Snowdrop Kisses Part Three
A serialised holiday romance involving a plucky florist and a tall dark and handsome entrepreneur
Previously … in Part 2 Wendy sent off some bouquets to clients and chatted with her favourite customer, Harry Hepple. After a floral mixup, James grovelled at the feet of his irate, elderly investor, Minna Smythe.
Chapter 5
Love's Bouquet was quiet after a busy lunch hour, so Wendy jumped when the little bells at the top of the entrance jangled. Looking up from behind the counter, her professional smile collapsed at the sight of a very large, very angry man glowering down at her. It took her a moment to recognize him. Mr. Coffee! He didn’t look sexy now, more like an avenging Greek God -- the kind that turned their victims into bushes, or goats.
She started to hum, as she always did when stressed, then forced herself to stop. “I see you’ve tracked me down. I was going to tell you I’d be happy to pay the cleaning costs, but you ran off before I got a chance.”
The man looked nonplussed.
“You know? This morning.” Wendy put her hands in front of her stomach to simulate a belly. “Ho, ho, ho,” she said encouragingly.
He glanced around as if to see if she were talking to someone else. Wendy began to feel foolish, holding her hands in front of her, but a glimmer of recognition dawned in his eyes.
“You’re that grungy Santa! I should have guessed you’re affiliated with this place.”
The disparagement he loaded onto “this place” set Wendy’s teeth on edge. “I was delivering a singing bouquet. I tried to help with your shirt.”
“I didn’t come here about that.”
“Well then, how can I help you?” She smiled uncertainly and made eye contact. Those eyes. They were a clear, piercing blue, like cornflowers, or the bright May bluebells that carpeted the grass back home. He was looking at her questioningly. Damn! He had asked her something.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
The man stared at her as if she was an idiot. He repeated his words. “I want to see your boss.”
Wendy bristled at his assumption that she wasn’t the shop’s owner. Too many people dismissed her business skills because she was a younger woman. “You’re talking to the boss.”
“You!”
“Yes, as shocking as it is, women are starting to do crazy things like own stores.” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Don’t let this get out, but I hear they’re even letting a few of us become doctors and lawyers.”
His mouth tightened into a thin line. “Your gender didn’t surprise me. It’s just that reputable business owners don’t parade around in ill-fitting Santa suits.”
While she wanted to tell him, and his smug snideness to go to hell, she took a deep breath and reached for calm. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I generally don’t start trading insults with my customers until I get to know them.” She grinned but he stared back stony faced. “Why don’t we start again?”
“I came here to discuss Love's Bouquet’s colossal screw up.”
A screw-up? What orders had they taken lately that could have affected this man? She cleared her throat. “What’s your concern, sir?”
He glowered. “Your incompetence nearly cost me an investor.”
That was it. She had tried to be professional and pleasant, but he obviously wanted to insult her more than resolve the issue. When she first started out she would have curled up and died if someone spoke to her like that. No more! Drawing herself up to her full height, she came out from behind the counter, the light of battle glowing in her eyes.
“Listen,” she growled, “I don’t know who you are or what you hope to accomplish by browbeating me, but I’ve had enough.” Wendy now stood nose to button with the man. She folded her arms and stared up at him. Her posture would probably have given him pause to think if she didn’t have to crane her neck back to glare. “If you have a complaint, I’ll gladly rectify it, but don’t waltz in here and insult my store.”
Mr. Coffee looked taken aback. Was that a gleam of appreciation in his eyes? “All right,” he said stepping away from her. He ran his fingers through his thick hair and took a deep breath. “My name is James Crofton.”
Wendy steadied herself against a potted ficus. It wouldn’t do to gasp and faint like a heroine from some Victorian novel. The infamous James Crofton! She’d imagined him as a pretty playboy, not this rock-hard man whose presence dominated her store.
“My assistant sent an order this morning for two bouquets: one to my investor, the other to a --friend -- of mine.” Here he had the grace to look slightly sheepish. “Instead my friend’s flowers, with the accompanying note, went to my investor, who thought I was calling off our deal. Naturally, she was angry and confused. Now I’m scrambling to win back her trust.”
Wendy checked her phone, re-reading Kim’s email. It was clear: The business flowers were for Norah and the break-up roses were for Minna Smythe. Kim must have mixed up the names. She was probably overworked and under-appreciated by this bully.
In a flash, Wendy decided to cover for her. The older woman was nearing retirement and it would be a shame if she lost her job after putting up with this jerk for so long. The store could survive without his “Dear Jane” bouquets.
She swallowed hard. Apologizing wasn’t going to be easy. “I’m sorry, Mr. Crofton. I mixed up the names. Of course, I’ll waive the charge for the bouquet and I can offer you a gift certificate for the inconvenience.”
“You don’t seem to understand. A gift certificate to this shop isn’t going to make up for shoddy service, Ms.…”
“Blake,” Wendy said without a quaver.
“Ms. Blake, if mistakes like this get made, I’ve got to question the business standards of the whole store.”
“Mr. Crofton, I’ve apologized and offered to make up for the error the only way I can. I will not stand here and be berated by you, simply because you’ve had a tough day. I think our business is done.”
“Yes, you’re quite right, Ms. Blake,” he said in a clipped voice. “Needless to say, neither I, nor LCC, will be using your services anymore.”
Wendy smirked. She now officially had nothing to lose. “I guess I won’t be able to retire early then.”
“Excuse me?”
“At the rate you go through Love ‘em and Dump ‘em bouquets, I figured I’d be sipping Mai-Tais in Florida by the time I was forty!”
His lips tightened into a thin line. “You’ll need more than a cutesy Santa gimmick to keep your business afloat if you sink to personal insults.”
“Well, Mr. Crofton, there’s nothing more for either of us to say to one another. Thank you so much for your visit.” Wendy smiled at him as sweetly as she could.
After a long glare, James Crofton turned on his heel and stalked out of her store.
Chapter 6
James’ thoughts were muddled as he stepped away from the shop. It was cold and getting colder, heavy clouds scuttling in, portending snow. Christmas shoppers pushed past him, annoyed he was blocking the sidewalk. James hesitated. He felt like he had gone ten rounds, and somehow the little florist had scored the knockout punch. Unacceptable.
He started walking up Bank Street, his frown gradually morphing into a grin: “I should have known I was in trouble when I saw that damn Santa hat,” he murmured.
“What’s that, Jamie? Talking to yourself at your age? I didn’t think senility would set in so young.”
James’ grin broadened. Only one person in the world still called him “Jamie.” Sure enough, Harry Hepple was locking the door of his enormous baby blue Cadillac and scowling up at James.
“How are you doing?” James asked, shaking Harry’s hand. The older man had been a friend of his father's.
Harry was dressed in his usual creased blue jeans and flannel shirt, which hung loose on him, as if he had lost weight. James hadn’t seen him in a few months, but his friend had aged in that time. His shoulders were stooped, his face was grey and he leaned more heavily on his wooden cane. Nonetheless, he spoke in his usual sharp tone. “What’s got you all riled up? You look sillier than a snake at a barn dance, and twice as confused.”
James laughed. “Business, I guess.”
“Now, Jamie, I’ve told you a hundred times, you work too hard. You’ve got to stop and smell the roses.”
“I think smelling the roses is what’s got me agitated.” The two men stepped closer to a nearby building, as cars rumbled along the street.
Harry continued, “Settle down. Somewhere out there is a sweet young woman who’d make you a good wife.”
James reflexively glanced around, wondering how incensed a woman like Wendy Blake would be to hear Harry’s old-fashioned ideas.
Harry continued, “You don’t want to end up like your dad after your mother died.”
James’ neck tensed. He didn’t like talking about his mother. Or his father. “What was wrong with my father’s lifestyle? He always had a girlfriend.”
“He never found what he was looking for.”
“And what was that? True love?” James laughed sarcastically. “You were one of the lucky ones, Harry. I don’t think they make them like your Helen anymore.”
“No, they sure don’t.” Harry paused and when he spoke, his voice was thick. “I miss the old girl.”
James stared. Were those tears in the older man’s eyes? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Harry waved a hand. “Don’t pay any attention to me, Jamie. Old age is making me sappier then a maple tree in the spring. I’ve been missing the old battle axe lately. Next Saturday would have been our fiftieth wedding anniversary. We had a holiday wedding. Colder then a witch’s tit, but Helen was the prettiest snowflake of them all. Best day of my life.”
“You had the rare marriage that worked.”
Harry smiled and seemed to choose his words carefully. “Your parents’ marriage worked. I remember their wedding. I never saw two people so eager to leave the ceremony and get to the honeymoon! They were like that until the day your mother died.”
James hated dredging up the past. What was the point?
Harry continued. “At first, I couldn’t understand your father dating all those women when he had a son to care for, but I think I do now.”
James’ mind was spinning. Over the past hour he’d gone from grovelling at Minna Smythe’s feet, to getting verbally battered by that florist and now he was evaluating his father’s parenting skills. He had to regain some control of this day.
“It was wonderful to see you, Harry. Let’s have dinner soon. I’ve got to get back to the office now.”
“Fine, fine. I should go myself. I’m off to pick up flowers from my favourite florist.”
“Who’s that?” James asked sharply.
“It’s that little shop down the street. The girl who runs it is a real dynamo. Reminds me of Helen. See you around, Jamie.” With a twirl of his cane, Harry headed off in the direction of Love's Bouquet.
“Has the world gone completely bonkers?” James asked Bank Street. The sound of “Jingle Bells” blaring from a nearby convenience store was his only reply.
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