Page 12 of Wallflower in Bloom

Oh no, she couldn’t let Rose and Lily down.

She managed to get back to the right slide, and as she started her four-part speech, she registered all 16 eyes staring back at her.

And her mind went completely blank.

It was a white wall of static.

She grasped for anything. Anything she knew about plants or vines or grapevines or, heck, the festival itself. But all she could think was don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint.

Her fainting track record was so bad in high school that the nurse preemptively sent a cot to her speech class.

Violet’s hands trembled as she grasped for anything.

This was a terrible idea. She told them this was a terrible idea, but they wouldn’t listen.

Bail, Violet, bail. She set down the remote, grabbed her purse, and ran out the door.

She ignored all the eyes staring at her as she walked out of the enormous conference room, out through the door, and immediately started down the staircase. She heard the door open behind her and Lily whisper-yell, “Get back here!”

Rose could handle it. Rose could pitch a product she’d never even heard of in the middle of a thunderstorm and have people eating out of her hand.

They didn’t need her. She just messed everything up, like always.

“Violet!” Lily said, yelling down the stairwell as Violet took the last step out into the sunshine. She got back in her car, sent Lily and Rose a huge apologetic text, and asked for some space.

They had every right to come yell at her, but she just needed a day to be with her feelings for screwing up the biggest, best opportunity for Bloom.

It was a minor miracle she didn’t see Jack when she got home. Through tear-streaked vision, she ran into her room and threw off her horrible business clothes.

Maybe she should burn them while she was at it.

Throwing on her comfiest, most worn-in gardening overalls, she decided it was time for some therapy in the form of dirt and sunshine.

An hour later, tears still streamed down her face as she planted witch hazel under century-old oak trees. Gardening usually soothed her aching heart, but she’d messed up too badly this time.

Maybe Rose and Lily will take me off client pitches. At least they’re my sisters and have to speak to me again eventually.

Bloom had done well after they’d relaunched their family’s 100-year-old dying flower shop in April, but they still needed to book special events to supplement their meager income. They’d inherited a large back tax debt when their father passed unexpectedly, and reimagining the shop had given them all a new lease on life.

As long as they could keep the lights on.

Rose still had big plans for them, though. Events like the wine festival would bring them closer to household name recognition. Rose wanted world domination in the form of a flower and plant shop, but Violet didn’t think she was cut out for the job.

Violet cradled a mound of dirt to the side and lovingly dropped in a witch hazel seedling. She gently smoothed the cool soil around it, enjoying taking care of something.

She leaned back on her heels and took in her yard full of lush bushes, flowers, and climbing vines. The shade of the old oak trees cast dappled green light all around her.

Maybe I should go back to landscape design.

At least then, she couldn’t hurt Bloom. Their shop was bursting at the seams with her plants. But staying out of sight and mind would be best for everybody.

She planted the last witch hazel seedling and wiped her mud-covered work gloves down her old, comfy gardening overalls. It was times like these she was grateful she’d saved them from the trash more than once when Rose had lived with her.

Beads of sweat fell down her forehead. The sun had just set, and a slight breeze blew through the trees, but the 85-degree humidity still had her wilting like a begonia in direct sunlight.

Normally, she’d make herself the largest Long Island Iced Tea she could find, turn the thermostat down to 60, put on thick comfy PJs, and watch Beyond the Manor Walls until she fell asleep on the couch, but now she couldn’t even do that.

A new sob wracked her body as she thought about how pitiful she was. A thirty-two-year-old woman who couldn’t even stand up in front of a room full of people and talk about all the things she loved most.

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