Page 10 of Knot in Bloom
Loading the Saturday deliveries takes longer than expected. Partly because Sadie has very specific ideas about how the delicate bridal flowers should be secured. Partly because I keep getting distracted by working alongside her.
She handles each arrangement with loving attention. When she reaches across me to adjust a stem, her warmth brushes against my arm. Brief contact that makes blood rush south. From the way her cheeks flush, she’s aware of our closeness too.
“You’re really good at this.” My voice comes out rougher than intended as we’re securing the last centerpieces.
“It’s my job.”
“It’s more than that. This is a gift, Sadie. What you do with flowers—it’s art.”
She glances at me. Then back at the arrangements like she’s checking them for the fifteenth time. “My college boyfriend used to say I was just playing with flowers because I couldn’t handle a real job with real responsibility.”
Her casual tone—like it’s just a fact instead of something that obviously hurt her—makes me want to find this college boyfriend and explain a few things about recognizing talent.
“Your college boyfriend was an idiot.”
“Maybe. But he wasn’t entirely wrong about the practical stuff. I mean, look at my situation. There’s always something going wrong. Equipment breaking. Supply problems. Seasonal slowdowns. Roofs that decide to leak at the worst possible moment.”
“That could happen to anyone. Doesn’t mean you don’t know what you’re doing.”
As we finish loading the arrangements into her delivery van, she’s quiet. Hands gripped tight on the van doors.
“What if I’m not actually good enough?” Her voice gets smaller. “What if the rehearsal dinner only worked because I got lucky with the rustic style? What if I’m just pretending to know what I’m doing? And everyone’s going to figure it out eventually?”
The vulnerability reminds me of the little girl who used to follow Dean and me around. Desperate to prove she belonged. Terrified that we’d eventually figure out she wasn’t as brave as she pretended.
“Sadie.” I wait until she risks a glance at me. “You are good enough. You’ve always been good enough.”
Her blink—like she’s fighting back tears—makes me want to pull her against me and spend the rest of the morning proving exactly how good enough she is.
But I have work to do, and she needs to see that I trust her competence as much as I want to protect her.
“Now, let me get up there and start fixing that pipe.” I grab my ladder and toolbox from the truck. “I’ve got everything I need to get this properly repaired.”
For the next few hours, I work on accessing the damaged pipe in the shop’s ceiling while she organizes around the shop. The leak was from a coupling that gave way in the plumbing that runs through the ceiling space above her front display area.The damage is worse than I initially thought—water got into the ceiling supports and insulation—but nothing I can’t handle. As I work on the ladder near the front entrance, I can hear her moving around the shop floor, the soft sound of her humming while she reorganizes her workspace.
When I take a break around noon, I notice someone walking past outside with measured steps. Studying the building like he’s appraising it. A man in an expensive tailored suit that looks completely out of place among the flannel shirts and work boots. He’s tall with a lean, elegant way of moving. Jet black hair perfectly styled. Sharp jawline that could cut glass.
Everything about him polished to a shine.
He seems to be taking notes on his phone. Looking at the architecture with focused attention. Business, not tourism. An outsider with a specific purpose.
He approaches where Sadie is watering the flower pots she keeps outside the shop entrance, introducing himself with the confident stride of someone used to getting what he wants.
I watch through the front window as they talk on the sidewalk. Can see her face light up with professional interest. The way she straightens and shifts into business mode.
I should be happy for her. New customers are good for business.
I am happy for her.
I’m also suspicious of this stranger’s perfect timing and expensive clothes that suggest he’s not from around here. Something about his confident approach and the way he studies the building tells me he’s interested in more than just flowers.
When he leaves twenty minutes later, he’s tucking a business card into his jacket pocket. Sadie’s business card.
When she comes back inside, I climb down from the ladder to check on her and maybe ask some casual questions.
“Good contact?” I try to keep my voice neutral. Probably fail completely.
“Maybe. His name’s Reid Harper. He’s an architect working on some development project.” She looks up at me. “Says he might need flowers for client spaces. Could be good for business.”
