Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
* * *
Him: Greatest! I am the greatest and I can prove it! Let me know how your meeting goes. Can’t wait to hear.
* * *
And yup . . . it’s official. He wants to hear from me again, and he is indeed going to.
But I’ve turned onto the Bikes and Blooms block now, so I tuck my phone away. Two shops away, I stop in front of a chichi boutique and check my reflection.
All systems are go, so I walk a few more feet, open the green door to Bikes and Blooms, and stride inside, greeted by the fresh, sumptuous smell of flowers and bike grease.
Weirdly, the combo works.
The shop is mostly quiet, but I spot a pretty Black woman whose pregnant belly is the size of a house. She’s chatting with a customer about sunflowers, so I busy myself, checking out the gift cards.
After the woman rings up the flowers, she works her way around the counter and comes up to me.
“You must be Veronica?” she asks.
“Veronica Valentine. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Iris,” I say, then extend my hand.
She shakes my hand and her head. “Veronica Valentine. That is not fair.”
I messed up already? “What’s not fair?” I ask nervously.
“I want your name,” she says.
I laugh, relieved. “My parents were very good to me in the naming department,” I say. “And you have a perfect name for a florist. Were you meant to be a florist, or did you pick your name?”
“I picked it. This was my dream—to open a flower shop. My best friend runs the business, and he wanted to start a bike shop, but I suggested flowers too, and he liked the idea. So he turned it into bikes and flowers so we could both have jobs.”
“He sounds like a prince,” I say, wondering if maybe he put the baby in her belly, friends-to-lovers style. I peer around the trendy space, admiring the lush green walls on the flower side, then the sky-blue ones on the bike half. A mint-green cruiser bike sits in between the two; the bike’s basket filled with flowers. “I think the whole combo shop is perfect. It appeals to our go, go, go mentality, but it’s got a touch of whimsy to it.”
Iris’s eyes twinkle like I said the perfect thing. “Yes, that’s exactly the vibe we want to hit.” She nods to the counter. “Let’s chat more about your background, Veronica.”
We talk at the counter while she tends to the occasional customer. In between, I answer her questions and tell her about my mother’s work in gardens and how I grew up surrounded by flowers and plants.
“You graduated with a degree in English lit, though? And now, you’re looking for a new job after working in publishing?” She’s curious, but not cutting.
Still, an unpleasant knot tightens in my gut. I don’t want to delve into my job history if I don’t have to. “Yes, I’m looking into new things,” I say.
“Fair enough,” she says, and I’m glad she seems satisfied with that. “You know this is a temporary position for the summer? I’ll return in three months.” She pats her belly for emphasis.
“Which makes it perfect,” I say, “since I have plans for the fall.”
The more I say that, the more I’ll believe it.
“Well, this seems almost too good to be true. I’ve been trying to find a replacement for some time,” Iris says, with new excitement.
I can feel the offer coming when she swings her gaze to the door that leads to the back. “I think you’d be terrific, though I know Milo wants to meet you first. He’s the owner,” she explains.
“Wonderful,” I say, with a smile fueled by fresh hope.
I hear the scritch of paws, then a hopeful whine. Seconds later, a brown and tan Min-Pin scurries around the corner through the flowers, beelining for me.
That dog is familiar.
That’s . . .
“Trudy!” I call out and bend to the critter.
She runs straight to me like we’re old friends, hopping up on her back legs and giving me kisses.
“You know Trudy?” Iris asks, delighted but curious.
Wait. Hold on. Why is Sir Great With His Hands’ dog here?
When I untangle myself from Trudy and stand, I come face-to-face with the guy I want to date tonight.
How is this possible? Am I the butt of every joke in the city?
But nobody is laughing, least of all me.
9
My Hot Mess Week
Veronica
* * *
Mister Sexy Pants blinks and then whispers a strangled, “You?”
“Me,” I manage to choke out.
His chiseled, scruffy jaw is unhinged. “You’re Veronica?”
I nod. “You’re Milo?”
“Yes . . . that’s some luck,” he says in disbelief. But when Iris shoots him a what’s-going-on look, he recovers. “I’m Milo Dawson, the owner of Bikes and Blooms,” he says in a warm tone, but it’s the professional kind of warm.