He gives her a tight smile. “Yes, dear.”
Poppy’s whispering into the phone, but I catch enough to know Bennett’s probably pissed. He’s never handled lateness well and always thought it made him look bad no matter how many times I told him people understand accidents and things that are out of his control.
I remember only one time he didn’t care about being late—when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and he took me on the conference room table. He used California traffic as an excuse, without the stress and edginess he usually possessed.
“Why don’t I help?” I offer, finishing the bouquet I was working on before heading toward Rosie.
“Please do. Otherwise, I’ll spend my day off in this flower shop and not on the golf course,” Earl says.
“Don’t even think about playing golf today.” There’s a warning in Rosie’s voice. This is clearly a conversation they’ve had before.
Earl blows out a breath, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and wanders the shop.
I’m halfway to Rosie when Poppy says, “He’s only five minutes out. There was an accident at the school his daughter attends.”
I stop mid-step, my heart lurching.
“Oh, just Wren hitting Principal North’s car with the truck door. Nothing with the actual school.”
I let out a relieved breath, nodding like I need the reminder that we’re safe. No one knows where we went. No one’s looking for us.
“I’m not very good at this,” Rosie says, laughing as she tries to pair two flowers together. “How do you guys make it look so pretty?”
I sit on the stool next to her. “Well, I went to school for it.”
“You can get a degree in flowers?”
She’s dressed like someone used to manicures and high-end shops. Flats with gold emblems, a sundress, and a cardigan. Her hair is curled and dyed without a hint of gray. I’m fairly sure her jewelry costs more than the car I owned before the DEA seized it.
“Floriculture, yes.”
“Like horticulture?” she asks.
“Yes, that too. But I concentrated in florals because… they’re so pretty. And they smell so good.” I lift a peony and breathe it in.
“They are. And it seems to suit you.” Her gaze sweeps over me.
I cross my legs, a little self-conscious. I used to dine with women like her. Women who wouldn’t blink at dropping five figures on a brunch fundraiser.
“What do you mean?” I tilt my head in her direction.
“Your flowy dress, your natural hair, and lack of makeup. One of those hippie types.”
I laugh. I don’t think she means it offensively, it’s just her frame of reference. “I guess so.”
If she’d seen me six months ago, she probably wouldn’t recognize me. My hair was always straight with maybe a curl that came from a curling iron, never my natural waves like now. My makeup, fake lashes, and lipstick were always on before I left the house.
That’s been one freeing thing since everything went down—I feel more comfortable in my own skin again.
“Let’s get started. Pick three flowers that call out to you.”
She spins her stool, thank God. The longer she looks at me, the more I fear she’ll say, “Hey, you look familiar, don’t I know you from the news?”
She taps her finger to her lips and looks over the array of flowers Poppy must have put out when she opened this morning. She selects a big sunflower, a daisy, and a rose. That’s a challenging mix, but we can work with it.
“It’s ugly.” She frowns at her trio.
“We haven’t cushioned them yet. Pick five more from the lower level.”
