Page 8 of Tempest’s Torment

"I always notice."

She does. Cara notices everything; she’s extremely observant.

I pull my apron over my head and tie it behind my back. "The dahlias came in?" I ask.

She jerks her chin toward a stack of boxes waiting beside the workbench. "Thought I'd save the fun job for you."

I smile despite myself. "You're too kind."

She snorts. "Don't get used to it."

"Wedding consultation at two," Louise says from the office doorway. "The bride changes her mind every time she visits; we’re on visit number four, so fair warning."

"What's she going to change it to this time?"

"Last week it was all white. This week apparently she's considering burgundy. I'd put money on her going back to white." She disappears back inside.

The morning slips by. An older woman can't decide between cream ribbon and white for a sympathy wreath; she apologizes three times before settling on cream. I tell her not to worry. She isn't the first person grief has made indecisive, and she won’t be the last.

Two delivery drivers come and go, Cara argues with a supplier over the phone, Louise serves customers, and I lose myself in flowers. It's quiet; I like quiet, it keeps me busy and my mind active, so I don’t think about the past.

The bell above the door chimes, and I look up to see a man in a navy suit walk in carrying a battered leather briefcase. He seems to be in his mid-forties and looks to be in a hurry.

"Sunflowers," he says. "Whatever looks good, they’re for my wife."

"How many?"

"A dozen?" He shrugs. "She likes yellow."

I smile and turn to the bucket behind me, sorting through the stems until I find the best ones with big heads, bright petals, and no browning around the edges.

"Actually..." He leans across the counter. "Those ones, at the back."

His hand comes into my space; he’s too close, and my body reacts before my brain catches up. I jerk backwards, and my hip slams into the shelving unit behind me. A bucket tips sideways, sunflowers spilling across the floor as water splashes over my shoes. For a second, all I can hear is my own heartbeat.

The man snatches his hand back. "Jesus, I'm sorry." His eyes widen. "I wasn't trying to⁠—"

"No, I'm sorry." I crouch before he can say anything else, gathering stems off the floor, and those three seconds are what I need. I breathe through my nose, count it out, and feel my heartbeat start to slow. By the time I stand back up, I have it mostly under control. "I'll get those ones for you."

He waits at the counter while I wrap them. He doesn’t say anything, which I’m grateful for, but I can feel his gaze on me. Once I have it all rung up, he hands over his credit card and I take his payment.

“Thank you, I hope you have a wonderful day,” I say, handing back his card, thankful that my voice sounds relatively normal.

“Uh, yes, you too. Thanks,” he says as he reaches for the flowers and leaves the store.

Cara doesn't say anything as she appears from the back room; she simply places a fresh mug of coffee beside me before disappearing again. I gratefully wrap my still-shaking hands around it.

I stay at the workbench for the rest of the morning, stripping leaves from roses and trimming stems that don't need trimming.

My heart eventually slows, and my breathing follows.

He was buying sunflowers for his wife; he never meant to frighten me, I know that, I just wish my body did.

I eat lunch on Louise’s front stoop; she lives next door to the florist shop. I make myself do this every day even when I don't want to. Omen, the motorcycle man who saved me on the road after the cabin, told me, early on, that shrinking your world down to the size of a room is how fear wins. I come outside, sit on the step, eat whatever I brought, and I watch the street. I enjoy people watching; it helps me remain calm, and I get to see everyone who’s around as well as learn body language. I can tell someone who’s up to no good just by how they walk and how they take in their surroundings.

I'm halfway through my sandwich when I see it. A dark SUV parked across from the florist, engine off, and windows tinted dark enough that I can't see inside. It wasn't there when I arrived this morning.

I finish my sandwich, heart racing, and I go back inside.