The Perfect Arrangement (3 page)

“Matt's wedding?” My face exploded with warmth. So much that I could have heated a small village in Siberia.

“Candace and I could have sworn we saw you outside the church. Your car too.”

“No, of course not.” More heat. Waves upon waves of it. I cleared my throat, told Crystal I had to get back to work, then hung up the phone like it was a hot potato. Before I could relive the mortifying memory for too long, the front bell chimed and in stepped my brother. Shaggy red hair, my pointy chin, Mom's infectious smile. Her brown eyes too.

“Well, this is a nice surprise.” William was a rare customer at my flower shop. Not because he didn't like flowers, but because he worked during store hours. He graduated from Cross Point last spring and had moved to Mayfair afterward to work as a CPA for a local accounting firm. I loved having him so near.

He headed toward me with that smile still in place, set his elbows on the counter, and flipped open a small velvet box in the palm of his hand—one with a diamond ring inside. It took me a bit to process what it meant. A diamond ring in a velvet box? I looked from the piece of jewelry up to him. “Are you—is this . . .?”

“I'm going to ask her to marry me.”

“Bridget?”

“Of course Bridget, who else?”

I blinked. Several times. Stammered a bit. Then did what adoring big sisters should do when they hear such news from their baby brother. I beat my worry into submission, came around the counter, and wrapped him in a hug. “Wow, Will. Congratulations!”

“I'm going to pop the question tonight.”

“Wow.” I tucked my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, trying to relax the muscles in my face. Will and Bridget were so young, and they'd only started dating at the end of May.

He tipped his chin down and gave me
that look
. “Amelia . . .”

“What?”

“I love her. Madly. I'm telling you, she's the one.”

“That's great.”

He tipped his chin down farther. “Please don't worry about this.”

“I won't. I'm not. Seriously, Will, I'm thrilled for you.” My baby brother was getting married. To a woman I barely knew. Could he really blame me if a heavy dose of unease was mixed in with that thrill?

“I was hoping you could make up a bouquet for me to give her tonight?” He shut the small box and slipped it into his pocket.

“Of course! Any particular flower in mind?”

“Red roses symbolize love, don't they?”

“A dozen red roses, coming up.”

His smile returned, bigger than before. “Let's make that two dozen.”

William delivered my before-noon bouquet on the remainder
of his lunch break. I closed the shop early so I could deliver the before-six arrangements myself. Not a big deal, since I'd had a sum total of four customers walk through the door, and that sum total included my brother. Such was the nature of the floral business. Seasonal fluctuations. My crazy time came between Valentine's Day and Mother's Day. Unless a lot of brides decided to have fall weddings, the fall months tended to be slower ones.

I stowed the arrangements in the backseat of my Honda Accord, plugged the addresses into my GPS, turned on my Lorie Line Pandora station, and began the final part of my day. Maybe when I finished I could grab a hamburger to go from Patty's House of Pancakes, curl up on my couch at home with my tabby cat, Baxter, and watch something romantic. Get my mind off of my brother's impending proposal. He didn't want me to worry, but that was
easier said than done. To me William would always be my scrapes-on-his-knobby-knees, dirt-on-his-nose, shoes-on-the-wrong-feet, attached-at-the-hip little brother. He wasn't old enough to get married. And how could he know Bridget was “the one” when they'd only been dating three and a half months?

I delivered the first bouquet quickly, then headed toward Apple Creek—a town fifteen minutes south of Mayfair—distracting myself with a mental list of possible movies I could watch when I finished.
Pride and Prejudice
was always an option, the BBC version, of course. That moment when Mr. Darcy walked out of the lake never failed to make me sigh. Or I could go with something a little older, like
The Philadelphia Story
or
The Shop around the Corner
. Definitely not
Brief Encounter
. I smiled as I thought about Nate Gallagher's e-mail. I could always pop in
Cinderella
.

The early evening sun sank lower in the blue sky. The faint scent of burning leaves swirled through the open window of my car as I drove past the sign for Apple Creek. I turned up Orchard Lane, parked in front of the library, and brought in one arrangement at a time to the librarian, a broad-shouldered woman with a long face.

“Oh, these are lovely!” she said, leading me through the library into a back room with four large round tables. She placed one arrangement in the center of each table. “Do you like to read?”

“Yes, I do.” In fact, Rachel believed I read too much. “
It's part of the problem
,” she liked to say. I, on the other hand, saw absolutely nothing wrong with getting lost in a great story.

“Then you should join us! It's a wonderful evening. We
talk about our favorite books from the year and put the ones we want to read this next year on the calendar. There are several women your age. We're a fun bunch.”

“It sounds fun, but I already have plans tonight.” I could practically hear Rachel sighing in my ear.
“A date with the television and your cat does not count as plans, Amelia.”

“Well that's too bad,” the librarian said. “Maybe next time.”

“Yes, next time.”

She thanked me for the beautiful flowers. I thanked her for the business, then headed outside, toward my car, eager to start my date with the television. I could change into my pajamas and pop some popcorn. Maybe even start a fire. The delectable thought put a hop in my step. I was about to open my car door when something nabbed my attention.

It was Bridget, my brother's girlfriend. In Apple Creek. Strolling up the street. Arm in arm with a man who was not William.

I ducked behind my car, heart pounding inside my chest, and peeked over the roof, positive I'd seen wrong. But there was no mistaking it. Unless Bridget had an identical twin sister, that was definitely her. And unless William dyed his hair brown and grew a few inches, the tall, lanky man whose waist she had her arm around was not my brother. A heavy knot of dread sank through my stomach as the man opened a door to a bar-and-grill eatery and Bridget stepped inside.

I was a pretty nonconfrontational person. But at the moment, I wanted to push up my sleeves and march in after her. In fact, I crouched there for a while imagining the scene. Brave Amelia storming inside the restaurant, giving
this woman who was toying with my brother's heart a serious piece of my mind. The knot of dread pulled tighter. Had she already rejected William's proposal and moved on to another man? Or worse, had she accepted his proposal while carrying on a clandestine affair? The thought made me sick and at a loss for what to do. Because as much as I wanted to, I wasn't brave enough to go inside that restaurant.

I needed Rachel's advice in a desperate way.

I climbed into my car, wishing I could call her. Her last e-mail stated that she didn't have a cell phone yet. Even if she had one now, I didn't know her phone number. I squished up my face, trying to figure out her time zone. Seventeen hours ahead. She checked her e-mail in the evening, after her work was finished, which meant hopefully I'd get a phone call by morning. I opened up the e-mail app on my phone and shot her a quick note with trembling fingers.

Subject: SOS, RESPONSE NEEDED ASAP

I need your advice. Is there any way you can call me? Do you get reception where you are? I don't care if it's in the middle of the night my time. Please tell me you have a phone.

—A

When I arrived home, I checked my e-mail on the off chance Rachel had already responded. No such luck. But there was another e-mail sitting in my inbox, sent earlier in the day.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Mon, Sep 14, 2015 12:06 p.m.
Subject: Re: Brief Encounter

Dear Amelia,

As much as I would love to make you feel better, I have to refuse. I cannot let your insurance bill go up astronomically on account of a small scratch on my bumper. That would most definitely not make you feel better. So in consideration of your future happiness and financial stability, I can't give you the information you're asking for.
No
means no, Amelia. You're just going to have to accept it.

In response to your postscript question. Yes, I have seen the movie. Several times, in fact. I'm impressed you know it. Not many people watch the old movies anymore. My sister thinks the film is terribly romantic. I think her idea of romance is a little warped. Two married people in post–WWII England falling into a doomed love affair? I can definitely see your point. Perhaps I should have come up with a different subject line.

Now,
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. There's a classic movie I can get behind. And before you ask. No, I have no problem forfeiting my man card with that particular admission. It's a great flick. Audrey Hepburn is adorable.

Best,

Nate

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
—C. S. Lewis

That night I popped popcorn, started a fire in my fireplace,
and watched
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. Twice. Nate was right. Audrey Hepburn was adorable. Considering the circumstances, she did a great job of cheering me up. Baxter seemed to enjoy it too. He raised his tail three times.

I unlocked the front door of Forget-Me-Not with not nearly
as much pep in my step or warmth in my heart as yesterday. No phone call from Rachel. No e-mail either. I hadn't heard from William. I had no idea if he'd proposed and, if so, what happened. Or how to handle the fact that I'd caught his possible fiancée with another man. And whether I was ready for it or not, I would see him tonight, at Crystal and Candace's surprise thirtieth birthday party.

If only pictures could talk. I could have a conversation with my mother right then and there. She'd know what to do. Sighing, I set my coffee and Wally's muffin on the counter and pressed the blinking light on the store's answering machine, expecting an after-hours order from a customer.

“Hey, Amelia, it's . . . well, it's Nate.”

I pulled my chin back. Nate, as in Nate Gallagher? The guy who liked Audrey Hepburn and refused to give me his insurance information?

“I just got your e-mail. I'd call you on your home phone or your cell phone, but all I have is this number on the flowery business card you gave me. To answer your questions, yes. I do have reception. I know Yooperland must feel very north to you Wisconsinites, but we do get cell phone service in the Upper Peninsula and I do own a phone.” His tone was friendly, teasing. His voice, deeper and smoother than I remembered. “I'm not sure if the e-mail was meant for me or not, but I must admit, I'm highly intrigued. Is everything okay? If you want to call me, my number is 906-224-0505. I'll be around.”