Bloom of love, p.4
Bloom of Love, page 4
Autumn shook her head in mock disapproval. “You can see it for everyone else but yourself. Christian wanted to order those flowers from you. He asked you to stay that evening. He likes you.”
Carla’s brain felt like it couldn’t quite keep up with the conversation. There was a part of her – admittedly, a very large part of her – that wanted to believe that Autumn had it right. Hadn’t she had exactly this thought when Christian had invited her to stay?
But that had gone absolutely nowhere. Surely Autumn was just making this up. Wishful thinking and all that.
Just then, the front door swung open and the bell jingled merrily as Christian came walking in.
Autumn let out an audible gasp that had Carla wanting to strangle her on the spot and then she announced loudly, “Okay, business partner, we’ll have to discuss the deets later!” With that, Autumn practically sprinted for the door.
Carla was sure that Autumn could not have been more obvious if she’d run out the door holding up a sign that said, “I’ll leave you two to make out!”
As the door tinkled closed behind her traitorous friend, Carla was left to imagine all of the ways to slowly kill her (or at least make her really, really miserable – even in her daydreams, she couldn’t be too violent) as Christian picked up and put down the figurines up in the front display.
Huh. These were the kinds of kitschy items that a person would give to their elderly aunt on her 90th birthday.
In other words, not something she would’ve expected Christian to be interested in.
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked into the deafening silence as she walked around the front counter and out onto the floor of the store. She didn’t want to hover over him while he browsed, but she couldn’t help wanting to get a little closer. The night of the party, he’d been wearing cologne, and maybe he was wearing it again tonight.
She sniffed discretely but couldn’t pick it out. She’d long ago gone nose-blind to the smell of flowers, and wondered if that also kept her from picking out other scents when masses of flowers were present.
He didn’t respond, instead staring at the ugliest and kitschiest figurine of all, turning it over and over in his hands. Ugh. She’d always hated that one. It’d been a lot cuter in the sales magazine. When it’d arrived and she’d gone to stock it on the shelf, she’d thought it was so ugly, she’d shoved it to the back, hoping no one ever saw it again.
Why oh why oh why was he obsessed with that one?
Maybe…
Maybe he was acting like this because he liked her, and he was nervous to be around her.
Maybe Autumn was right.
That absolutely insane idea grew like a dandelion weed given a huge heaping dose of Miracle Grow, until it was all she could think about.
It was nuts, of course. But maybe…
What if she talked about how she wasn’t busy that weekend? Just in case. Just so he knew she wasn’t busy. It…it couldn’t hurt, right?
“What a quiet weekend I have coming up!” she said, twisting her fingers around and around each other, feeling her heartbeat take off like she’d just sprinted around the block. “Not a darn thing going on! Just as quiet and lonely as can be.”
She was the world’s biggest loser. She could not believe she was doing this.
She also couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“Too bad I have nothing to do all weekend. Just quiet. And by myself,” she added. In case that hadn’t been blazingly obvious from everything else she’d said.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, turning the figurine over and over in his hands. She was sure he was paying no attention whatsoever to what she was saying. She could start spouting Irish limericks and he wouldn’t notice.
“I’ll get this one,” he finally announced, avoiding eye contact as he headed to the cash register up at the front counter. She trailed behind him miserably, noticing even in the depths of her misery just how trim and tight his ass was. He walked with that loose gait that every cowboy seemed to have from birth.
As she scanned the barcode on the bottom of the piece of junk, she died a little more inside.
This thing? Out of all of the beautiful items in the shop, and he has to pick out this thing?!
She stuffed it into a bag along with his receipt and with it, threw the last of her pride to the wind.
“I hope you have a great upcoming weekend!”
It was only Tuesday.
She plowed on.
“I can’t believe how open my schedule is, myself.”
She was officially pathetic. This was the most embarrassing convo she’d ever had, and even worse, he didn’t even seem to realize that she was practically throwing herself at him.
Whatever had possessed him to ask her to stay for the party last weekend, it was obviously a flash in the pan. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
The next time she was tempted to believe a word out of Autumn’s mouth, she was going to remember this moment.
Christian began heading for the door, the bag clutched tightly in his hand, and she rounded the counter behind him, intent on flipping the lock, turning off the open sign, and popping down to the Muffin Man to eat a giant donut. With sprinkles. And icing.
And hey, why not – drool over Gage.
Maybe he and Cady were a thing now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t at least look at him. She was surely never going to get anyone of her own, so drooling over taken men could be her new hobby. After all, she’d spent most of her life drooling over Westley, and he was taken by Buttercup. Why not continue the tradition. Moving to men who existed in the real world could only make her less pathetic, right?
Just then, Christian stopped, one foot out the door, and turned back to her. She managed to stop just short of barreling into him.
Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake.
“You’re…you’re free this weekend?” he asked, as if the last ten minutes of her very one-sided conversation had only now registered in his mind.
“Ummm…yes?”
“Want to go out on Friday night?”
“Ummm…yes?” Now her voice was squeaking. Her legs were jelly. She was going to faint right there on the spot.
Carla, get yourself together.
“I’ll come by at six and pick you up.”
“Six-thirty, if you can.” Thankfully at least part of her brain was still functioning. “I need time to close up.”
“Six-thirty. See you then.” And then he headed to his truck and Carla stumbled back to the counter, leaning on it, staring out into space.
She had a date with Christian.
She had a date with Christian.
Suddenly, she was very glad she had the counter to lean against. She had a date with one of the cutest single guys in Sawyer. Things like this just did not happen to Carla Grahame.
She immediately snatched her cell phone up from behind the counter and speed-dialed one of her closest friends, Hannah Morland. “Guess who I have a date with?!”
Chapter 7
Christian
Do you always begin conversations this way?
~Westley in The Princess Bride
Christian turned down the rutted dirt road that led to the Miller Family Farm, a huge grin seemingly etched onto his face. He’d asked Carla out. He’d done it! Sure, he had a butt-ugly piece of shit in the backseat with absolutely no idea of what to do with it, but that was well worth the price of admission.
At the Party from Hell, when – shocking even him – he’d actually gotten up the nerve to ask her to stay, his mother had then spent the evening riding him like a rented mule. He’d rearranged speakers, chairs, tables, lighting, and every other conceivable item at the party – most of it twice – and by time he’d come up for air, she was gone. He couldn’t blame her, and he was damn sure she wouldn’t want to hear from him again. Why she hadn’t kicked him out of the shop as soon as he’d shown his face was beyond him, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Now he just had to figure out what to do on Friday night at 6:30.
His heart skipped a beat in his chest. Suddenly, what hadn’t seemed all that important that morning was now paramount. He’d been so nervous about getting up the nerve to ask Carla out, he hadn’t bothered worrying about what they were going to do on said date.
But now, that seemed like the most important question in the world. If he didn’t get it right…
Well, that didn’t bear thinking about.
As he drove past the main house, he spotted Stetson giving Jennifer a long and lusty kiss on their front porch. Shit yes – he could ask Jennifer! The idea had briefly flitted through his mind of asking Yesenia or his mother, but Jennifer was a much better idea. He pulled into the turnaround in front of the house and bounded over.
Stetson pulled away from his wife and gave Christian a dirty look for interrupting them, but he hardly even noticed. Not when he had such an important topic to discuss. Now that he was close enough to the house, he could hear Flint, their toddler son inside, chattering away with Carmelita.
“What should I do on a date with Carla Grahame?” he blurted out.
Jennifer’s mouth went into a perfect O and then she broke out into a huge grin.
“You asked Carla on a date?” at the same time that Stetson said, “What, the florist?”
He sounded shocked.
“Yes, the florist,” Jennifer said, poking him in the side. “Florists need love too, you know.”
“I just…I’ve never seen her on a date before,” Stetson mumbled.
To be sure, Christian counted this as a positive in Carla’s favor – he rather liked the idea that she hadn’t dated every guy in town before him.
Which Yesenia would scold him but good for thinking that if he ever said it out loud – it was very machismo of him and he knew it – but he couldn’t help it.
Something else that didn’t bear thinking about.
“Girls like romantic dates,” Jennifer said just as Stetson said, “You could go to a movie.”
Jennifer snorted with derision. “That is not romantic,” she informed her husband dryly, shaking her head at his apparently awful idea. “Everyone does that. Plus, it’s the world’s worst first date. You go into a dark room and both stare at a screen for two hours. How are you ever going to get to know each other?”
“Not everyone can spend the first few weeks of a relationship investigating their future spouse’s financial statements,” Stetson said with a laugh.
“I do not recommend asking to go over Carla’s books as a first date. Or as an ever date.” She let out a huge sigh of disappointment at the quality of her husband’s input. “No, Carla is a true romantic. I mean, I don’t know her all that well because I didn’t grow up here, of course, but what I’ve seen of her around town, she wants big. She wants romantic. She wants to be swept off her feet.”
Christian, who’d been thinking that asking Jennifer for help had been a stroke of pure genius, was now seriously regretting his decision. Big? Romantic? Swept off her feet? Dinner and a movie sounded doable. This…this sounded like Christian needed to rent a limo and fly her in a helicopter and…
This was not going well.
“You could give her flowers!” Stetson interjected.
Jennifer gave him another dirty look. “She’s a florist. Flowers are not going to impress her. How is it that you got married again?”
“My charm, and that move in bed…” He whispered something in her ear and she went bright pink, shoving at his shoulder.
“Behave yourself,” she scolded him, but the look in her eye told Christian a different story. “Okay, Christian, what do you like about Carla?”
“Her…smile,” he finished lamely. He was about to say her tits but then realized at the last moment who he was talking to – his boss’ wife. He was not going to discuss Carla’s tits with Mrs. Boss.
“She does have a very friendly, warm smile,” Jennifer said seriously, but he could see the sides of her mouth twitching and was just sure she was laughing at him.
Yesenia it was. He’d ask her for help. She’d been laughing at him since the day she was born; at least that wouldn’t be something new.
Frustrated, he turned to walk away, and Jennifer called out, “No, sorry. I’m sorry. Come back. Let’s brainstorm. Other than Carla’s, uh, smile, what do you like about her? Like, what do you like about her personality? What does she like to do?”
Do? Other than arrange flowers in vases? Hell if he knew. In fact, this seemed like a damn good question to ask her on that mythical first date he was never gonna get planned at this rate.
“That funny movie!” Stetson burst out. They both turned to look at him, surprised. “You know, that cult classic. She’s always quoting it.” More blank stares. “There’s a giant in it, the guy almost dies, there’s a marriage in it. Mawage,” he intoned in what had to be the world’s strangest accent. “Mawage is wot bwings us togeder today.”
Christian just stared at his boss wide-eyed. He’d lost it. His boss had officially gone ’round the bend.
“Princess Bride!” Jennifer burst out, whacking Stetson on the arm in her excitement. He rubbed at the spot ruefully, but Jennifer ignored him. Considering the fact that she only came up to Stetson’s shoulder and must’ve weighed at least a hundred pounds less than her husband, Christian was pretty sure Stetson was going to live through the experience. “I’d forgotten about that, but you’re right. She just loves that movie. Have you ever watched it?” she asked, turning back to Christian.
Her bright green eyes practically pinned him to the spot. She was a petite, gorgeous thing, but she’d always made Christian just a little bit nervous. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but over the years, the feeling had never subsided, and here it was again.
He was going to fail her test.
He mutely shook his head.
“There you go. You can watch The Princess Bride together, then. If you’re going to date Carla, you definitely need to watch that movie. Otherwise, half of what she says to you won’t make sense.”
Date Carla? That sounded…serious. He was going to go on a date with Carla, and then decide after that. He hadn’t had a steady girlfriend since high school.
His nerves were starting to crawl up his throat, strangling him in place, when Stetson interjected. “So, darlin’ wife, you think they should sit in a dark room for two hours and stare at a screen, eh?” he asked dryly. “What a…novel idea.”
She turned and glared at him, lips pursed, hands on hips. “This,” she informed him haughtily, “is totally different. This isn’t just a movie. It’s Carla’s all-time favorite movie. By watching it, Christian will understand her better. Now,” she said, turning back to Christian, supremely confident that she’d made her point, “do you have a place to watch it with her?”
“The trailer?” Christian ventured. He lived in a single-wide trailer on the Miller Farm; it was part of his pay for being head foreman of the ranch. It wasn’t much, but it was his home.
“No, that won’t do,” Jennifer said distractedly, pulling at her dark brown hair. “I mean, it’s fine and all. It’s just not first-date material. I’ve got it!” She snapped her fingers, excitement lighting up her face. The happier she looked, the more worried Christian got. He was just the foreman of a small family farm. He didn’t fly helicopters or rent limos or wear tuxedos or whatever insane idea Jennifer had just come up with.
But she was also the boss’ wife, and a body didn’t tell the boss’ wife no if he wanted to keep his job for any amount of time.
With a strangled inward groan, Christian waited to hear the plan.
Chapter 8
Carla
Hold it, hold it. What is this? Are you trying to trick me? Is this a kissing book?
~Grandson in The Princess Bride
Friday dragged on like no day she’d ever lived through before. Every time she checked the clock, only mere minutes – sometimes only seconds – had passed since the last time she’d looked.
As insane as it sounded, she was almost getting to the point that she was wishing it was Valentine’s Day.
Almost.
At least on V-Day, she would be insanely busy which would make time fly, but of course, today had to be a slow day for business instead.
She’d actually sent Valrea home early, which she never did – she could always find something for her high school assistant to do – but Val had kept asking her what was wrong and Carla wasn’t sure she could utter, “Nothing, of course!” in a chipper voice one more time.
It was better for her to be antsy without company, she decided, not to mention that paying someone to keep a barstool from floating away wasn’t good business.
Finally! She looked at the clock and saw that it was 6:00 straight up. Okay, maybe 5:58, but who was counting? She put the till into the safe, threw the deadbolt on the front door into place, flipped off the open sign, and headed for the stairs in record time, her feet hardly touching the boards as she flew up them. She ducked automatically as she went through the open doorway at the top, avoiding the steep pitch of the roof. She’d only had to whack her head on that beam one time before becoming a lot more careful about paying attention to where her head was in relation to the roofline.
For the millionth time, she inwardly sighed at the size of her apartment. Yes, it made sense for her to live above her shop in a converted attic to save money, but oh, how lovely it’d be to walk from the bed to the toilet at night without worrying about braining herself on an exposed rafter as she went. A kind-hearted person might call this a studio apartment, but in Carla’s opinion, that was too generous by half. It was probably only slightly larger than the shoe boxes used to deliver the custom-made boots to André the Giant, aka Fezzik from Princess.
As she tripped over Bella who was busy wrapping herself around Carla’s feet, she decided “slightly larger” was her putting on her rose-colored glasses again. Her converted attic was the size of a shoe box for a pair of André’s boots. After all, the giant wore a size 24. In men’s.
