I just heard the news about your mother today,” he said. “I had no idea, Dahlia. I’m so damn sorry…”
“Oh, um, okay.” I nodded. I was still struggling with the proper response to someone’s sympathy.
