Page 37 of Raising the Sun

I rolled my eyes half-heartedly, chanting a monotone, “Yes, Mum” as Ash gave a polite agreement. She nodded, pacified, then trotted off to gather her purse and coat, happy as Larry to have gotten her way. Dad came over as I stood, reaching out to give my shoulder a parting squeeze.

He said nothing, but that gesture was his ‘goodbye,’ ‘take care,’ and ‘keep it up’ all in one.

I didn’t need anything more.

They both headed for the door with Ash and I in tow, my mum nattering about the bare walls needing some photo frames or mirrors as my dad, with all the patience of a saint, tried ushering her out. He was almost successful the fourth time, only for her to change her mind and turn back around.

“Take good care of him, won’t you?” she said.

It was directed over my head to Ash, who did a showy little bow and promised, “It would be an honour, ma’am.”

“I like him.” She giggled, nudging me with her elbow before descending the stairs.

I side-eyed the smirking demon I’d accidentally summoned all those weeks ago. The one who, in his own way, had made me feel more deserving of happiness than anyone ever had. Who’d gone from being the last person in the world I’d ever imagined myself sharing space with, to the only person to give me everything I hadn’t even known I needed.

My heart did an involuntary little skip.

Yeah, I liked him, too.

Chapter nine

ISAAC

One week before thecontest, a couple of show officials stopped by to do an interview and get clips of the shop. I wasn’t guaranteed a slot in the TV coverage—there was only so much free space they had for participants, and with so many florists in the running, they usually reserved the main portion for the finalists—but they still wanted to be prepared.

I’d only started watching the show virtually last year, after losing all motivation to go to the contest in person. Or anywhere, really. Were it not for Ash and his appetite for ambition, I probably would’ve been doing that this year, too—sitting on my sofa, alone, wishing I could partake, but telling myself I never would. It wasn’t the same as being there, amidst the action, seeing it all in real time, especially since it usually airedmonthsafter the event, but I’d pretended it was a fraction better than missing out entirely.

It was crazy to think I’d be seeing it from a different perspective altogether. Doing exactly what I’d said I’d never do.Not just crazy.Scary, actually, but it was too late to get cold feet about it now.

The programme was split into two parts. On Saturday, the presenters would scout the showgrounds, get involved in the activities, interview gardening experts, and give out the results of the smaller competitions. On Sunday, it was all about the three-round main event and highlighting the florists skilled enough to make it through to the finals. That was where the clips of the participants would be played—a bit of insight into the contestants and what made them tick to give the viewers someone to root for. I’d never been on television, and I was nervous as fuck about the prospect, but also… excited?

I hadn’t even grumbled when Ash had offered to dress me up in fancy clothes that morning.

“So, Isaac,” the interviewer, a short man with specs and a friendly smile, said. The cameraman was behind him, lens trained on me, and I did my best to ignore it lest I sweat right through Ash’s efforts. “Now that we know more about you and where you’re from, can you tell us anything about the plans for your showpiece?”

The showpiece.

That was the one thing that wasn’t coming to me as easily as I’d thought it would. I’d done a few trial runs earlier in the week, tried an assortment of different arrangements, used different flowers, even let Ash pick out some randoms to see if anything clicked, but nothing felt quiteright. They were allbeautiful, some more extravagant than others, but they lacked that WOW factor that all the previous winners had.

The vision in my head was vague, but I knew it had to be memorable, otherwise what was the point? I only had one shot.

“I have a few ideas,” I half lied, twisting my fingers in my lap. “Nothing’s set in stone yet. We’ll see what happens.”

Without thinking, I glanced over at Ash, who was circling the flower buckets, pointing to the more exotic blooms as he was trailed by the other official and cameraman. He had insisted on wearing something a little more in tune with his elegant, otherworldly nature—first impressions, and all that—and I couldn’t fault him for the decision. If I didn’t end up on TV, he definitely would—as a special guest, probably.

He looked beautiful, as he often did, even without trying. But the slips of yellow-and-green silk paired with the baggy pants he’d chosen reminded me of the demon who’d appeared through a puff of smoke in my bedroom only two months ago.

Except… different.

Somehow.

“A surprise, how exciting!” The interviewer—Mike, I thought his name was—beamed before checking the script in his lap, tapping it with finality. “Well, I think you’ve answered all our questions. We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us, and we wish Miller’s Meadow the best of luck. Is there anything you or your partner would like to add?”

The camera panned to Ash, who was already sashaying over to me. He stood at my side, resting a hand delicately on my shoulder. It was a friendly gesture for the cameras, but a signal of support for me.

“No, I… just… thank you for the opportunity,” I said.

Mike gave an approving nod before his eyes drifted up to Ash and he smiled expectantly.

---