Arranged love

I stand just watching her. My body shivering slightly from the coldness. It doesn’t seem to bother her.

She stands back and examines her work with a smile. Straight white teeth beam proudly at her work. Her plump lips are covered in the same shade as her hair.

Picking it up, she turns and places it on the fourth shelf. She has to stand on her tiptoes to reach, and the back of her shirt rides up, showing off two little dimples and sun-kissed skin. My eyes travel up over her back, and it’s hard not to notice the straps of a black bra that you can see through her thin white shirt. If you’re paying attention like I am. I get to her hair and see she has two braids on either side running up to the two messy buns.

She gets it where she wants it and spins around. That’s when she screams, pulling me out of my trance. She shoves her back into the shelves, making them rattle, and rips the earbuds out of her ears. She places her hand on her chest, and her tits bounce up and down from her heavy breathing. Ice blue eyes meet mine, and she swallows nervously as they take in my face. Her gaze lingers on my eyebrow ring, before dropping to my lip ring and then moves to my neck tattoo that peeks out from underneath my shirt before they go to the sleeve I have on my right arm.

“Sorry,” I announce, raising my hands to let her know I’m not about to rob her. Or worse. I know what women think when they first see me. Most don’t like tattoos and piercings. They call us thugs. “I rang the bell …”

Her body instantly relaxes, and she takes a deep breath. Then her laughter fills the small room. It’s light and innocent. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, her voice shakes a little from the near heart attack I just gave her.

“I didn’t know we were open yet,” she adds when I just stand here.

I frown and point my thumb back to the closed door to this ice box we’re in. “The sign said open.”

She stops laughing and steps back up to the table. “Have you been waiting long?” She places the scissors in her back pocket and then grabs the spool of ribbon.

“Maybe five minutes.”

“I’m so sorry about that.” Walking over to me, she opens the door and gestures for me to exit, and I notice the silver hoop-a septum piercing. A row of little diamonds. It’s dainty and barely noticeable at first glance.

I place my hand on the door above her head and hold it open. “Ladies first.”

She gives me a kind smile and walks out. She takes a hard right, and I follow her, taking us deeper into the shop. She comes to a new door and rips it open. A younger, teenage boy sits behind an old wooden desk. His mop of dark hair is covering his eyes. His arms crossed over his chest, and his head is back as the chair looks like he’s about to fall backward. The kid’s asleep. She walks over to the desk and shoves his feet off the scratched surface. He jumps up, eyes springing open. “What …?”

“We had a customer. What are you doing in here sleeping?” she snaps at him.

He pushes the long dark strands from his face. “It was an accident …”

“Go make some arrangements in the cooler,” she orders.

He nods once and mumbles, “Yes, ma’am.”

She seems satisfied with that and turns back to exit but comes to a stop when she sees me. Her eyes meeting mine, and I instantly begin to back out. I didn’t mean to follow her in here. “Sorry,” I say again.

She walks out and goes to stand behind the counter. “What can I get you?”

“Uh …” Words get lodged in my throat as my mind runs wild. Why did I even come in here? I’m not going to buy flowers for my father’s funeral. And our mother is buried in another state, so it’s not like I can go place flowers on her grave. She moved here when she was sixteen and met my father. They got married right after she graduated high school. When she passed, he had her body moved to her home state of Illinois. Like she’d know the fucking difference. I think he just wanted to get rid of her. Out of sight, out of mind type of thing. And a way to punish me so I wouldn’t get to visit her grave.

I run a hand through my hair. “What do you suggest?”

“Is this for a girlfriend? Wife?” she asks, and I don’t miss her eyes dropping to my left hand to check for a ring.All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

I almost choke at the question. Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “Neither.” I’ve never bought flowers for Lucy before, and I’m not about to start now. The only time I’ve ever purchased flowers were for my mother. On her birthday. She died five months later. “My mom’s birthday,” I say and instantly tense. It’s eight months away, and she’s fucking dead.

What am I doing?

She beams at me, her ice blue eyes shining with excitement. Her purple painted lips pull back into a big smile. She’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like her before. So colorful. So real. I find myself leaning toward her. My hips pushing into the counter.

“What do you have in mind?” she asks.

“What do you suggest?” I ask again, my eyes following the line of her square jaw and full lips.

She begins to rattle off all the options of arrangements and various flowers, and it makes my head hurt. I’m still feeling whatever pill Lucy gave me last night. “Why don’t you surprise me?” I offer.

Her smile widens, and it’s beautiful. Reminds me of that sunset I saw painted on the vase when I walked in. “When do you need it by?”

“Thursday.” I almost roll my eyes at that.

She nods and writes that down.

“I’m sorry if that’s last minute.” I add.

Liar.

She shakes her head. “No worries.” Then she looks up at me through her long, dark lashes. They’re lined with thick black liner that fans out to the side. Lucy refers to it as cat eyes. “I apologize you had to wait.”

It was worth it sits on my tongue, but instead, I wave her off. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I frightened you.”

“Here.” She gives me the paper that she had written on. “Write down your name and the best number to reach you at. I will give you a call as soon as they are ready.”

I bend over and begin to write down my information.

“Will you need them delivered?” she asks.

I put the pen down and push it back over to her. “Nope. I’ll pick them up.” Then I turn and walk out, but one of the vases she has sitting on the shelf catches my attention. “Are these for sale?” I ask, turning back to her and pointing at them.

“Yes.”

Walking over, I pick up a black vase that has a dark purple butterfly on it. The inner wings fade to a dark pink. It too reminds me of my mother. She loved butterflies. She had this picture that she kept in the family room of two butterflies sitting in a field. She loved it. My father had it boxed up and sold at an auction after she passed.

I place it on the counter. My eyes lift from the butterfly to hers, and I notice the purple color of the body matches her hair and lips perfectly. “I’ll take this one.” Before she can say anything else, I turn and get the hell out of the shop.