Page 1 of Bragg's Love

Chapter 1

Eden – a peace-loving hippie who’s having a really hard time remembering why violence is wrong

“Welcome toEden’s Garden.” I smile at the tourists as they enter my store in Winter Falls.

“Eden’s Garden,” the man snickers.

I keep my smile firmly affixed to my face. I’m used to tourists making fun of my name and the name of my store. Yes, my name is Eden. And, yes, I own a plant store named after the biblical paradise.

But I won’t be kicking anyone out of my store for laughing at my name or the store’s name. I can’t. I need the business the tourists bring to keep my store afloat. Although, I’m barely afloat. More like bobbing up and down in the waves of the ocean hoping someone will throw me a lifeline.

“Can I help you?”

“I want to buy my girlfriend a bouquet of flowers,” the man says.

I don’t sell bouquets of flowers. I don’t sell cut flowers at all. Cut flowers are not sustainable and are therefore not welcome in town. As the first carbon neutral town in the world, Winter Falls takes sustainability very seriously.

I don’t explain all of this to the tourists, though. They’re not interested in the traditions in Winter Falls despite being here to celebrate the festival ofImbolc. They’re here for fun, nothing more.

“Can I interest you in a potted plant?” I motion to the display at the window. “I have some lovely daffodils that will flower soon.”

The woman’s nose wrinkles. “I don’t want a plant. I don’t have a green thumb.”

The whole green thumb thing is a total misconception. There aren’t some people who are born better able to care for plants while others kill plants by merely looking at them.

Plant care isn’t magic. Magic doesn’t exist. If it did, I’d spell myself up some cold, hard cash.

“There are care instructions included with each plant purchase. And you can always phone me with questions.”

The woman grabs the man’s hand and leads him toward the door. “Let’s stroll around the town. Maybe there’s anotherbettergift you can buy me.”

“Have a blessed Imbolc.”

My friend Soleil enters as they exit. “Hey, Eden,” she greets.“You ready to go to the diner?”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

All ready. No need to lock up and worry about whatever money’s in the cash register since there’s none in there. I haven’t made one sale yet today. The couple wasn’t the first tourists not interested in my potted plants this morning.

“What’s wrong?” Soleil asks.

I force a smile on my face. “Nothing. Why?”

“You look constipated.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Come on.” She bumps my shoulder. “Tell Soleil what’s wrong.”

“I haven’t made any sales this morning,” I confess before I can stop myself.

Her brow wrinkles. “You haven’t? But you’re using my pots.”

I roll my eyes. “The plant is supposed to be the attraction, not the pot.”

Although her pots are gorgeous, since Soleil is an artist. She dabbles in many things – including knitting vibrator covers – but her pottery is her biggest success.

“I don’t understand how my pots without plants sell better than yours with the plants. My pots are literally made for your plants.”

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