Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I didn’t handle that sort of thing. I did place the orders, but just in the system, adding or taking out things that were selling a lot or not at all. Changing it seasonally to suit changing tastes and needs. But I just put in the numbers. What happened from there was beyond me.
“Oh, right,” I said, nodding even though no one was looking at me.
Even knowing they were there for a job didn’t seem to quell that spinning sensation in my stomach, nor the tightness in my chest.
But I had a job to do as well, so I powered past my fear, going into the refrigerator to grab the arrangements I knew people were already there to pick up, then bringing them out front to distribute.
“I’m so sorry about the delay,” I told the other two customers who were there to look around. “The shop would usually be all set up before the doors open.”
“Oh, honey, no rush. We have nowhere else to be,” one of the older ladies assured me as I rushed around, trying to get fresh flowers in buckets and refill water and make everything at least halfway presentable.
I was working on autopilot then, not even having a chance for my own personal thoughts when there was so much work to be done.
I finished setting up, then spent over half an hour with the ladies, trying to figure out what would be the best flowers to have on their table when they finally came out to their respective families after having been “gal pals” for several decades.
It wasn’t until they were gone, and two more orders picked up, and one more long conversation with someone who was looking for a houseplant that she couldn’t kill that I finally got a moment of peace.
To calm my frazzled nerves.
To get everything in the shop in the proper order, the way I liked things.
And it was only then that some disconcerting thoughts started to creep in.
About the men in the back.
About how strange their presence had felt.
About how strangely silently they had worked.
Almost as if they didn’t want anyone else to know they were there.
But no.
That didn’t make any sense.
I was just being paranoid.
It wasn’t an unusual thing for me.
I was just feeling off because the day was supposed to go one way, but ended up going a complete other.
And, well, a stupid, irrational part of me was still a little upset about the cleaning supplies I’d left out at home.
“Don’t get up. It’s just me,” Vega’s voice filled the quiet shop, making me realize I hadn’t even put on one of my playlists. Really, where was my head today?
Before I could even turn to look at Vega, see why she was there, I had to put on a playlist, exhaling a bit when the soft sounds started to fill the quiet space.
“I figured you didn’t get a chance to pack any food,” Vega said, waving my usual insulated lunch bag at me.
“You stopped home to get me lunch?” I asked, so touched by that gesture that I actually felt a little emotional.
Vega was an interesting woman.
Someone who could forget to wash her clothes until she was out of underwear, whose car insurance was constantly sending her threatening letters because it had simply escaped her mind to pay it.
But she was really good at her job.
And she could remember small things for me.
Like bringing me my lunch.
“Oh, don’t get all sappy on me. It was really no big deal. You already had it prepped. I just tossed it in a bag,” she told me as she set it on the counter. “I also cleaned up the supplies you’d left out. I know that was probably bugging you.”
Of course she did.
Because Vega knew me better than anyone else in the world.
“You’re the best,” I said, giving her a warm smile. “Did you eat anything?” I asked, eyeing the cup of coffee in her hand. Probably her fourth—at least—of the day.
Knowing her, she’d paired that coffee with one of the following: a handful of pistachios that she kept in a container on her desk, some gummy snacks that she kept in her purse, or the sugar-free candies that were in the waiting room of the law offices where she worked.
“Hank’s order came with sweet potato fries instead of regular. You know how he is allergic to anything that even remotely resembles a healthier version of a food, even if said food is deep-fried and covered in salt. So I got to have them. How’s the day going?” she asked.
“Busy. I was so frazzled until just a few minutes ago,” I admitted.
“Have you heard anything about Rayna?”
“No. And I don’t want to pry.”
“What’s up with Dennis not answering his phone?”
“He never really answers anymore. I think he has kind of checked out of the place since he doesn’t actually work here anymore,” I said, shrugging as I opened my lunch bag.