Sunset In Central Park. Sarah Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ ferns, ginger and jack-in-the-pulpit, and then there were the sun worshippers, like lilacs and sunflowers. Each needed an optimum environment. Planted in the wrong place, they would wither and die. Each needed the perfect home in order to flourish.

      Not so different from humans, she mused.

      She loved selecting the right flower for the right event; she enjoyed designing displays of plants but most of all she loved growing them and watching the changing seasons. From the extravagant froth of blossom in the spring to the elegant russets and burnt orange of the fall, each season brought its own gifts.

      “The flowers are beautiful.” Eva studied the bunch of flowers artfully arranged in the pitcher. “That’s pretty. What is it?”

      “It’s a rose.”

      “No, the silvery one.”

       “Centaurea cineraria.”

      Eva gave her a look. “What do normal people call it?”

      “Dusty miller.”

      “It’s pretty. And you used sweet peas.” Her friend drew her finger wistfully over the flower. “They were my grandmother’s favorite. I used to leave bunches of them by her bed. They reminded her of her wedding. I love the way you’ve put this together. You’re so talented.”

      Frankie heard the wobble in her friend’s voice. Eva had adored her grandmother, and her death the previous year had been devastating. Frankie knew she missed her horribly.

      She also knew that Eva wouldn’t want to have a wobbly moment at work.

      “Did you know the sweet pea was discovered by a Sicilian monk three hundred years ago?”

      Eva swallowed hard. “No. You know so much about flowers.”

      “It’s my job. What do you think of this? It’s Queen Anne’s lace,” Frankie spoke quickly. “You’ll like it. It’s very bridal. Perfect for you.”

      “Yes.” Eva pulled herself together. “When I get married I’m going to have that in my bouquet. Would you make it for me?”

      “Sure. I’ll make you the best bouquet any bride has ever seen. Just don’t cry. You’re a mess when you cry.”

      Eva scrubbed her hand over her face. “So you’d be happy for me? Even though you don’t believe in love?”

      “If anyone can prove me wrong it’s going to be you. And you deserve it. I’m hoping Mr. Right rides up on his white horse and sweeps you away.”

      “That would attract some attention on Fifth Avenue.” Eva blew her nose. “And I’m allergic to horses.”

      Frankie tried not to smile. “With you, there’s always something.”

      “Thank you.”

      “For what?”

      “For making me laugh instead of cry. You’re the best.”

      “Yeah, well, you can return the favor by handling this situation.” Frankie saw Paige hand Robyn another tissue. “He’s dumped her, hasn’t he?”

      “You don’t know that. It could be anything. Or nothing. Maybe she has dust in her eye.”

      Frankie glanced at her friend in disbelief. “Next you’ll be telling me you still believe in Santa and the tooth fairy.”

      “And the Easter bunny.” Composed again, Eva whipped a tiny mirror from her purse and checked her makeup. “Don’t ever forget the Easter bunny.”

      “What’s it like living on Planet Eva?”

      “It’s lovely. And don’t you dare contaminate my little world with your cynical views. A moment ago you were talking about Mr. Right.”

      “That was to stop you from crying. I don’t understand why people put themselves through this when they could just stab themselves through the heart with a kitchen knife and be done with it.”

      Eva shuddered. “You’ve been reading too much horror. Why don’t you read romance instead?”

      “I’d rather stab myself through the heart with a kitchen knife.” And it felt as if she’d done just that. She was looking at Robyn Rose, but she was remembering her mother, incoherent with grief on the kitchen floor while her father, white-faced, had stepped over her heaving body and walked out the door, leaving Frankie to clean up his mess.

      She stared straight ahead and then felt Eva slide her arm through hers.

      “One day, probably when you least expect it, you’re going to fall in love.”

      It was a remark typical of Eva.

      “That’s never going to happen.” Knowing that her friend was emotionally vulnerable, Frankie tried to be gentle. “Romance has the same effect on me as garlic does on vampires. And besides, I love being single. Don’t give me that pitying look. It’s my choice, not a sentence. It’s not a state that I’m in until something better comes along. Don’t feel sorry for me. I love my life.”

      “Don’t you want someone to snuggle up to at night?”

      “No. This way I never have to fight for the duvet, I can sleep diagonally across the bed and I can read until four in the morning.”

      “A book can’t take the place of a man!”

      “I disagree. A book can give you most things a relationship can. It can make you laugh, it can make you cry, it can transport you to different worlds and teach you things. You can even take it out to dinner. And if it bores you, you can move on. Which is pretty much what happens in real life.” Unlike her father, her mother had never married again. Instead, she burned through men as if they were disposable.

      “You’re going to make me cry again. What about intimacy? A book can’t know you.”

      “I can live without that part.” She didn’t want people to know her. She’d moved away from the small island where she’d grown up for precisely that reason—people had known too much. Every intimate, deeply embarrassing detail of her private life had been public knowledge.

      Paige walked back to them. “The phone call was the groom.” Her voice was crisp and businesslike. “He called it off.”

      Eva made a distressed sound. “Oh no! That’s dreadful for her.”

      “Maybe it isn’t.” Despite the fact she’d already guessed what had happened, Frankie’s stomach churned. “Maybe she had a lucky escape.”

      “How can you say that?”

      “Because sooner or later he’d cheat on her and break her heart. Might as well be now before they have kids and a hundred and one Dalmatian puppies and innocent bystanders are injured in the fallout.” Not wanting to admit how gutted she was to have been proved right yet again, Frankie leaned forward and removed the Queen Anne’s lace from the pitcher.

      “A hundred СКАЧАТЬ