Page 88 of My Kind of Happy

‘Come here and look at your reflection,’ I beckoned him to the mirror.

Someone started singing ‘here comes the bride’ as Archie posed in front of the mirror, clasping his hands in front of him.

Henry took his phone out and took a photo. ‘One for the album.’

‘See these rabbit ears?’ I touched the matching stems of lisianthus he’d put each side of the arrangement. ‘Maybe move one of them to the front. Then space out the big roses a bit more.’

‘Got it,’ Archie beamed proudly. ‘That looks professional now.’

‘Watch out, Fearne,’ said Henry. ‘He’ll be after a job next.’

The banter continued for a bit longer until I gave them a five-minute deadline to finish their bouquets which sent them into such a mad flap that I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. Then I showed them how to secure the stems with string and trim them to length. Soon the gift boxes were assembled, the flowers wrapped and the cellophane bags filled with water and everyone was choosing cards to write their own personal messages.

‘Anyone got a spare pen?’ Mikey asked, shaking the one I’d given him which appeared to have dried up.

‘There are plenty under the counter.’ I strode through the archway to fetch some.

Archie slurped the dregs of his drink. ‘And are there any more beers, Sam?’

Sam slapped him on the back. ‘Luckily for you, I stashed some emergency tinnies away.’

He headed in my direction just as I bent to look on the shelf under the counter for more pens. I straightened quickly, aware that there wasn’t much room behind here.

‘Excuse me.’ Sam sucked his stomach in, touching my waist as he passed by. The move was ineffectual; he had a flat stomach anyway. I breathed in and caught the scent of him: fresh air and summer rain.

‘You smell nice.’ The words were out before I could stop them.

‘Ditto. You smell of flowers. Even your hair smells of flowers.’

‘Funny that.’ I smiled, conscious that he hadn’t moved past me. We were almost touching, my body so close to his that I could feel his heat. ‘You have white paint in your hair.’

‘You sure that’s not just my natural highlights?’ He felt his hair but missed the clump of paint stuck near his temple.

‘I’m sure. Here.’ I took his hand and placed his fingertips over the dried paint. ‘Can you feel it?’

He cast his eyes down to where my shirt brushed against his T-shirt and looked up again, locking eyes with me. ‘Yes,’ he murmured softly.

I could hardly breathe; I knew this could go nowhere, I knew I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but my body was betraying me, every nerve-ending attuned to his presence.

‘Good.’ I stepped aside, flustered suddenly.

‘Wait,’ he caught my hand. ‘You have something in your hair now.’

I laughed. ‘Oh, so I have natural highlights.’

‘No, it’s yellow.’ He moved in closer, squinting. ‘I think it’s pollen.’

‘That’ll be the lilies. Occupational hazard.’ I raised my hand to my hair at the same time as him and our hands touched. I allowed my fingers to brush his, just for a moment, but it was enough to send my pulse racing.

‘Here.’ He passed me a tissue from the box on the counter.

We both laughed nervously, smiling at each other. We were close, very close. He was married, I told myself. He loves Pandora. I tried to move away, to put some distance between us but I couldn’t, I was frozen to the spot. The air around us was charged. Did he feel it too?