Page 2 of Hidden Heir

“Amy Henry? We spoke last week about my wedding? From Instagram?”

“Oh, Amy!”

I roll my eyes at myself and grip the steering wheel harder. How could I forget about her? She sent me a wonderful message on Instagram last week gushing about my flower displays and begging me to cover her wedding. I could not refuse—the amount of money she was offering due to such short notice made my heart skip a beat.

“Yes, of course! How can I help you, is everything alright?”

“Everything is perfect, but I’m afraid I have another change,” Amy says, the tone of her voice telling me that bad news is coming. “I’ve changed the color scheme again.”

Three times she’s changed the color scheme, and three times I’ve had to come up with new displays to wow her with. Each time she picks one, I start on the flowers, and then she emails with a new proposal. My thoughts drift to the most recentchoice, orange and cream, and the peach spray roses I was pairing with cream gerpoms. They’re sitting in the back of my store ready for clipping.

Or at least, they were.

“That’s no problem at all!” I say, forcing a smile. “Every bride wants their big day to be perfect.”

“Exactly!” Amy chuckles. “Iknewyou’d understand. Anyway, I wanted to call you this time instead of emailing because this is the final change.”

“Are you sure?” I ask sweetly, hoping to avoid having to rework an entire display in two days.

“Yes, I promise. I have foundthemost stunning pearl dress with gorgeous caramel and gold studs, and gold threading. It’s to die for, oh my god. So I want a white and gold wedding, with maybe some browns thrown in. You know, real autumnal vibes. Can you help me with that?”

Autumnal vibes in the Spring are definitely a choice, but it’s good money, and I can’t afford to say no. “Don’t you worry, I’ve got you. If you could send me a picture of the dress so I can get an idea of the tone, that would be amazingly helpful.”

“Yay!” Amy squeals. “I’ve sent a bunch of pictures to your email. You’ll just die when you see it. I gotta go, but I look forward to seeing what you come up with!” She hangs up before I can reply, and silence falls in my car.

I could switch to toffee roses, but I have none in stock, which means I’ll have to buy them from elsewhere if Amy wants them. I do have some Angel Amber Kiss Pansies and depending on how deep the gold is on her dress, those could be perfect. The need for a new display consumes my thoughts for the rest of the drive, and by the time I park behind my store, I’m running late to pick up Tiffany.

I was supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago, and while her nanny is very understanding about my hectic schedule, merunning late means more money for her. I haul one bag of compost over my shoulder and hurry inside my shop, dumping it down behind the counter then hurrying back out to collect the other one.

Once both are inside, I throw one back over my shoulder with a grunt and carry it through to the greenhouse. My ankle catches on the sharp, protruding corner of a cardboard box.

“Fuck!” Pain shoots through my ankle as I stumble, overbalance, and fall forward, the bag of compost becoming the only thing stopping me from smashing my face into the stone floor. “Motherfucking—.” I slam my hands down as I push myself up and glare over at the offending box.

Of course it belongs to my brother. After being kicked out of his apartment a few months ago, he dumped all of his stuff here because it was cheaper than renting a storage unit. There’s very little love loss between my brother and me, but he’s the only family I have, so I put up with him because that’s what you’re supposed to do with family. Although the thought of killing him becomes a very pleasant one as I kneel on the floor with my palms smarting and my ankle throbbing.

“Asshole,” I mutter, slowly clambering to my feet. Luckily, the compost didn’t burst. I place the bag in the usual corner, the second one joining it. The next twenty minutes are spent hobbling around the greenhouse taking as many pictures of brown, gold, and cream flowers as I can, then sending them to Amy for her to choose. By the time I get on the road to collect my daughter, my heart is pounding.

As a child, my parents were absent a lot of the time, and when they were around, it was never for anything resembling parenting. When I found out I was pregnant with Tiffany, it was a shock, but I swore I’d be a better parent than what I had. She’s only three years old and likely won’t remember a random Thursday when I was an hour late to collect her. But I will.

I don’t want to be my mother. I want to be better.

I’m breathless by the time I reach Hannah’s home. She opens the door within three knocks and smiles warmly at me.

“Brooke! Oh god, are you okay?” Hannah runs a worried eye over me. “You don’t look so good.”

“Terribly busy day,” I explain with a laugh, waving off her concern the best I can. “I am so very sorry that I’m late.”

“You’re fine,” Hannah chuckles. “Come in, Tiffany was just telling me all about an argument she had with a penguin.”

“A penguin?” I follow Hannah inside. “What do you mean?”

“I think it was her dream from naptime earlier but she’s convinced it was real.”

As soon as I step into the playroom, my daughter surges up from her playmat and sprints toward me with her arms outstretched. Her dark curls fly out behind her with one ribbon fluttering loosely, and her green eyes are as wide as saucers. She leaps into my arms, and the moment I breathe in her comforting scent, my stress melts away.

Yes, I was late. But I’m here now and that’s all that matters. With Tiffany in my arms, I pay Hannah for her time plus the extra and thank her profusely for being so understanding. Thankfully, Tiffany doesn’t fight me about the car seat; I don’t have the energy.

“So Tiff,” I say as I start the drive home. “Hannah told me you had a disagreement with a penguin today.”

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