Page 2 of Knot in Bloom
“I know I’m being crazy, but the restaurant just confirmed they can accommodateone more table.Tom’s college friends decided they can make it after all—four more people!Could we possibly add one more centerpiecefor their table?”
A rehearsal dinner centerpieceattempts to swim out the door. “Of course.One more centerpiece. No problem.”
“You’re absolutely saving my life, Sadie. This dinner means everything to us—it’s when both families finally meet properly. I knew from the moment I walked into your shop that you understood exactly what I wanted. What would I do without you?”
Good question.Probably panic and order grocery store bouquets like a sensible person.
After I hang up, I sit on the only dry spot left. Fight back tears that would only make my scent worse. Three years running this place, proving that an omega could handle a business just fine without any alphas swooping in to “help.”
Now I’m about to ruin the most important family gathering before the wedding because I was too stubborn to fix a leak. Too proud to admit I might actually need someone.
That’s when I see Maeve Bennett’s face in my window. Silver hair catching the early light. She’s holding a thermos. Wearing the concerned expression of someone who’s raised kids and knows disaster when she sees it.
She pushes through the door without waiting for permission. “Oh honey, what happened here?”
“Roof leak.” I wipe my nose on my sleeve. “Everything’s ruined.”
Maeve surveys the destruction with the practical eye of someone who’s weathered plenty of storms. Rolls up her sleeves like she’s preparing for war. “Well then. We’d better get to work.”
“I’ve got it handled.” Obviously a lie since I’m still in pajamas sitting in ankle-deep water.
She gives me that look. The one she probably perfected on teenagers. “Sadie Quinn, you look about as handled as a cat in a rainstorm.”
The thermos turns out to be coffee. Real coffee, not the instant stuff I’ve been drinking to save money. She presses itinto my hands and the warmth spreads through my fingers. The maternal comfort she radiates makes my omega side want to curl up and let someone else handle everything.
“Now,” she says, wading into the water without hesitation. “Tell me aboutthe rehearsal dinner arrangements.”
“Eight centerpieces by Thursday at six PM.”
“Mm-hmm.” She starts gathering floating flowers with surprising efficiency. “And where were you planning to get replacement flowers?”
“I... hadn’t gotten that far yet.”
Maeve nods like this is perfectly reasonable. “My old friend’s son runs the wholesale flower market in Springfield. Good boy, if a little too fond of his cologne. I’ll give him a call.”
“Maeve, I can’t afford?—”
“Can’t afford to ruin a rehearsal dinner either.”She interrupts gently. “Sometimes asking for help isn’t admitting failure, dear. Sometimes it’s just admitting you’re human. Omega, alpha, beta, doesn’t matter. We all need people sometimes.”
She studies my face with those sharp blue eyes. “You know, when I first opened the bakery thirty years ago, I had a grease fire that took out half my kitchen three days before Christmas. Wanted to throw in the towel right then and there.”
“What did you do?”
“Asked for help.” She says it like it’s obvious. “Turned out half the town had been waiting for an excuse to pitch in. People like helping, Sadie. Especially when it’s someone who’s been helping them for years.”
She leaves with promises to call her friend’s son and round up volunteers. I sit in the growing daylight and take inventory. The vintage cash register still works. The cooler in back is on higher ground. Whatever flowers are in there might have survived.
It’s like a flower bed after a storm. Messy on the surface, but the roots are still strong.
I’ve survived worse than this. Like opening this shop when everyone said I was crazy to think an omega could handle the stress of running a business. Like my first year when I nearly went under twice. Like the time I accidentally ordered five hundred white roses instead of fifty.
I can figure this out.
But first, I need to get out of these wet pajamas and find a mop. And maybe call that plumber’s number that’s been stuck to my refrigerator for six months.
Outside, the sun is starting to rise over the mountains. Same colors as the marigolds currently doing laps around my shop floor. There’s something almost poetic about it, in a disaster-movie sort of way.
Through the front window, I catch movement across the street. Someone walking by with what looks like a coffee cup. Slowing down as they notice the chaos inside.
