Page 4 of Wooded Bliss

Whenever I sell one of those little magical gardens, it makes me giddy. Not only is that special little portal going to a new home, but it gives me an opportunity to make a new one. I might be a little obsessed with miniatures and creating the perfect little patch of whimsy.

I’ve put a lot of work into molding Blooms Happen into exactly what I envisioned. It makes me feel warm and cozy especially when people come in and react how Agnes does every time she visits me. Everyone who comes here should feel like they’re both at home and far away in a land they never imagined before.

“What flowers are speaking to you today?”

Agnes trails through the shop, her fingers reaching out to touch a few blooms until she comes to a stop in front of some ranunculuses on display. The blooms are in a few different colors which include purple, peach, pink, orange, and red. I love the colors and they’re one of my favorite flowers.

Yes, so are peonies. So are roses. So are sunflowers. Honestly, there aren’t many flowers I wouldn’t say are my favorite. Which is why Blooms Happen is my happy place.

“These are gorgeous,” Agnes gushes.

I can only giggle softly because she always chooses a bunch of ranunculuses. Sure, she’ll look at other flowers. She might even flirt with them, but she never chooses them.

“They are. With some eucalyptus they’ll make a gorgeous bouquet,” I offer knowing she prefers lamb ears over eucalyptus. “Or maybe baby’s breath.”

Agnes shoots me a glare that would scare someone if I didn’t know her so well. Or if she wasn’t in her seventies.

Her face scrunches up with obvious disgust. “Baby’s breath? Eucalyptus? It’s like you don’t know me at all,” she pouts.

Using my hand, I cover my mouth so she can’t see how hard I have to fight to stop myself from smiling. But the way the corner of her mouth twitches tells me everything I need to know.

“Maybe you want to change it up,” I tease her.

“No way,” she shivers, “I don’t want those weeds messing with the beauty of these flowers.”

I can’t help but giggle at how adamant she is. “A lot of people like those weeds,” I point out.

She huffs out a breath, but I know there’s no real heat behind it. We work together to get her the perfect mix of colors. I can’t help but watch her eyes light up as she looks at the gorgeous flowers she’ll be taking home with her.

Agnes has been a regular customer since I opened several years ago. Blooms Happen was always my dream. I wasn’tallowed to spend nearly as much time in the woods surrounding Whispering Pines as I wanted while I was growing up. My parents, who retired to a warmer climate last year, were always overly cautious when it came to the woods. To this day I’m still not sure why.

Even though I’ve heard the whispers around town about some bears who have made the forest their home, it’s not like I was going to go and seek them out or anything. But, I guess, if I were a mom then I wouldn’t be thrilled with the idea of a kid coming across a bear without any idea how to protect themselves; as if they’d even be able to.

I figured out when I was young that a flower shop would be perfect for me. Once I had the dream, I started saving. It took me a few years, but I’m here now. I figure, at only 27, I’m doing damn good.

About ten years ago there was a shift in Whispering Pines. Quite a number of businesses went under, and the population took a hit. I have no idea what happened, but it changed the fabric of the town, which never fully recovered. It’s how I got such a great deal on my space.

To say everyone was excited to welcome a new business to town is an understatement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to design a bouquet for you with these,” I offer, knowing what Agnes’ answer is going to be.

Her hand goes to her chest as if I’ve just offered to murder someone. The look on her face can only be described as aghast. It’s comical, honestly.

“You know I enjoy doing it myself. It’s my form of meditation,” her tone is exasperated.

“I know, Agnes,” I groan, “but I had to offer.”

“You just make your gorgeous creations for those who need them.” She pats my hand in the way only an older woman can—full of patronization. “I’ll see you in a few days,” she promises.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Agnes will be back before I know it. The woman is as obsessed with flowers as I am. I’m not complaining and there’s something special about finding a kindred spirit in a septuagenarian.

When I drift toward the large front windows, I find myself staring out at my little slice of Main Street. I can’t help but smile because Blooms Happen isn’t the only new business finding a place here. It feels like we’re finally coming back from whatever set us back ten years ago.

I glance toward the coffee shop, one which has been in town for as long as I can remember and catch a glimpse of Wylie Bosch. There are four Bosch brothers, but not all of them come into Whispering Pines anymore.

Wylie, who is the third brother in terms of birth order, and Grady, the youngest, can be seen in town from time to time, but the two eldest brothers haven’t been seen in years. At least not by me. Not by anyone, if the gossip around town is anything to go by.

It’s a shame because I wouldn’t mind seeing Thatcher. He was two years ahead of me in school and I was totally enamored. To say he was my first crush, my only crush, would be an understatement.

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