Freesia and Faith Page 4

  She glanced over to the trash can at the paper wad she’d tossed into it last night. After Reese headed back to the nursery she’d lingered, finding comfort in the familiarity of the neat, whitewashed walls that were decorated with cheerful, framed snapshots of her designs. She’d done them herself, carefully planning the angle-shots and mix of light and color to showcase a variety of life-events and seasons.

  The hum of the coolers soothed while the scent of blooms was almost palatable and so different from the nursery just a few doors down the boulevard. Cutler Nursery carried more of a woodsy smell, strong and rich, while the floral shop breathed life into a sweet hint of promise. If anyone had told her half-a-decade ago, even a year ago, that she’d put down roots in Clover Cove, she would have called him crazy. But now the very thought brought the nudge of a smile to her lips. Funny how things worked out.

  Thinking of the nursery brought Reese to mind. The man proved to be a paradox in its finest form—harassing her one minute with his heated anti-partnership opinion and then sharing Bible scripture the next, and in a crowded public venue to boot, as if they’d been best friends their entire lives.

  She didn’t want to like him, but his kindness, once he’d shaken off the snit, touched a chord in her. No one, at least not since her dad fell ill, had ever prayed for her—at least not that she was aware of. But Reese took the time, in his ripped jeans and dirt-dusted T-shirt, to hold her hand while he lifted his voice to the heavens in an earnest plea for success for her and her business. Go figure.

  She brushed off the flicker of delight that welled. Of course he wanted her to be successful—her accomplishment would mean revenue for Cutler Nursery, as well as her own pocketbook. His interest was as simple as that, nothing more. Yet, his touch had been surprisingly gentle as he clasped her hands in his, despite the course flurry of blisters that covered his palms like a relief map of the United States. Even now, reliving the memory, warmth coursed through the pit of Peyton’s belly to settle along the small of her back.

  Her gaze drifted once more to the trashcan and Reese’s crumpled dinner napkin from the pizzeria. She sighed and stepped over to the bin, reaching in to snatch it from where it had landed atop the refuse. She unfolded it and set it on the glass counter, smoothing it with the palm of her hand before reading the words Reese had jotted there.

  Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. ~Hebrews 11:1~

  His handwriting was a telltale mirror of him—a bit disheveled with an underlying strength that she found oddly appealing. For a glimmer of a moment, Peyton wondered what else she’d find if she looked past his dirt-crusted boots and rough-edged disposition. His hands, strong yet gentle, had afforded her a bit of insight.

  She also considered what might be unearthed in the rest of the chapter of Hebrews. Her mind flashed to the Bible that had belonged to her father, now tucked away beneath a mound of socks in her dresser drawer. Like an itch that needed a good scratch, suddenly she needed to know. Maybe she’d drag the book out tonight, dust it off and take a look.

  Peyton paused and shook her head, wondering where that thought came from. Even if she wanted to, she had no time for reading. She’d made Hattie and Wyatt a promise, Reese as well, to give the floral shop every ounce of her attention and she aimed to keep that promise.

  Besides, there was no point in reading the Bible. Praying was nothing more than a hopeless façade—a dead end. She’d turned to God once, when she’d needed Him most, and His answer to her pleas was complete and utter silence. The memory—the hurt—burned in her even now, years later.

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she choked back a sob as she reached for a push pin from the dispenser next to the cash register and tacked the napkin to the front of her message board on the wall beside the cooler. Though the words didn’t hold anything in the way of rekindling a seed of faith in her, they’d certainly remind her to focus on what she hoped for—making the shop the greatest success possible.

  ****

  Reese crossed the street, watching Peyton through the display window of the floral shop. She moved like liquid silver, with a kind of fluid motion that had purpose, yet was slow and easy. It was almost like a dance—graceful and efficient. She stepped from behind the counter to adjust one of the framed photos on the wall and he noticed she wore the same type of spiky heeled, ankle-breaking shoes that had caused her near-header the day before. It was a sacrifice, he supposed, to showcase the endless miles of firm, toned legs. Who was he to argue?

  She wore skinny jeans today in a canary-yellow shade paired with a baby-blue cotton blouse cuffed back at her wrists. Her hair, sleek and straight in contrast to yesterday’s waves, fell loose around her shoulders, the bangs tucked back in a shimmery silver clip that showcased her eyes.

  Not that he noticed her eyes or the way her hands adeptly tied a length of ribbon into a delicate bow before using a strand of floral wire to secure it to a wreath generously woven with red, white, and blue carnations. No, he didn’t notice any of that. Good thing, too, or he’d be hooked before he said so much as, “Boo.”

  Reese pulled open the door, setting off a shriek of buzzing that had Peyton jumping and his heart thumping, as well.

  “Oh, my.” Her head snapped up as one hand flew to her chest. The wire cutters she was using clattered across the display glass. “Reese, I didn’t see you coming.”

  “Walked over.” He tilted his head back, glanced up at the culprit mounted to the wall above the door. “That’s some alarm.”

  “It’s not an alarm, per se. I just like to be alerted to customers when I’m working in back, or rummaging through the stockroom. I try to stay up front as much as I can during operating hours and turn it off while I’m in sight of the door, but…” She crossed the length of the counter and flipped a switch on the back wall. “I guess I forgot. It won’t happen again. I don’t want to scare my customers away.”

  “You shouldn’t be here alone, anyway.” He drank in the bright, cheerful room, noted the easy-listening music that filtered through speakers mounted to one corner near the ceiling. The walls were tastefully adorned with enlarged, framed photographs of floral arrangements she’d done. Good way to give potential customers a sample of her wares. He gave her points for that. “It’s not safe, even in Clover Cove. Don’t you have any help?”

  “I’m not alone. Businesses, including the nursery and the pizzeria, line the street. And I hope to hire some help soon enough, but for now I’ll have to manage on my own. Money’s just a bit tight with the renovations I’ve made and stocking supplies.”

  “I’m familiar with that tune. Been there, done that, lived to tell about it.” He nodded toward the nearest print while tucking away her words. She was right. The nursery sat less than a block away, just south down the boulevard. That would make it easy to check on her from time to time. He told himself it was purely business, of course, nothing more. But even as the words drifted through his head, he pegged them as a lie. Somehow, Peyton Langley had nestled her way beneath his skin. “Nice print. Good mix of colors, warm yet bold.”

  “Thanks. That’s one of my favorites, too.”

  “No surprise there.” Maybe she did have some idea of how to run a business. He caught sight of the napkin he’d scribbled on yesterday, tacked to a memo board alongside glass-encased coolers. Good sign. At least she hadn’t thrown it away. “What are you working on there?”

  “One of the local churches placed an order for several dozen memorial arrangements. They’re scheduled for delivery tomorrow, and I still have a way to go before I get them all finished. With the other orders that have come in this morning, both in person and online, it will take me the rest of the day to get everything done.”

  “I can help if you’d like.”

  “Thanks, but…” Peyton reached for the wire cutters as she cast him a sideways glance. “Designing arrangements is a lot different than tossing bags of potting soil into the bed of your pick-up.”

 
“I’m aware of that, thank you very much. I cut my eyeteeth building dish gardens, and I have the scars to prove it. Don’t let these hands fool you.” He lifted both, turning the callused palms toward her as he grinned. “I can thread floral wire through the tiniest opening and twist the snot out of it.”

  “I’ll bet you can.” She laughed, and the sound was light and airy, like wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze. “But don’t you have work waiting on you at the nursery?”

  “A few deliveries, but nothing that can’t hold.” He busied his hands straightening the brochures she had placed in a holder along the top of the glass display counter that joined the check-out area. If he didn’t keep busy, he’d be tempted to smooth the lock of hair that slipped from the silver clip above her blue eyes. “I’m all yours, if you want me.”

  “Well, that’s an offer I certainly can’t refuse.”

  “This is nice.” He lifted the wreath she’d just finished, studied the mass of woven flowers. The musky-sweet scent was just as enticing as the pattern of blooms. “You do good work, solid and vibrant.”

  “Thank you.”

  Reese eyed the storage cooler, where other wreaths she’d finished had been carefully placed. He opened the door and set this one with the others, then turned toward her to lean against the counter. “I guess we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”

  “Well, at least I did…literally.” Peyton’s easy laughter danced around the room once again. “Good thing I had a back-up pair of pumps. No time for shoe shopping just now.”

  “And those…stilts are quite appealing, I might add, even if they are anything but practical.”

  “Is that an attempt at a compliment?”

  “As far as those are concerned, it’s the best I’ve got.” He gestured toward said shoes. “I’d like to make it right, apologize for flying off the handle about you taking over here. It stung just a bit, learning the building had been plucked from beneath my very nose. But, you’ve spruced things up real nice. Even I have to admit, it looks promising.”

  “You’ve already apologized and I accepted. It’s OK, Reese, really.”

  “Maybe we should spend some time together, since we’ll be working in such close proximity.” He lifted his gaze, captured hers, and gave in to his desire to smooth her hair. She didn’t flinch, and he took that as a good sign. “I’d like to take you to dinner.”

  “You’ve already done that. Remember last night—at Pappy’s?” She tucked the lock back into the clip. “You wouldn’t let me pay for my meal.”

  “That doesn’t count. I mean a real dinner—tonight—with reservations and the whole works.”

  “Are you asking me out…such as on a date?”

  “You could say that.”

  “In that case, no. I just don’t have time. I have a business to run and you…me…” She fluttered her fingers. “It’s just not a good idea to mix work and pleasure.”

  “Pleasure, huh?” He leaned against the counter and offered a playful wink. “So you think you’d like it, then…spending some time with me?”

  “I didn’t say that.” She yanked a length of floral wire from its holder, snapped it with the cutters before twisting it into a hook. “I just don’t think it’s wise.”

  “What harm can there be in you, me, and a couple of juicy steaks followed by a fancy dessert—maybe something that’s served on a flaming platter.”

  Peyton sniffed and set the cutters on the counter. “Are you talking Bananas Foster?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “I don’t know.” She eyed his T-shirt, already soiled from a full morning of work, and jeans with their signature rips at the knees. “A nice dinner means a change of clothes for you—preferably after a shower.”

  “I’m willing to sacrifice.”

  “Well…Bananas Foster does sound good, and it’s been ages since I’ve had a decent steak. But you can’t indulge tonight and neither can I. Remember, you have a tux fitting and I have at least two dozen more arrangements waiting to be made.”

  “I’m headed to the rental place now. Wyatt had a conflict—Kami needs him at the bakery tonight to finalize plans for the wedding cake so that trumped the evening tux expedition into torture.”

  “Sheesh.” Peyton wagged her head. “Getting married is a lot of work.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m slated as the best man, so I’ve had to co-pilot the crazy ship for this entire journey.”

  “Really? That’s ironic, since I’m standing in as the maid of honor as well as the florist. Kami asked me to do her arrangements and bouquet a few weeks ago when she learned I was definitely setting up shop here.”

  “There you have it…time together on the crazy ship. We broke the ice.”

  “Never heard wedding planning referred to quite that way, but I suppose you’re right, all things considered.”

  “If the maid of honor gig is anything like the best man, it’s a full-time job. How will you manage both your duties and the flowers?”

  “The same way you’ll manage all of your tasks—by extinguishing one blaze at a time.”

  “You—me—flanking the bride and groom at the altar…that ought to add up to something pretty interesting.” He did a slow sweep of the length of her, pausing at the pumps once again as a grin split his face. “I hope you’re not planning to trip, end up on America’s Funniest Home Videos, and stumble away—err…walk away—with the grand prize.”

  “I promise I’ll restrain myself, but it makes sense to keep the video camera handy.”

  “Good.” Reese took the wreath she’d just adorned with a red bow and set it in the cooler with the others. “So, what time do you think you’ll be finished here?”

  “Six, maybe seven.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s hard to say.”

  “Tell you what…I’ll be back at six. If you’re still working, I’ll help you finish up. Then we can go enjoy a meal together. I’ll even wear a tie. Sound good?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  5

  “Does it take special talent to walk in those shoes?” Reese asked as they crossed the street after leaving the restaurant. His belly was full, and he realized with a start, his heart felt oddly content, as well. Peyton hadn’t flinched at his pre-dinner prayer this time, and seemed to take the words in stride, lingering over them. “Is there some pre-requisite class, stilt-walking 101?”

  “No.” She laughed. “It’s a rite of passage. It just takes a little practice but we girls catch on quick. It doesn’t bother me, really.”

  “Then, are you up for a little walk?”

  “Sure. It’s cooled off some, and the stars are so pretty tonight.” She tilted her head back as she pirouetted over the sidewalk in a slow, sweeping circle, her gaze fixed on the glittering sky. The scent of her perfume drifted…a delicate mixture of citrus and vanilla with a hint of the beach thrown in for good measure. It made Reese think of warmth and sand and sun. “I’m used to the lights of Knoxville drowning out the stars. It’s so dark here, like velvet. It’s nice.”

  “Yes, it is.” Reese tucked his hands into his pockets as she fell back into step beside him, her long legs matching his stride as they headed down the boulevard. He didn’t know why, but the desire to hold her hand tugged at him. So he avoided the temptation by balling his fists along the fabric and placing them off limits. “We used to have a telescope when we were kids, Wyatt, Gunnar, and I. Even Maddie got in on the action from time to time. We spent hours chasing fireflies and taking turns watching the stars in the field along the river behind our house—Mom’s house now—on summer nights.”

  “It’s beautiful there, where you used to live and your mom still does.” Peyton sighed. “I went out to walk the grounds last week, since Kami and Wyatt are planning to be married in the yard along the river. I had to get a feel for the space, the garden area and the lay of the land to begin making plans. That’s how I got to talking with Hattie. She walked with us, and we hit it off so easily. I’ve never known anyone
like her—someone you feel as if you’ve known your whole life within the first ten minutes of a conversation. She started asking me questions, asked what my plans were in the floral industry and for putting down roots in Clover Cove. When I shared my vision—my dream for the floral shop—I guess she liked my ideas, because right away she suggested the brownstone. Frankly, with all my concerns for the wedding, it was the last thing on my mind that day. I was completely blown away by her generosity concerning the rental contract and bids for flowers and greenery.”

  “You must really be something special, because she made plans without even consulting Wyatt.”

  “Oh, he was there, walking hand-in-hand with Kami. They were so sweet…so romantic, that it gave me goose bumps as I watched. We sat down over tea and Wyatt asked who my supplier was. When I told him I didn’t have one in mind yet, he suggested I come out to see what Cutler Nursery had to offer. Of course, Kami chimed in by letting them know all I’d done for the agriculture department while I was a student at UT.”

  “Lots of experience?”

  “Yes. I spearheaded a grant to pilot a fruit-tree grafting program. It’s still in operation, and growing.”

  “Really? So you know all about that?”

  “I do.”

  “I’d like to tour the facilities sometime. I might pick up a thing or two.”

  “I can make that happen.” Her shoulder brushed against his as they matched stride. “Anyway, we talked some more, and the next thing I knew, they’d devised this plan to merge our needs—me for supplies and the short-term funding I lacked and the nursery for a larger client base. I had no idea the venture would upset you so.”