Love in Bloom. Arlene James

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      Tate traveled on past the shop to the four-way stop at the intersection of Main and Bronson. Since hers was the second shop from the corner, it wasn’t far. He didn’t bother to actually stop, simply slowed and hooked a U-turn in the wide intersection.

      “Is that legal?”

      He shrugged. “It’s late. No other traffic. I wouldn’t try it in the daytime, though.”

      “Since I don’t have a vehicle, I don’t expect it’ll be a problem.”

      Shaking his head, he said, “I can’t help wondering how you figure on getting around out here without your own transportation.”

      “Oh, I’m going to live in the apartment above the shop.”

      “Yeah, I know, but—”

      “I’m told there’s a grocery up the street.”

      “Sure. It’ll do if you’re not too picky.”

      “And there’s a doctor a couple blocks over.”

      “Tuesdays and Thursdays only.”

      He pulled the truck over to the curb in front of the shop and killed the engine but made no move to get out.

      “What about restaurants?” Lily asked.

      “Uh, well, there’s the grill at The Everything for lunch and dinner. That’s like half a block behind you, but the menu’s pretty limited.”

      “Hmm.”

      “I’m not quite sure what you can get at the Cozy Cup Café after it opens, not much more than some fancy coffee and snacks, if I remember the prospectus correctly.” He glanced at the shop on the corner next door, adding, “The bakery will open soon, too. That ought to get you breakfast and some yummy desserts. That’s about it, though.”

      “Okay. Well, I probably ought to be eating in more often anyway.”

      “That’s what we do.”

      She thought for a moment of all the lovely dinners out that she’d enjoyed in Boston, of the oyster bars and bistros, the pizzerias and one-of-a-kind “fusion” restaurants, the Back Bay seafood and Beacon Hill steaks. She thought of friends and family left behind, and her spirits wavered, but then she thought of new friends to be made and a business of her own, a new life in a new place. Her chin rose in determination.

      A sound came from the backseat of the truck, the kind a sleeping child makes when perfectly at ease and content. Little Isabella Bronson of the flaming red hair and bright blue eyes slept peacefully behind them in her father’s pickup truck, apparently as content as if she were at home in her own bed. Smiling, Lily looked up at that awning and the front of the shop. Her gaze rose to the darkened windows above the awning. Her apartment. Her own shop and home. It was a far cry from Boston, but it was hers, her chance to do something real, something besides practice law and be miserable. This was her chance to break the mold, to prove herself, to be someone she liked and admired, not just a failed Farnsworth clone, yearning for what could not be.

      Dorothy, she thought flippantly, we are in Kansas!

      And maybe this wasn’t a mistake. Maybe, for once, she’d done the right thing.

      Oh, Lord, she silently prayed for the thousandth time since she’d read that article and filled out the application, please help me do the right things. For once in my life, please help me get it right.

      * * *

      Glancing into the backseat, Tate saw that Isabella still slept soundly. She’d dropped off soon after they’d left the environs of Kansas City, which was no surprise considering that the hour had been well past her normal bedtime. He should have left her with his parents instead of dragging her along on this trip, but that would have meant allowing her to sleep over, and he hated when she did that. Even after all these years he couldn’t get used to sleeping out at his place alone. When he’d first brought her home from the hospital, a new father and a widower, he’d wondered if he’d ever sleep again. But they’d found their way together, and now he couldn’t seem to manage without her even for a single night. His mother said that he sometimes held on to Isabella too tightly, but he didn’t know how else to hold her.

      Lily Farnsworth got out of the truck and all but skipped across the sidewalk to the door of her shop and back again, her excitement palpable. Tate took the keys from the pocket of his jeans and tossed them to her. Catching them easily, she graced him with a smile before spinning away again. He watched her fit the key into the lock and turn it. The door swung wide. Lily reached inside and flipped on the lights; then she glided over the threshold into the bare space filled only with two small glass-fronted humidifiers to display the flowers, several large flat boxes, a small unpainted waist-high counter and a steel worktable half-hidden behind a wall at the back of the room.

      She poked around for a bit while Tate unloaded suitcases from the bed of the truck and hauled them onto the sidewalk. Emerging from the building a few minutes later, she pronounced the place, “Perfect.”

      “Looks like it needs some work to me,” Tate teased, unable to resist her enthusiasm.

      Her smile instantly dissolved. “What I mean is, it’s perfect for my purposes.”

      He felt like a heel. Irritated with himself, he waved a hand at the door beside the shop, the one between her business and the bookstore next door.

      “If you’ll open that door, I’ll carry these up to your apartment.”

      “Oh, most of those don’t go to the apartment,” she said, pointing into the shop. “They go in here.”

      Tate reached up to push back the brim of his hat, realized he’d left it in the truck and parked his hands at his waist. “What about the boxes?”

      “Most of those go into the shop, too.”

      “Didn’t you bring anything to set up housekeeping?”

      “A few things. It’s mostly shop supplies, though. You know, vases, foam, tubes, frogs, wires, tape, cones, hooks, hangers, ribbon, pins, charms, feathers, silk flowers...”

      “Frogs?”

      “Uh, to hold pins. They’re not real frogs.” She seemed embarrassed. “They don’t even look like real frogs.” She shrugged and bowed her head. “That’s just what we call them.”

      Tate swallowed a chuckle and shifted his weight from one booted foot to another, finding her shyness kind of cute. “I figured you’d order supplies.”

      “Well, yes, I have ordered some things, but why order what I already have? Especially when I didn’t have to pay for these things. They were gifts from my former employer and coworkers at the flower shop in Boston. Going-away gifts. ‘Success gifts,’ they called them.”

      The lady knew how to pinch a penny. “Okay, I get it now. So which of these suitcases goes upstairs?”

      “Just the big one.”

      “All right. Let’s get these others inside, then I’ll take that one upstairs.”

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