Page 3 of Morning's Light

She pulled the parking brake, taking a moment to draw a breath, to prepare herself for the full day ahead.

Why she’d decided to take so many orders in such a short time was beyond her reckoning, especially considering most of her help were missing in action. Maternity leave here, flu-like symptoms there, et cetera. She was down to two full-time employees and herself. It was a hell of a time to be short-staffed.

Oh well. She would prevail. That’s what it means to own your own shop, she thought with a sigh. The true price of adulthood no one told you about. Adulting sucked. Especially when the horrible feeling in her head was her own fault.

Aisanna dragged herself into the store through a back door, with a headache splitting her skull and a dull pain in her calves. “Hello? Anybody home?” she called out, dropping her purse on a table amidst the jingle of keys.

“We’re up front!”

The male voice sounded from the showroom. Aisanna sighed. This was going to take more fortitude than the giant cup of coffee she’d bought from a café. She should have gone for the double shot of espresso instead of playing it straight. Damn.

“Hey, what are you—”

She held up a palm to stem the comments before they began. “Don’t ask. Don’t.”

Elon Fayer took her in with a slight grin on his face. “You look like you’ve seen better days. Rough night? Feeling okay?”

Aisanna scowled, turning her back on him to grab an apron from a nearby peg hammered into the wall. “It’s none of your business, Elon.”

“Sure it’s my business. I care about you. It’s not a crime to want to know why you look tired. And no, I don’t mean it as an insult.” Elon swiveled around to lean his elbows against the glass counter, staring at his boss. He preferred to think of her as more of a coworker. A friend. It made her more down to earth, made her a little more approachable. Attainable. Rather than the ethereal beauty the rest of the world saw.

God, he’d been intimidated at first. Almost too scared to approach her with a simple hello. Others who’d worked for her before called her cold-blooded. He’d never believed it.

Her face was raw-boned, fine in its features with no hint of childish roundness. An angel face, some called it. Aisanna Cavaldi was a slim woman with a mess of red-brown hair who hardly looked old enough to run her own botanical shop in the bustling heart of Chicago. The truth of the matter was, she was the best in the city and folks came to her with everything from funerals to weddings to those just because moments. She handled each order with a practiced ease that came with good sense and fortitude. Two traits Elon greatly admired.

“Cut it out. You don’t want to know why I look tired, and I’m too exhausted to tell you.” Aisanna sighed and sat down with a plop. She shrugged out of her jacket, nose red from being out in the cold, and looped the apron around her waist to tie the strings in a bow. “I did a stupid thing last night,” she added lightly. “Not something I feel like talking about. I don’t enjoy rehashing my mistakes. Now, where’s Johan? He’s scheduled today.”

“He’s in the back sulking. Apparently, a walk-in didn’t like his bird of paradise and Gerbera daisy arrangement. And when he suggested sunflowers and blue hydrangea, they walked out.”

Aisanna scowled and muttered something under her breath about scaring customers away with bad taste.

Something had happened to her, Elon was sure of it. She hated when he expressed too much interest in her personal business. Her smile was a lie, the fakeness plastered on her pale face. He recognized the strain adding tension to her arms. The same strain she exhibited once a week after spending the night with Israel.

The thought had his blood boiling and his hands itching to strangle the guy.

Elon knew he was outside the realm of friendly interference when he pried into her personal relationships. It hadn’t stopped him before. In the effort of being a good confidant, an ear, a shoulder, he may or may not have pushed his way into a few private conversations where Aisanna unsheathed her claws on him.

No. It was her favorite word. No to friendship, no to dating, just no. No. No!

Still, he wanted more for her. Wished her the best of what life had to offer. So what if he felt he should be part of that best?

Elon grew up in the Midwest and was taught to see the good in people. Through the years, he’d turned it into a way to distinguish potential. He saw a great untapped well of potential in Aisanna, more than she wanted to believe. Oh, not in terms of business prowess or family life, but how she viewed herself.

In her mind, she was a pillar. Capable of making decisions outside of the realm of passion and feeling. She considered herself one of those ice princesses. Almost untouchable. Which was crazy. Beneath her frigid exterior lay a heart capable of great feeling. If only he could get her to see that.

“Did you at least have a good day yesterday?” he asked her, watching her work. There was precision in the way she moved. Select, cut, prune, scrutinize, arrange. Always order. “How are things with your family?”

“Yeah to the first question. Bad to the second.” She shot him a dark look. “It isn’t going to get better anytime soon. Think you can take a break from asking me about it every day?”

He shifted in his swivel seat while still keeping a keen watch on her from the corner of his eye. “I guess I’ll put some music on while we work.”

“Do whatever you have to do. We have a busy schedule today and there’s no time to waste.” She shrugged one shoulder up as though she didn’t give a rat’s ass whether his mind was racing or not.

It was a recently acquired act, he knew. A masquerade she’d put on for the last month since the problems started with her home life. She didn’t tell him much of anything, but he could figure some things out on his own, and knew whatever it was, it was big. He didn’t take it personally when she lashed out. She always apologized shortly after.

Elon removed a slim music player from his pocket and flicked shuffle. It connected immediately with the wireless speakers he kept in the storeroom, sound bounding out and filling the air. A fiddler slashed his bow along the screaming strings in an old blues number while a wizened voice belted out a Cajun melody.

He remembered the first time he’d met Aisanna all those years ago. He had graduated college and set off on his own, determined to make his way without the ever-obliging hands of his mother and father pushing him forward.

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