Page 4 of The Heartstrings of Harry
I craned my neck, head high as I laughed awkwardly. “Great to see you too, Maggie. Although I’m not really a lollipop. Now if you wouldn’t mind just… letting go of me… I think you’re about to crush one of my ribs… my God, you’re like an octopus.”
Maggie loosened her grip, and I managed to shake her off. “Sorry, I guess my sugar levels are low. I get a little light-headed and hangry if I don’t have one of Pascal’s chocolate croissants every hour… on the hour… along with a couple of strawberry macarons… and a custard éclair… and to make sure nothing gets stuck in my teeth it only makes sense to wash it all down with one of Clarry’s Creamy Cookie Malty Milkshakes.” Thunder rumbled. I looked to the windows and saw nothing but a clear sunset outside, then realized it wasn’t thunder at all but Maggie’s stomach. She gave anI told you sonod. “Like I said… low sugar levels. Dangerously low.”
I reached into my pocket. “I have some gum if that’ll help.”
Maggie huffed dejectedly. “Thanks, but what’s the point of chewing something you can’t swallow. If you ask me, gum is the cruelest joke of all. Worse than the one about the priest, the pastor, and the rabbit who walked into a bar.”
I felt sorry for her—slumped over and tummy rumbling—and took the bait. “So, what happened to the priest, the pastor, and the rabbit who walked into a bar?”
“The bartender asked the rabbit what he wanted to drink, but all the rabbit could do was shrug and say, ‘I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Blame auto correct.’”
I snorted a laugh. “That’s kinda funny.”
“I don’t get it at all. And what if the rabbit really needed a drink? If you ask me, it’s just ducking cruel.”
“I guess you don’t want any gum then.”
“No thanks. Besides, it gives me gas. It don’t matter how many pretty-smelling flowers are in this room with us. If Mount Maggie blows, she leaves no survivors.”
I blinked back this information. “Right. Well. Speaking of flowers, I was hoping to buy a bunch from you. Something nice and colorful to brighten up my place.”
Maggie gasped. “Oh my God! You’ve got a date. Is it Madeline Montgomery, the new history teacher at the school?”
“I thought she taught math.”
“So youareinterested in her!”
“No, I’m not. I haven’t even met her.”
“You should. She seems lovely. And smart. And kinda hot! Oh yeah, she could help me out with my alge-braany day.”
“Oh God! No! Maggie, the flowers aren’t for Madeline Montgomery. They’re for me.”
“Foryou?”
I gave another casual, one-shouldered shrug, again intent on not making a big deal of it. “Sure. I was thinking something like…” I pointed randomly. “Those, over there.”
“Oh, you mean the, um, daffodillolilies. Yes. Nice choice.”
I gave her a quizzical look. “Daffodillo-what?”
“Daffodillolilies. I believe that’s their Latin name.”
“Really?”
“Are you questioning my expertise in plantology?”
“I don’t think ‘plantology’ is a word.”
“Says the guy who thinks the rabbit joke is funny.”
“What about those over there?”
“Ah, the chrysanthemummies. One of our biggest sellers. Believe it or not, they’ll stay in full bloom all the way through to next winter… and maybe even the next… and the next.”
“Seriously? A bunch of flowers can actually last that long?”
Maggie scoffed a laugh. “Well, obviously you need to put them in water first.”
