Page 67 of Dear Ripley

I didn’t refuse a lot of orders, not unless filling them was impossible. Sometimes people forgot that flowers were seasonal and got incredibly annoyed when forced to accept that. But, usually, people got it and were reasonably easy to accommodate. However, something about this whole thing told me I didn’t want to fulfill this order.

It was irrational, of course. I didn’t know who they were sending flowers to. For all I knew, everything was completely above board, and I was on edge for no reason.

But… that survival instinct deep inside, the one that told me something was wrong, was going off like a siren, and it was impossible to ignore.

Then again, if I didn’t take the order, they’d just go somewhere else—even if they thought the flowershadto come from me—and I didn’t know if whoever they went to would pick up on the weirdness. Would they take steps to protect the recipient, if required?

The person with the purple bob stopped in front of the counter, their arms stretched along its front, leaning forward a little, as if trying to get me to look at their cleavage. I had no interest in looking, keeping my expression neutral as if I hadn’t even noticed the attempt.

“How can I help?” I asked, looking between the two of them, and registering the uneasy look on the other one’s face.

I wondered how they knew each other. They clearly did, but the familiarity between them was not making up for the uncomfortable air.

“I’m looking to send some flowers to my wife. I’m guessing you’re okay with that.” They gestured to the pin board behind the counter that had a collection of pride pins on it, and Ekundayo’s he/him badge that he’d pinned up during his last shift after breaking his lanyard. “Are you he/him?”

“No.” I gestured to the she/her badge on my own lanyard.

“Ah. Me too.” She gestured over her shoulder at her companion. “They haven’t made their mind up yet, so anything you want to call them is fine.”

I glanced at them, hating the dismissive and controlling way she spoke about them. They rolled their eyes but nodded.

“Okay,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “So, what can I do for you?”

She laughed, tossing her head back in a display that was excessive for the situation. “My wife. She needs flowers. I made a little… mistake, and I’ve got some making up to do.”

The person beside her snorted. “A little mistake? You cheated on the poor woman.”

“I clearly do flowers, but I don’t know if they’re actually going to help you much…” I said pointedly. I seldom gave opinions or snark to customers like this, but something felt very, very off.

Her eyes flashed as she looked at me. She took a deep breath and her whole demeanor switched in front of me. It was one of the most bizarre things I’d ever seen. This was someone who knew how to manipulate people. The smile, the relaxed posture, everything about her seemed friendly, at ease, and would not have made me at all suspicious if it was how she’d entered the store.

Well, almost everything. It took a minute to see it, but there was something in her eyes that gave her away. Some killer instinct. Not the good kind. The kind that made you feel like she might actually murder you. It was so subtle I doubted anyone would really notice it.

She laughed, relaxing her posture so she was leaning on the counter, positioning herself lower than me. I wondered if we’d taken the same psych classes in college.

Her friend watched her with a raised eyebrow. The look made me feel like we were living in one of those classes and this was some weird experiment.

“You’re funny,” she told me. “What would you recommend? Something for an apology. She likes purple.”

The purple hyacinth was the first thing that came to mind, but there were a ton of flowers that could symbolize an apology. Hell, sunflowers were one, and I was more than familiar with those lately.

I ran through some options, still feeling uncomfortable with how delighted she looked about the whole thing.

She nodded and asked for a pink, purple, and white combination—white because it was innocent and so was she… Her friend shot her the look I wanted to give her. I was grateful at least that the look didn’t go ungiven, even if it wasn’t coming from me.

Customer service taught you ridiculous levels of self-control.

“One hundred and fifty dollars, please,” she said as if asking me to pay.

“You usually pay me,” I replied, the snark slipping through again. “That’s kind of how this whole thing works.”

She laughed, but there was that flash in her eyes again. “You’re funny. I mean, I’d like the arrangement to cost that much. I want it to look good. I want her to know…”

I looked at her, waiting for her to finish the comment. It took too long for it to be the truth.

“That cheating was a terrible mistake, I love her, and I want to stay together,” she finally said.

I nodded. “You got it. So, where are we sending the arrangement?”

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