Page 7 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
‘Want me to refuse him service?’
‘No, of course not.’ That seems like a surprisingly nice thing to offer. ‘That would affect your profits. He’d only find somewhere else and give his money to a rival florist; that’s not fair on you.’
‘I’ll refuse him service.’ I can hear the decisive nod of his head.
‘Er, thanks, I think.’ Given the stories we’ve heard about Scary Neighbour’s apparent contempt for his customers, it sounds vaguely threatening and a bit foreboding. ‘Want me to give you his full name and address so you can report him to the police for shoplifting?’
‘Nah. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Don’t you worry about people stealing from you? The temptation must be higher than in other shops because you’re hardly ever there.’
He makes a noise of indifference. ‘I’m of the opinion that anyone desperate enough to steal flowers probably needs them more than I do.’
I blink in surprise at his mellow answer. ‘That’s a surprisingly laid-back attitude for someone who calls himself a beast.’
‘Losing a few flowers to less-than-honest customers is a small price to pay in exchange for not having to be there in person.’ He sighs like he knows he’s about to say something he’ll regret. ‘Iamthe gardener at the castle. It was my father’s job and I took over when he died three years ago. The shop is just a sideline, a way to sell excess stock. I don’t like people, but without the shop, my roses would die unseen in the castle grounds. Having to deal with the occasional customer is a marginally better alternative.’
‘Your displays are spectacular. Your windows are always incredible, and the scent… Sometimes I open my door just to let the scent of your flowers in.’
‘Thank you. I didn’t know anyone noticed. I prefer it when people don’t.’
Don’t what, notice him? He is noticeable on Ever After Street by his absence. He’s never come to a shopkeeper meeting, and never does anything that the street gets involved in, never putsup posters or anything else we all do to support the other shops. He never seems to do anything other than scare his own customers away.
‘Okay, I have a question for you – how does someone let their garden get into this state in the first place?’
‘My mum died.’ Even now, it feels so final to say it. I usually say things like ‘gone’ or ‘passed’, but something about him makes me want to be direct. ‘Eighteen months ago. Cancer. We ran the shop together. I hefted boxes of books around and she did the garden. And since then, I haven’t been able to face it. She was always green-fingered, and I’m the opposite. My fingers are like death to plants.’
‘Which would arguably be a good thing in this situation. The one thing those weeds need is a swift death.’
It makes me laugh out loud again. He’s the strangest conundrum of a man. Sharp and snappy, so closed off that he won’t even tell me his name, and yet he says things that are unexpectedly hilarious. It’s well after 5p.m. now, and the chill from the stone underneath me has long since seeped through the fabric of my jeans. He must be in the same position, and yet… he’s still here, and seems in no rush to go anywhere. ‘I know it’s going to seem strange to someone who gardens for a living, but I’m not an outdoorsy person. I don’t even know why a bookshop needs a garden.’
‘A lot of people enjoy sitting in the garden to read, so I’m told. As a bookshop owner, you strike me as someone who might enjoy reading.’
The deadpan tone in his voice makes me laugh again. ‘Yes, I doquiteenjoy reading, but I’d rather curl up in an armchair with a hot chocolate and a fluffy blanket.’
‘Even in summer?’
‘Well, maybe with an iced coffee and a fan instead then. Indoors, there’s nothing that wants to sting you or bite you. Iprefer to read inside where I can relax, rather than be on alert for rogue horseflies, wasps divebombing your cup of tea, and sunburn. My skin has two settings – ghost and post box. I switch from so pale I’m almost translucent to so red that it would make a lobster cringe in less than three minutes in the sun.’
Now it’s his turn to laugh. ‘You’ve never heard of suncream?’
‘Then you’ve got grease everywhere and leave handprints on your book, or your Kindle slides out of your slippery grip. It’s easier to read inside, especially at this time of year. Reading ismadefor getting cosy in front of a fire, a scented candle burning, hot chocolate full of whipped cream, a snuggly blanket and soft and fluffy socks. Cat on lap is optional, depending on cat’s mood and tolerance levels.’
He laughs again. ‘I can’t argue with excuses like that. And I suspect me and your cat might have similar levels of tolerance.’
I wonder how much tolerance he’s got left for me tonight. I bite my lip as I bite the bullet. ‘I have no right to ask, but as a gardener, do you have any advice on what to do about my garden?’
I expect him to shout at me, because it’s not his problem and I shouldn’t be asking him, but he’s agardenerand the one thing I’m in desperate need of is garden advice.
Instead, his answer is instantaneous. ‘Oh, that? That’s no big deal.’
‘No big deal? I’m going to be evicted if I don’t do something about it and I’ve started by throwing myself headfirst into stinging nettles and a bramble bush. You might be an expert but I’m not.’
He’s laughing at my indignation, but it’s a kind laugh, one that’s laughingwithme, whereas anytime Rick laughed, it was alwaysatme, which is something I only started noticing after we broke up. ‘Start by chopping it all down.’
‘With… scissors?’ I try to be helpful.
‘No, with a spoon.’ I canhearthe eye roll. ‘You know how to use a chainsaw?’
