Page 5 of The Heir

“Excuse me—I mean, good, I am glad you are okay,” he smiled at me.

“Uh, yeah, thanks. Are you alright?” Clearly embarrassed, I felt my cheeks grow warm again, and I tried to pretend I wasn’t fighting an inward battle tonotkiss him or hug him.

He cleared his throat.

“Oh, yes, I am wonderful, just a small bump. I was just getting to know the neighborhood, going for a walk.”

“You just moved in, right across the street?” I asked, looking at my feet.

“Yes.”

“Well, welcome,” I said, finally looking at him, wishing I could touch his face. Then I noticed he was still holding my dandelion. “Are you going to make a wish?” I said, motioning toward the weed.

“Wish?” he asked, confused, looking at the bloom.

“You’ve never made a dandelion wish before?” I asked, surprised.Shut up, Emma. You sound like a baby, going on about wishes. Do you have to be so weird?

“Can’t say that I have.” He smiled.

That smile–it’s more beautiful than light—than sunshine, which seems true but odd for me to think that about a mere smile, right?I asked myself, not ready to answer. Then–

“Well, you’re missing out on life,” I said, returning his smile. “My mom was adamant that this plant is a wish-granter. You blow all those seeds off with one breath while making a wish, and your wish will come true. She used to tell me that pixies will then give you your heart's desires, and all of that starts with wishes, but–” Luckily, I stopped myself from prattling on. It was just all kids’ fairytale stuff. The last thing I wanted was for that boy to think I was strange. I didn’t know why I was saying those things; I didn't know why I was smiling. I was feeling and breathing like normal, but I knew that I was more like myselfthan I had been in a long time, probably more than I had ever in my entire life if I was to be truly honest about it. That boy had awakened me. The destructive snake was gone, and its coils which had been around my heart were no more, and as much as that was a needed relief, it also scared me. So many different feelings and emotions came at me at once, all directed toward him, and I didn’t even know him.

“Ah, yes, I have heard tales of pixies–rather devious creatures, although they mean well, I hear,” he said with a wink.

Well, that is an unexpected response.Mom had said similar things when she told me bedtime stories during my childhood, beautiful stories which she wove from her own imagination. They were the kind of stories a child could never forget, even after they grew up. My favorite story was the tale of Cinderella, although her story wasn’t exactly the same as the version I had read in the story books from the bookstore. Mom’s version included mistaken identity, a hidden princess, and a masked prince who wanted love–as well as a kiss within a glowing field of flowers. My friends, when I was younger, used to make fun of my mom’s stories when I shared them, and they insisted that what my mom told me was not the true story of Cinderella, but I knew better. One could not fall in love in a single evening, and do not even get me started on how it was impossible that he would not even remember what his true love looked like, so that in order to find her, he had to try the glass slipper on every maiden’s foot.Ridiculous.

“What were you going to wish for?” he asked, his eyes becoming serious, pulling my thoughts back to him.

“No, can’t tell. It’s the rules of dandelion wishing. If I ever want it to come true, I cannot tell a single soul.”

He smiled.

Really, Emma—do you have to sound like a child?I reprimanded myself.

“This little plant holds that much power?” He held me with his gaze, and I noticed that the curl of his lips matched mine. I wondered if it was a strange feeling for him, too—the act of smiling. It felt like forever since I had done that thing myself without forcing it.

Maybe, he smiles every single day. He’s probably normal, I thought.

“Yes, you would be surprised. I tell you, it’s worked for me before.” I ran a hand through my hair, twisting a curly lock between my fingers, trying to distract myself from the pull he had over me. It was silent for a time, and I figured that the conversation was over. “Well, anyway, I better go inside,” I said as I started to walk past him.

“What’s your name?” he asked as he stepped in front of me, and I was proud of myself for not pulling his body into mine for a hug.

Emma, get a grip. You’re going to look like a crazy person,I scolded myself again.

“Oh, it’s Emma,” I answered, his closeness doing strange things to my insides once again. I bit my lip.

“My name is Shad.” Then he turned his head, lifted up the dandelion, and blew. All the seeds fell from the plant and drifted into the air with that one breath.

“Ah, your first wish. Hope you made it a good one.”

“I demanded a lot from that dandelion,” he said. Then he added, “It was very nice to meet you, Emma. I will see you again soon, I hope.” He smiled, nodded toward me, then tucked the stem of the dandelion into his pants’ pocket and walked across the street and up the porch into his new home. As I turned around and walked to the porch of my own house, I noticed that the smile I gave him had never left my face.

Chapter Three

The next day, after meeting my new neighbor, was my shift at Mary’s flower shop. I usually worked the register, which meant that I greeted people and helped them find the right flowers for whatever special event or occasion they had. At first, it was difficult to talk to the people who came in because I still felt so incredibly broken on the inside. Slowly, I was able to find a balance, though, and I did fine at the flower shop I had always adored. At least there, things had not changed.

The bell on the door chimed around three in the afternoon as I was helping Mr. Lukas with his monthly order of flowers. That day, he chose twelve lilies for his wife. I was always a sucker for Mr. Lukas; he was pushing eighty years old and always came in with a beaming smile, a straw hat, and suspenders. Without fail, every month, he bought flowers for his wife. We had many “recurring” clients as Mary liked to call them. Some of them were not so honorable and as endearing as Mr. Lukas. There was one man in his thirties who never left his name and always paid in cash, but who purchased lots and lots of flowers with notes attached, saying he wassorry. I didn’t really know what to makeof him, but I left it to my imagination each time, and the answer wasn’t ever good. But, I loved Mr. Lukas, and it wasthe bestto get to help him, myself.

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