Bloom of Love (Long Valley #10) - Erin Wright Page 0,2
a guy was sent in to pick out flowers for that was…oh that’s right, NEVER – and then she regained her composure. “How nice of you to help out,” she said with her warmest smile, immediately flipping the script in her head. No wife in bed, eh? Maybe…
Maybe their parents died in a car wreck, and that’s why his mother isn’t in here, ordering the flowers for the party. And his sister was in the car too, and now she’s paralyzed, and this is a big party to commemorate her parents’ passing, combined with her 15th birthday party.
Yes, that’s it.
She was quite proud of herself for figuring that one out with only the barest of clues. She only just restrained from physically patting herself on the back, but she made sure to give herself a hearty mental pat. Sherlock Holmes didn’t hold a candle to her and the clients in her shop.
“Did your sister give you any ideas on what she’s wanting?” she continued.
Christian had moved from the figurines back to the flower section again, this time gently stroking the petals of the deep red roses bouquet that she’d been sure just minutes before he was going to be buying for his girlfriend / wife.
But…maybe he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Or a wife.
She tried to squelch the excitement just that mere thought flamed up inside of her. Christian Palacios would be interested in her – a big, fat lump of a girl like her – about the same time he’d be interested in stabbing himself in the eyeball with a fork.
“She…uhhhh…didn’t mention which kind of flower she wanted,” he finally said, almost like he was embarrassed to admit that. Carla was busy trying to figure out why that would be embarrassing when he pulled some silky strips of fabric out of his pocket.
“These are her colors,” he said, holding the fluorescent-colored strips out to her. “She said any flower is fine, but no pastels.”
Carla took the strips in hand with a little laugh. Construction orange, bright purple, and eye-popping pink.
No, pastels wouldn’t work at all.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, running her calloused thumb over the fabric mindlessly, the bandaid keeping her from bleeding all over them, “I think I might have just the thing for your sister. Something she’s never seen before. What’s her name?”
“Nieves.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Carla said, attempting to snap her fingers and failing because of the ribbons she was holding. Flushing, she ignored this flub and hoped he’d follow her lead. “And you said she’s the youngest of the family, right?”
“The baby.”
There was a wealth of meaning behind those two words that Carla was both dying to know, and happy she wasn’t a part of. Christian’s tone…there was drama happening in the Palacios family, she was sure of it.
Well, of course there is, Carla! You silly goose. After all, their parents are dead and Nieves is now in a wheelchair. Huh. Funny, I never heard about the car wreck. Poor guy. Doing so much to help his baby sister.
“Well,” she said with a bright smile, “tell her that I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. There’s a form you need to fill out with budget and date of delivery and such on it; you’ll need to answer that while I take some pics of these ribbons. That way, you can have them back.”
He scribbled a few answers on the paper – true to form, since guys were never as detailed and thorough as women – and then pocketed the ribbons once she’d taken a few photos with her phone.
“I can deliver the flowers out to this address,” she murmured, pulling her reading glasses off the top of her head and settling them on her nose as she scanned over the form to make sure that nothing stuck out as needing extra attention. “Everything looks fine,” she said, pulling her glasses back off and settling them back into her hair. “Since the party doesn’t start until the afternoon, I’ll drop the flowers off in the morning so they’ll be as fresh as possible. Does that work?”
“Sure,” he said, and flashed her a quick smile, again so quickly that if she hadn’t been watching him closely, she never would’ve seen it. He was one she really had to pay attention to – just brief glimpses of emotions or thoughts and then it was hidden away again.
Instead of heading for the door, though, he just stood there, shuffling his feet and mindlessly rotating his baseball cap in his hands.