Snowdrop Kisses Part Nine
A Christmas love story featuring a plucky florist and a tall dark and handsome entrepreneur
Previously… In Part 8 Minna and Harry get drunk on the double date and James and Wendy debrief over the phone.
Chapter 17
The BMW roared down the street, its powerful engine humming as its wheels gripped the road.
James double-checked his seat belt was fastened before turning to Catriona. “We’re going a little fast, aren’t we?” It was another day of record cold and the streets were icy. Still no new snow, though. The streets were starting to look dingy and bare.
Catriona Hunt sipped a non-fat soy latte, while steering with the other hand. Her blond hair was swept up in a neat chignon, her full lips were covered in a thick coating of scarlet lipstick and her tight winter white suit revealed a hint more cleavage than was strictly necessary. She purred, “I thought you liked things fast.”
James had worked with Catriona for years, and she’d always been like this: Aggressive, flirtatious and just a little dangerous. In fact, she was exactly the kind of woman he was usually attracted to. He’d never acted on the attraction, however, drawing a strict line between employee and employer. A hint of intimacy remained between them, however, thanks to the years they had worked together.
“Watch that pedestrian!” James cried.
Catriona swerved, nearly colliding with a garbage truck. She over-compensated and veered towards a pile of uncollected trash, sitting by the side of the road. They whizzed by close enough for James to see the Chinese labels on the discarded boxes, and smell the rotting bok choi.
“Catriona, slow down.”
James had reason to be nervous. Somerset Street was bustling on this Monday morning. Chinatown’s main drag, the street was jam-packed with shoppers perusing the displays of mangoes, cabbages and seaweed at the sidewalk stalls that were open despite the December chill. They passed small grocery stores with duck carcasses hanging in the windows and countless brightly coloured restaurants, not yet open for business.
“Oh, James.” Catriona laughed. “You sound like my grandmother.” She gave him a playful tap.
“Eyes on the road, Catriona! Eyes on the road!” James barked.
She glanced back at the street in time to swerve around a parked car.
“They shouldn’t allow street parking. Then we could really get some speed going.” Catriona smiled at the thought.
Using a technique picked up by a yoga-instructor ex-girlfriend, James closed his eyes and imagined himself in a peaceful place: He was sitting in La Maison watching Wendy’s face crinkle into a smile.
His eyes flew open. That wasn’t his peaceful place. Usually his focused meditation involved a tropical island, baby oil and that dancer he had dated from Montreal. Since when did thinking of Wendy Blake, with her goofy costumes and sharp tongue, make him supremely calm?
He was distracted from his thoughts by the road. “Shouldn’t you turn on Preston Street? This place is in Little Italy.”
Cutting off an entire lane of traffic, Catriona made a wide left at the intersection and sped south. The neighborhood’s atmosphere changed immediately. The Chinese restaurants gave way to small coffee shops, where old Italian men sat in the windows, looking out at the icy streets.
“Are you sure these directions are right? This area seems a bit too urban for a big flower wholesaler,” James asked.
“I’ve already told you I’ve got doubts about this Wendy person. I usually deal with Phillippe’s Greenhouse.”
He was irritated by her statement. “Wendy knows what she’s doing. I wouldn’t saddle you with an incompetent.”
“I don’t care if you saddle me with Seabiscuit, as long as that person gets the job done.”
Catriona usually didn’t take such a tart tone with him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She sighed. “Normally I call the shots when it comes to event planning. Suddenly you’re telling me what florist to hire and getting very involved in the party-planning. Am I not doing a good enough job?”
James hadn’t heard Catriona sound so vulnerable in years. “No, no. You’re doing great. Fantastic.”
“Then why are you on your way to meet a flower wholesaler, when you’ve got a thousand other more important things to do?”
James knew why he was in the car, even if he didn’t want to admit it. The moment Catriona had mentioned that she was meeting “the little florist” James had felt compelled to tag along. He wanted Wendy Blake, but he had to squelch that desire. He liked women who knew the score, and wouldn’t make any emotional demands. Wendy believed in love and romance. Yet here he was. Obviously, some loathsome part of himself loved the thrill of the chase, but he wouldn’t pursue Wendy. He would not.
“James…” Catriona persisted. “Why are you here?”
He looked up and stammered out a non-reply. “I… uh…”
Alarmingly, Catriona turned her head completely from the road and glared at him. “I know what it is. You’re attracted to Wendy. That’s just great, James. This party is LCC’s chance to get some meaningful press, and you’re putting our fate in the hands of some two-bit florist.”
“Firstly, watch the road!”
Catriona turned her eyes back to the street and even slowed down.
James continued. “Secondly, how long have you known me? Have I ever let my personal interests interfere with my company? Wendy’s an excellent florist, you’ll see. Thirdly, I’m not even remotely attracted to the woman, and this conversation is now closed.”
Catriona paid him no attention: “It’s not too late to get out of whatever deal you made with her.”
“I’m supremely confident in Wendy.” He thought of her dented dignity as she walked back to their table after scrubbing off the Santa makeup. “She’s proven she can handle whatever life throws at her.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Catriona swung onto Walnut Street. They passed an abandoned pizzeria, an empty parking lot and a few wood-frame houses, sagging and in need of paint, before coming to the end of the road, where a long grey warehouse squatted. A rusted Ford pickup was parked in the front yard with “Flowers by Isaiah” written haphazardly across its side.
“God help us. This must be it.” Catriona eased the BMW in beside the truck.
James looked around doubtfully. “What did Wendy say about this place?”
“It’s got an unconventional outlook, and low prices.” Catriona exited the car, continuing, “I can believe the last part anyway. They’re not spending anything on upkeep.”
They stared around them in doubt. Catriona ran a hand tenderly across her car’s hood. “Do you think the Beamer will be safe?”
They approached the building and James knocked on a large steel door demarcated by a sign saying “Office”. They waited; hearing muffled thumping sounds coming from behind the wall. He knocked again. Finally, after exchanging a glance with Catriona, he tried the door.
“We’re going to come across a corpse,” she drawled, “or a drug smuggling operation.”
Instead, they were greeted by a deafening blast of heavy metal music. The sound felt like it was physically battering James’ head. He clapped his hands to his ears while Catriona shouted something he couldn’t hear.
James found the speakers and turned the music down from jet-engine roar to a more manageable propeller-plane hum. The absence of noise broke over his suffering ears like a healing wave.
He looked around. The small, low-ceilinged office was dimly lit by one flickering florescent light and decorated with thrift store rejects. A long metal desk along one wall did its best to support the weight of towering piles of gardening magazines, lumpy bags of soil and… was that a barrel of manure? The variety of unmatched chairs scattered throughout the room seemed to exist solely to hold more magazines, seed packets and catalogues. An enormous, larger-than-life poster of Ozzy Osbourne, staring menacingly at a rat, all but obscured the left wall.
“Hey, who’s screwing with the music?” A deep voice bellowed from a side door. An enormous man, well over 6’5, sauntered into the room. Built like a football player, the guy’s size wasn’t what was truly eye-catching. He wore ripped jeans and a tank top, with every square inch of visible skin covered in tattoos, including an anchor, a sea serpent, and an enormous “MOM” dripping red blood across his bicep. To complete his look, the guy had neon green hair. He looked like the Incredible Hulk.
Catriona seemed equally stunned by the apparition. Her mouth hung open, and she stared at him with a mixture of fear, astonishment, and was that lust?
The man looked at them for a moment, and then the light of comprehension filled his brown eyes. “You two must be the ones Wendy said were coming. She thought there was only going to be a chick, though.”
The man nodded at Catriona, who glowered back.
He continued. “Sorry about the music. I have to make it loud so they can hear it.”
“They?” James glanced towards the side door. Were there more enormous people in the other room, waiting to burst out at them in tattooed splendor?
“The plants, man. The plants.” The giant glanced out the window. “Oh cool. Here comes Wendy.”
Chapter 18
Wendy grimaced as she parked beside the BMW. Catriona must be here already. She checked herself in the rear-view mirror. Good, no stupid eyebrows this time. She applied a bit of lipstick and reminded herself not to start humming out of stress
Her mood brightened as she saw Isaiah approaching. They’d known each other for years and a friendship had developed out of their common interests. Wendy got out of the car and was immediately wrapped in one of his bear hugs.
“Hey, you’ve dyed your hair! It looks great.” Wendy squinted up at him through the wintery sunshine.
“Yeah, I woke up one day last week, and I just thought, ‘green,’ you know?”
Isaiah smiled and Wendy noticed his dimples for the first time. She remembered her resolution from last week. As soon as the LCC party was over, and she had more free time, she would start dating again. Her intense reaction to James Crofton was proof that she was spending too much time on business development, and not enough on romance. It was time to get her engine tuned up and back on the road.
Isaiah was talking: “Anyway, your friends just got here. I don’t think they dug my tunes.”
“Friends?” Catriona had brought reinforcements? Great.
Wendy peered into the sunlight as a stunning woman, who must be Catriona, approached. Wendy smoothed down the white hat with the puffy pompom that adorned her head. She had taken special pains with her appearance this morning, wearing the “fancy” winter boots she had spent a small fortune on at an exclusive boutique on Sussex Drive, paired with the great vintage plaid coat she had thrifted for four dollars.
As the other woman came closer, Wendy got a better view of her statuesque height and long, sweeping winter coat. She looked like a supermodel, and Wendy felt squat and foolish in comparison.
Catriona stopped in front of Wendy and flashed a toothy smile. “You must be the lucky florist who’s landed this plum job.” A wave of perfume, bergamot and ginger - musky and sexy - hit Wendy’s nose.
Isaiah’s body stiffened at the woman’s patronizing tone, but Wendy spoke before he could say anything. ”Yes I am. It’s nice to meet you. I presume you’re Catriona Hunt?”
“Naturally.” The other woman narrowed her eyes and assessed her. Wendy was glad she still stood arm in arm with Isaiah. It gave her a sense of security, false though it might be. She started humming “Baby Shark”, and then forced herself to stop. Catriona’s scrutiny was like a rash on her skin, but Wendy refused to be cowed. Instead she straightened her spine and met the other woman’s gaze.
Catriona turned back to the warehouse. “James, are you coming?”
Wendy had been so focused on enduring Catriona’s gaze; she hadn’t noticed the figure in the doorway.
The sunlight gleamed off Crofton’s black hair as he strode towards them.
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