Page 5 of Raising the Sun

I washerebecause of Wayne. Why I wasstillhere remained to be seen.

“If you say so,” I muttered, taking the supplies when he handed them over. I wanted to stuff them into my pockets, but decided to wait until I was outside. “So, how much is this going to set me back, hm?”

The shopkeeper held up his hand, stopping me from digging out my wallet. “No payment is required today.”

My scepticism festered as I glanced over my shoulder once more, half expecting to see a shadow with an ancient scroll, demanding I sign my name on the dotted line. Nothing was free, so this whole rigmarole was either a scam to squeeze money out of me later—top contender in my opinion—or some black-market organ trade that I wanted no part of.

Still, despite my anxiety and my sweat-slicked palms, I couldn’t help but press on.

I was invested now.

“What does that mean?”

“Once a lesson is learned, the debt will be paid.”

“Once…What?” I waited for him to elaborate. He did not, and a stilted laugh that bordered on manic burst from my throat.

Riddles. How fun.

The feather was an awkward length, and I tried my best not to crush it in my hand, I really did. “Well, thank you for the cigarette ash. Should all my dreams come true, I’ll be sure to leave you a review on yelp.”

“Wait,” he called as I spun on my heel to leave.

The poor guy was just doing his job, and I felt the tiniest bit guilty for acting so irate, but all I could think about was how much I could’ve got done at the shop had I not come here. That wasn’thisfault though, so with a silent sigh, and a mentalfuck youto my brother, I turned around.

“Yeah?”

The stranger reached into his jacket and brought out a folded piece of paper before passing it to me. “Here are the instructions,” he said, his expression serious. “Be sure to follow them to the letter.”

I forced a smile and took the note, adding it to the pile of stuff I’d probably never be looking at again. “Will do.”

“Good luck,” he said with a chivalrous tip of his hat, and on that note, I left, the door slamming closed behind me.

I flinched, but with my feet back on solid pavement, the recovery was quick. I examined my loot, noticing the sunflower on the face of the card for the first time. It was smiling, the words The Sun printed underneath—not a playing card, then. It had to be pure coincidence that a flower, myfavouriteflower, was staring up at me instead of any number of ‘sunny’ symbols, but after barely ten minutes in that shop, it was difficult to pretend it wasn’t also fucking creepy.

I scoffed and shoved the supplies into my pockets, deciding it was pointless to think about it anymore.

Waste of bloody time.

Chapter two

ISAAC

Despite the state ofbusiness, my shop was where I felt most at home. It wasmine. A haven that I’d built up from the four damp-riddled walls and bare floorboards it had once been. Seeing the script above the door, Miller’s Meadow, with its thick garland of yellow and white artificial wisteria dangling over the frame never failed to make me smile. It was proof that I’d followed my dreams, that I’d ignored the whisperings of the peanut gallery and actually accomplished what I’d set out to do, and it was something to be proud of.

But the feeling was brief, only lasting until I remembered it was all superficial. That the mess I’d dug myself into was hidden beneath that fancy sign and the whimsical window decor. My face fell. This place was the best thing in my life and the bane of my entire existence. It made me want to get up every morning, but also wish I hadn’t. There was a constant battle in my head between satisfaction and defeat, knowing I’dworked my arse off to have everything I’d ever wanted, but was forced to watch it slowly be snatched out from under me.

I’d started this business because creating art through flowers was several degrees of rewarding. It felt good knowing my work gave people even just a couple of days of joy, and made them smile through the good, the bad, and the ugly of whatever life threw their way. A bunch of flowers added a ray of sunshine to any occasion; they were eye-catching, they hadmeaning, they were special, and having the ability to show that to the world felt like a gift that I couldn’t take for granted.

But over the last several months, it had gotten harder and harder to hang on to those ideals, and bringing happiness to others when I struggled to find any for myself had gradually taken its toll. I’d thought pursuing floristry was a way for me to not only do something purposeful but also have a career that didn’t feel like a chore. It was my dream, so it made sense to make it myeverything. It still was, but I couldn’t deny that the endless loop of disaster and toil had sucked out a lot of the fun.

There were only so many setbacks one person could smile through before dejection became the default.

A sharpmeowat my feet stilled my thoughts, and I peered down to see Moxie, the neighbour’s cat, weaving herself around my ankles and purring like her life depended on it. She was a regular: a chubby black moggy with the sweetest temperament, who treated this place as her second home. I didn’t know how she managed it, but sometimes she snuck her way through the shop and I’d find her in the flat, curled upon my bed when I came home. I must’ve disturbed her plans. Either that or she’d sacrificed stealth in favour of the dish of milk I often put out for her.

Well, at least I’ll always have one customer.

I snorted, crouching to scratch her chin before unlocking the door. The bell above my head jingled as I walked inside, and the familiar scent of sweet earthiness was first to hit me, followed closely by the chill. It had to be cold to keep the flowers thriving, and after a customary shiver and a second to reacclimatise, it was easy enough to ignore. Wearing a woollen jumper helped, too.

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