Page 1 of Hidden Heir

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BROOKE

“No, you listen to me. I don’t care if you have to get into your own car and deliver it yourself. I have been waiting for that compost delivery for three weeks now, and you’ve been giving me the runaround. Enough is enough!”

I’m not usually one to lose my temper. Most would say I’m too mild-mannered for my own good. The floral business isn’t an industry typically known for its aggressive employees. However, today, my patience is being tested and I’m at the end of my rope.

“Do you even understand what I do here? I sell flowers. Flowers come from plants and you know what plants need to stay alive and healthy? Compost! I’m not purchasing eight bags as a hobby.” Before me are several gorgeous plants that are slowly starting to wilt from their desperate desire to be repotted into bigger, safer pots.

Something I can’t do because my compost supplier lost my delivery order.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” the squeaky voice says through the phone. “But there’s really nothing I can do.” The person can’t bemuch older than eighteen. If I were in a better mood, I’d feel bad for them taking the brunt of my irritation.

I’ll deal with the guilt later.

“There must be something! I’ve sent proof of purchase, I even sent proof of the payment being taken out of my account. I need that compost immediately. Surely you have some sort of expedited shipping.”

“On compost?” The tone of their voice suggests I just mentioned the most ludicrous idea in floral history.

My irritation peaks and I grip my phone so hard that it leaves an indentation in my palm. “You know what? Forget it. Process my refund and don’t contact me again.”

Ending the call abruptly gives me a momentary pulse of release. Closing my eyes, I force myself to breathe deeply, focusing on the rich mixture of nature, the floral and musty scents that make up the relaxing atmosphere of my flower shop. When I open my eyes, I’m once again faced with the dull petals and sad stalks of my needy flowers.

I pride myself on advertising that all flowers are homegrown and raised right here in the store, guaranteeing the freshest blossoms for every occasion. Between that and my knack for posting funny videos on my Instagram, my humble shop, Hive Blossoms, catapulted to being at the top of search results on Instagram for a full month. It was a dream come true, given how much I’ve been struggling to make ends meet. Three months of my business in the red is more than enough reason for me to get snippy with my compost supplier.

It’s the foundation of my business. Literally.

Brushing my fingertips over some wilting purple petals, my thoughts race as to where I can get some emergency soil. I’ve cleared out the local hardware shop and the convenience store. I’m going to have to go further afield.

Shutting up shop at one in the afternoon isn’t ideal, but as I flip the sign to ‘Back in ten’ and lock the door, I tell myself it’s a painful necessity. I won’t have a shop if I don’t get my flower situation sorted.

It’s a short drive to the hardware store, but unfortunately, they haven’t restocked from the last time I bought all of their soil. Same for the convenience store, so I’m forced to drive farther away, trusting my GPS to bring me some brown, earthen goodness.

Each minute I’m in my car and away from the store is a minute I’m losing out on a potential client. I need clients like my flowers need compost. Every single cent keeps me afloat, and that’s the only way to stop the big scary, final warning letters coming from my bank.

I’ve been working nonstop for nearly three years, trying to balance my shop, my online presence, rude, but well-paying clients, my asshole brother, and raising my daughter better than my parents raised me. There’s barely time left for me to breathe. Not even these long drives to a small store in some forgotten corner of the city are spaces for me to relax.

I never stop.

But it will be worth it once the income becomes consistent and I can make sure my daughter, Tiffany, grows up without having to worry about when the next meal will hit the table.

Not like I did.

The small store I’m guided to thankfully had a few bags of compost that I buy up immediately. After loading them into my car, I check my phone. I’ll have just enough time to get these back to my store before I have to collect my daughter from her nanny. Hiring a nanny for Tiff is the only extravagant expense that I risk, but it’s worth it to ensure my daughter has the same, secure person watching her every day.

The nanny was a tender point of argument between my brother and me. He was certain the money could be spent on something much more useful, but he and I greatly differ on what counts as useful.

If he can’t smoke it, inject it, or dissolve it, it’s useless.

Hannah’s been a lifesaver, though. Not only does Tiff adore her, but she’s become like extended family, and even shared Thanksgiving with us last year.

As I'm driving, a call comes through my work number, and I answer it quickly, forcing a smile to ensure I sound more happy than stressed.

“Hi! This is Hive Blossoms, Brooke speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hi Brooke!” says a female voice. “It’s Amy!”

“Amy?” My heart skips a beat as I search through my compost and flower-filled mind for who Amy is.

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