Page 1 of Knot in Bloom
Chapter 1
Sadie
The dripping starts at five AM. Which is either terrible timing or exactly what I deserve for ignoring that water stain for three months.
I lie in bed telling myself it’s just the bathroom faucet. Please, just the bathroom faucet. But the sound gets louder and…
Not dripping anymore. Rushing, cascading water that makes my stomach drop.
That’s coming from downstairs. From my shop.
No, no, no.
I bolt upright. Scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over the covers. My bare feet hit the cold floor and I’m running. Taking the stairs two at a time in my oversized sleep shirt. Heart hammering.
The smell hits me before I even reach the bottom step. Not my usual morning blend of fall flowers and earthy chrysanthemums. Wet carpet. Soggy wood. The unmistakable stench of disaster.
I flip on the lights and freeze.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Water pours through the ceiling right over my expensive fall display. The rehearsal dinner centerpieces I finished at midnight for Thursday’s Kerr event float like sad lily pads. Seven elegant arrangements drift around in a very expensive parade.The golden chrysanthemums I arranged yesterday look like tiny suns in a very sad solar system.
I slosh to the utility closet. Turn off the main valve. The rushing dies to a trickle, then stops.
But the damage is done.
My hands shake as I wade through ankle-deep water. My hardwood floors are warped and buckled. My vintage display case sits in standing water, brass already tarnishing.
Water has seeped into everything. The wooden shelves where I store ribbon and wire are swollen and splitting. My computer sits on the counter, thank God, but water drips steadily from the ceiling onto my order book.The carefully written notes for Thursday’s rehearsal dinner, the Walker anniversary party, Mrs. Woodbury’s weekly standing order.All of it bleeding into illegible smears.
The sunflowers have given up entirely. Heads drooping toward the water like they’re bowing in defeat. Marigolds drift past my feet like orange life preservers.
I try moving the surviving arrangements to higher ground, but there isn’t much. The back counter, a few upper shelves. Everything else is either soaked or sitting in water. I grab my phone to call... who? My insurance lapsed last month. The emergency restoration services I find online want $200 just to come assess the damage.
My savings account has $347 in it.After I replace the rehearsal dinner flowers, I’ll still be two months behind on my mortgage payment.Not enough for emergency repairs. Not enough for new flowers. Not enough for anything but the sick feeling that I’m about to lose everything I’ve worked for.
I sink down into the cold water, letting it soak through my pajama pants. My scent spikes with stress—sharp honeysuckle turning bitter, vanilla curdling. I take a shaky breath, trying to calm down before the whole building reeks of panicked omega.
Three years of proving I could do this. That omegas could run businesses just as well as alphas or betas. That I didn’t need anyone taking care of me or making decisions for me.
All of it washing away with the morning light.
My phone rings from upstairs.
Perfect.
I wade back to grab the cordless. Check the caller ID.Sarah Kerr. The bride.
My stomach sinks.
“Sadie! I’m so sorry to call this early. I couldn’t sleep. I’m so nervous about Thursday’s rehearsal dinner!” Way too cheerful for five-thirty AM. “The centerpieces are still on track for delivery by six PM, right?”
I watchthe rehearsal dinner centerpiecesdoing the backstroke. “Absolutely. Right on track.”
“I can’t believe the wedding is this weekend! But first we have to get through Thursday’s dinner with both families. The centerpieces you designed are going to be perfect—elegant but not too formal. My future mother-in-law specifically said she hoped they wouldn’t be ‘fussy.’ These are going to be exactly what we need.”
Right.The most important family gathering before the big day.Currently doing laps around my shop.
