Love in Bloom (5 page)

“I love that one,” lied Bobbi.

“That's good. It sounds familiar. Who's the poet?”

“Dylan Thomas,” said Hope.

“Love him,” Bobbi gushed. The only Dylan she'd ever heard of was Bob Dylan and she was barely familiar with him.

Jason nodded approvingly. “I like him, too. That'll do great.”

Next to Hope, Bobbi preened like she'd thought of it.

Jason produced his charge card and they finished the deal.

“Come back again,” Bobbi said.

“I will.” He smiled at both of them, but when his gaze finally picked one to settle on, it picked Bobbi.

Hope felt a sharp stab deep in her chest, and then she deflated inside as all the happiness drained out of her. Not the happiness of the moment. This hadn't been a particularly happy moment. It was worse than that. She felt like all the happiness she'd ever had, all the happiness she ever would have just rushed away. Plehhhhhh.

She needed to send herself some lily of the valley. Silk ones so they'd last a lifetime. She'd keep them on her vintage yellow Formica table to remind herself every day that she should always be happy just to be alive.

“That man is amazing,” said Bobbi.

“He's okay,” said Hope. Her pretend lack of interest made her remember the time when they were kids and she tried to convince Bobbi she didn't want any of Hope's Hershey bar. “It's chocolate. You'll hate it. You like Skittles.”

But Bobbi had insisted on trying some of that chocolate. And after one bite, there was no going back. Hope had lost half her chocolate bar that day.

Jason Wells is not a chocolate bar, she told herself sternly, and he's certainly not yours.

She sighed inwardly. She wouldn't have gotten this man anyway; she knew that. But it was going to be really hard to watch him fall for her sister.

 

 

 

 

 

 

H
OPE WAS WILTED
by the end of the day. “I owe you big time,” she told Bobbi, giving her a hug.

“Yes, you do owe me,” Bobbi said with a sly grin.

Hope knew what that meant. They'd spent most of the afternoon brainstorming ways that Bobbi could interest Jason Wells (as if he wasn't interested already), and Bobbi had finally come up with the perfect plan, one which, naturally, involved her older sister.

“Oh, not now,” Hope moaned. “Tell me you don't want to do this now when my feet are about to fall off.” She craved home and a bubble bath, followed by an evening on the sofa with her novel. In spite of Bobbi's many runs to Organix for juice and yogurt and anything else she thought would keep her sister going, Hope was drained. “Can we do this first thing tomorrow?”

“I want to do this today, while he still remembers me.”

Hope couldn't help smiling. “Trust me. He's not going to forget you.”

“I promise I'll be quick.” Bobbi produced the grocery bag full of guy junk food she'd picked up at the Safeway store on her last food run. “I can put the gift basket together. I just need you to help me with the card. You're so much better with words than I am. I don't want him to think I'm an airhead.”

“He won't care.” That hadn't sounded right.

“Well, I'm not an airhead. Okay, not a total one,” Bobbi amended. “Come on, you promised you'd help me. This guy looks like a keeper. I need to impress him.”

“Bobs, you already did.”

“No. I need to impress him with my brain. I can't just send him a basket and say, ‘Call me.' That's totally boring.”

“But to the point. You want him to call me, er, you.”

“I want more than that. I want him to think I'm amazing.” Bobbi's gaze dropped. “I've got to brainwash him early, before he finds out I'm just a cocktail waitress.”

“There's nothing wrong with being a cocktail waitress,” Hope argued. “It's an honest living.”

“You don't exactly have to be a genius to serve drinks.”

“Yeah, well serving drinks doesn't make you dumb, either. You shouldn't put yourself down.”

Bobbi pulled out a big bag of corn chips and nestled them in her basket of shredded paper next to a jar of salsa. She shrugged, keeping her back to Hope. “I'm not you.”

Hope gave a disgusted snort. “You don't want to be, believe me.”

That made Bobbi whirl around. “Just because you were sick for a while.”

“And am now Franken-boob.”

Bobbi pointed a scolding finger at her. “Don't go there. There's more to you than your boobs.” She smiled. “Just like there's more
to me than my body.” She sprinkled a bunch of Hershey's Kisses around the basket. “Now, what kind of flower should I add?”

Hope arched an eyebrow. “White mums?”

Bobbi looked at her suspiciously. “That means something bad, doesn't it? I can tell by looking at you. What do they stand for?”

“Truth.”

“Ha, ha. Just because I'm having you coach me on my card doesn't mean I'm not being truthful. I picked the stuff for the basket, after all. And, if I do say so myself, it's genius.”

“The oysters are subtle.”

“Never mind the oysters,” Bobbi said, blushing. “What about the flowers?”

“You're off the hook on the mums. We won't stock any until late summer. What about yellow acacia,” Hope suggested, “for secret love.”

“Oh, I like that!” cried Bobbi. “Do we have any acacia?”

“Yeah, silk ones.” Hope started to get up.

“I'll get 'em,” said Bobbi. “Which ones are they?”

“They're over in the corner of the west wall. They're the pouffy yellow blooms with the feathery leaves.”

“Got it.” Bobbi sailed out through the curtains. A moment later she popped her head back in. “Um, which wall is the west wall?”

“Never mind. I'll get them,” said Hope.

Bobbi trailed her. “I could have found them. I just needed you to point me in the right direction.”

“Never mind,” Hope said and plucked a spray.

They returned to the back room and arranged the flowers in the basket, then wrapped it in blue cellophane.

“That looks awesome,” Bobbi said with an approving nod. “Now I just need the card.”

“What do you want to say?”

“That I think he's hot and I want to go out with him.”

“Okay,” Hope said, and handed Bobbi a gift card and a pen.

“But I don't want to say it like that.” Bobbi tried to hand the card back.

“It should be in your writing,” Hope insisted, refusing to take it.

“Okay, help me think.”

“You don't need help thinking.”

“Yes, I do. Come on. The sooner you help me the sooner you can go home.” Bobbi gave her a playful nudge.

Hope sighed. “Okay. Why don't you make a little mystery of it? You know, intrigue him.”

“Oh, I like that! How about, ‘
Guess who?
' ”

“You could do that,” Hope said. A bit underwhelming, but the basket would make up for what the card lacked in imagination.

Bobbi frowned and chewed the corner of her lip. “That's kind of dumb, isn't it?”

“We could do better.”
We.
Now she was an accomplice, caught up in deception by her own cleverness and her soft heart. Was this how Cyrano de Bergerac had felt?
Never mind that. Help your little sister.

“You're right, we could,” Bobbi agreed and looked at her expectantly.

“How about this? Every flower has a meaning, every petal speaks a word.”

“Oooh, that's so pretty!” gushed Bobbi. She wrote down the words then looked at the card. “Are you going to make a rhyme out of it? If you do, you'd better not make it a long one. This card isn't that big, you know.”

Hope drummed her fingers on the work counter. “Hmmm. I know. Add: But unless you speak their language, something special goes unheard.”

“Wow,” breathed Bobbi as she wrote.

“Then add:
If you learn what this yellow acacia symbolizes, you'll be halfway to solving the mystery of this basket.
”

“Oh, I love that!” Bobbi stopped writing mid-scrawl and looked up, wearing a fresh frown. “But that doesn't tell him who sent it.”

“It's coming from this shop. We were talking about the meaning of flowers earlier today. He's not stupid. He'll figure it out.”

“Great.” Bobbi slipped the card in an envelope. Then she scooped up the basket. “I'll deliver this on my way home.” She hugged Hope, making the cellophane on the gift basket crinkle in protest. “I can help you tomorrow, too, if you want.”

That was Bobbi, generous to a fault. She deserved a great guy like Jason Wells. “You are amazing.”

“Aw, you're just saying that 'cause it's true,” Bobbi quipped. She gave Hope another quick hug and said, “Go home and get some rest. You look rotten.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Bobbi left and Hope locked up the shop. Then she drove to her apartment, wondering all the while if Bobbi had found Jason and been able to deliver her basket in person. She made herself some green tea and ran a bath, filling the tub with extra bubble bath. She picked up her well-worn copy of Jane Austen's
Mansfield Park
and climbed into the tub to drink tea and read more about the adventures of her all-time favorite heroine, Fanny Price. Fanny wasn't your typical heroine. She was plain and quiet. But she had a good heart, and in the end Miss Austen rewarded her goodness by giving her the man of her dreams. Hope liked that.

Usually. But to night Fanny seemed insipid and undeserving—a real little weenie. What man in his right mind would want a Fanny when he could have a Bobbi?

What were Bobbi and Jason doing now?

Hope closed the book and tossed it away from her. She ran a hand through a mountain of bubbles, scooped the frothy summit up and watched it dance and shimmer in her palm. Instead of smiling she blew it to pieces, shook the remainder off her hand and got out of the tub. Bubble baths were overrated. So was green tea. The stuff tasted like grass. She turned her back to the mirror, dried
off, dressed in her favorite tee and jammie bottoms, and then wandered out to her living room to slump on the couch. Tea hadn't worked, her book hadn't worked, and her bubble bath had been a failure. She still felt grumpy.

She turned on the TV, found a sitcom, then picked up her knitting and went to work on a half-finished scarf. Okay, she was fine now. Something to create, something to laugh about—life was good again. She could be happy with or without a man.

So there.

 

JASON WELLS SAUNTERED
into Changing Seasons Floral on Saturday. If a fish going after a lure could smile, it would look like that, Hope thought. He was dressed in guy casual, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a windbreaker, and once again he started those attraction tremors in her.

“Hi. Back for more flowers?” she asked, playing dumb.

“Back to solve a mystery,” he replied, and leaned on the counter.

“Oh?” So, Bobbi hadn't found him when she made her gift basket delivery. The little spurt of glee that surfaced in Hope wasn't very sisterly. It wasn't very bright, either. From the look on Jason Wells's face it was clear that this love rocket was already launched; too late to change its course now.

And she wouldn't even if she could, she told herself firmly. “So, what can I do for you, Sherlock?”

“I got an interesting gift basket from here yesterday. I'm thinking you might know who's responsible for it.” He looked past her shoulder and nodded in the direction of the workroom. “Would the person who sent it be back there by any chance?”

She hadn't even made his list of gift basket suspects. That sucked. She forced her smile to stay put. “Sorry, Bobbi's running some errands right now, but she should be back in an hour.”

He grinned and gave the counter a little thump. “I'll be back.”

He was just turning to go when the door flew open and in blew Bobbi, looking adorable in jeans, a pink sweater, and a red leather jacket. Her face flushed at the sight of him, and she lifted her carefully highlighted hair off her neck as if she was suddenly hot. “Well, hi.”

“Hi,” he said.

The way they were looking at each other, Hope felt like she was watching a movie. She was painfully present, but not part of the scene.
You love romances,
she reminded herself.

“I got a cool basket,” Jason said to Bobbi. “Did you have something to do with that?”

Bobbi smiled. She was the queen of the flirty smile.

Hope decided she had to clean up her work area. She slipped into her workroom, turned on the radio, and began sweeping bits of stems and ribbon off the counter into the garbage, trying to ignore the burble of voices drifting in past the old, velvet curtains.

Bobbi laughed. What had he said to make her laugh?