I turned for the door when a male voice came from behind the woman. “Oh, hey there, welcome toBud’s Blooms.”
I pivoted back to see a friendly fella with a beard and bright bubbly eyes and one of the biggest smiles I’d ever seen. He was making his way into the store from a workroom out back, wiping his wet hands down his apron. “You here for some flowers? Come in, come in. Welcome toBud’s Blooms.” He held his hand out to shake mine. “I’m Bud. This is Maggie. Don’t mind her, you just interrupted first lunch break. Her blood sugar dips sometimes.”
“Dips?” she contested.
“Okay fine, it crashes like a—”
“Hot air balloon,” Maggie finished for him. “On fire. People screaming and then… splat! Time to bring in the shovels.”
Bud changed the subject like he was a pro at it. “So, you’re new in town?”
“He’s a Russkie,” Maggie answered for me, whispering loudly to Bud. “Don’t trust him, he might be a spy. There’s probably a camera inside the compass around his neck.”
“Actually, I’m Australian.”
“More lies,” Maggie whispered.
Bud ignored her. “Wow, you’re a long way from home. Where abouts in Australia you from?”
“A tiny piece of paradise in North Queensland called Magnetic Island. Or as the locals like to call her… Maggie.”
Maggie—the person, not the island—instantly plonked her bowl and half-eaten éclair on the counter, eyes wider than ever.
“Shut the front door! Are you kiddin’ me? There’s an actual island named afterme?”
“Well, I’m not sure it was named after you, technically speaking. But yes, I come from an island called Maggie. Beautiful beaches, coral reefs, palm trees.”
She drew in such a big excited breath I was positive several chunks of cereal ended up in her lungs. “Anisland! There’s an island namedMaggie!Not a street corner, not a dumpster, a whole dangisland. I knew I was destined for bigger things.”
I think it was fair to say her blood sugar levels were on the rise.
“Maggie Island! I gotta get me a T-shirt. Do they have T-shirts that say ‘Greetings from Maggie?’”
I shrugged. “I guess so. I don’t really buy souvenirs from the place where I live.”
Maggie looked at me, confused.
Bud explained. “Maggie’s a lot more restrained these days, but she likes to collect things no matter where they come from. You should see her collection of Mulligan’s Mill shot glasses.”
Maggie lit up like someone just plugged her into a power socket. “Shot glasses. I need Maggie shot glasses. I’m gonna start making a list.”
With that she bolted into the back workroom and started rattling through drawers like a possum in a kitchen.
Bud’s sigh of relief was almost as big as mine. His smile returned as he said, “Now, what can I get for you… sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Cody. Cody Cameron. I’m a freelance travel writer and I thought I’d like to do a piece on Mulligan’s Mill. Unfortunately, I think I made the wrong impression on the guy from the bookstore this morning.”
“Brooks? Everyone makes the wrong impression on Brooks. He once refused to sell me a bookmark because I dog-ear my pages. He said it’d be like handing car keys to someone who drives into trees for fun, then mumbled something about ‘learning some respect’ and walked off.”
“Oh good. I don’t feel so special now.”
Bud leaned back against the counter. “Truth is, Brooks is a good person. He just files people the same way he files books. You’re either in the right section, or you’re outta place. Give him a day or two, he’ll figure out which shelf you belong on.”
“Well, in the meantime, I thought some flowers might be nice. To apologize for getting off on the wrong foot. Any recommendations?”
Bud rubbed his beard. “For Brooks? Go with something simple, neat. Nothing messy or loud. He hates mess.”
I grinned. “So, no flashy bouquets or a box of red roses?”
