Chapter 3

Three

Lily

I paid the bill for Berta, thankful it was smaller than I anticipated. I wasn’t sure if Jake gave me a deal, or the garage was just reasonably priced. I’d had different experiences at other garages. They seemed to charge more for the older vehicle parts because they were more difficult to find.

I usually came out of the situation feeling like I’d been taken advantage of. I didn’t know the lingo or the going rate for parts and labor, so I was at a disadvantage.

In contrast, Jake explained everything to me in a way I could easily understand it. He’d even offered to cover the bill when he forgot to call me with the estimate. Despite my initial impression of him and his gruff exterior, I respected him. And I believed him when he told me Berta would break down again. It was only a matter of time.

The thought of restoring her was attractive, but there was no way I could afford to do it anytime soon. Even if my business suddenly took off, I’d need to hire another employee or two to manage the front counter so I could spend more time making and delivering the arrangements.

Then there was the matter of the farm. If I wanted to make that a viable business, I needed time to work on landscaping and planting. Time was something I didn’t have, between the shop and Gia’s wedding clients.

The one thing I was thankful for was that the partnership with Gia’s wedding planning service brought in a steady stream of customers. Even if some relied on online florists for their bouquets, brides still needed someone local for their events.

It was a small consolation until I could figure out a business model that made sense in today’s modern world.

I never felt as settled as I did when driving Berta around town. She comforted me when my grandmother was gone. Made me feel like I wasn’t quite so alone.

But Jake had given me some things to think about. Berta wasn’t reliable. If I wanted to keep working with Gia, I’d need to figure something out so she could rely on my deliveries. If I wanted local customers to buy a subscription from me, I’d need a viable delivery system. In her current state, Berta wasn’t it.

I couldn’t afford to restore her or purchase a new van, so my only option was slowly paying for repairs as I went. I didn’t have the money for it, but I could put off planting the farm if it meant that the deliveries were still an option.

I needed to spend some time going through the estimate and figuring out what should be done first. Maybe Jake could help with that.

Thinking of seeing him again did something weird to my insides. There were flutters in my stomach, as if butterflies had taken up residence.

I shouldn’t be drawn to him, but I was. There was something about his gruff manner, contrasted with his desire to make clients feel comfortable in his garage when he obviously wasn’t a people person, that had my heart tugging for him.

He was such a contradiction. A beautiful contradiction. But I didn’t fix people anymore. I’d done enough of that in my dating past. If and when I dated again, I would be with a guy who didn’t have baggage or skeletons in their past. And Jake seemed like a guy with a chip on his shoulder and a past to back it up.

I just needed to ignore my instinct to get closer to him, to figure out what made him tick, and stay far away from any emotional entanglements. That should be easy, because he didn’t seem to like me.

I irritated him with my optimistic outlook and my stubbornness to keep Berta on the road. But then, he didn’t know me or understand how important the van was to me.

My grandmother believed in me when no one else did. She understood me. She supported me. And now she was gone, and I was left with this void. I felt like I was bobbing in the water with no life jacket. No way to get to the other side.

When I returned to the shop, I flipped the sign from Be Right Back to Open . I hated stepping out and closing the shop in my absence, but it was necessary until I could afford to hire help.

I kept an eye on the front door while I worked on orders in the back. I needed space and time to create arrangements, decide on the perfect combination of flowers and colors, and anticipate what clients would want each season.

Sometimes it felt hopeless because it was more convenient to order online from one of the many services there or pick up a bouquet at the grocery store. But I needed to convince customers that my bouquets and blooms were more beautiful and lasted longer. That I had expertise far beyond someone working the flower counter at a grocery store.

It wasn’t so much expertise. I hadn’t worked in a garden center, but I’d learned from Grandma. She’d been a natural with plants too. She said I had a gift for putting the right blooms together and for nurturing the plants. I just needed to share it with others. I just wasn’t sure how to do that if no one was walking through my door.

The door remained stubbornly closed through the afternoon. My stomach was rumbling, and my muscles were stiff from leaning over the counter for so long. I stretched, trying to work out the kinks, when I heard the door open and the tinkle of the bell above it.

“How can I help you?” I asked, before realizing the customer was my mother.

She wore her usual blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, holding a designer purse on her shoulder. Her face was pinched as her gaze traveled over my refrigerated cases and the few arrangements I’d placed on the countertops.

I tensed for negative comments.

“You’re still doing this,” Mom murmured to herself.

I crossed my arms over my chest, wishing I could hide in the back or that I’d hired someone else to deal with front-end customers so I could avoid her. “Doing what? Running my business?”

Mom rolled her eyes. “If that’s what you call it. Doesn’t it need to be profitable to be considered one?”

That stung, and I drew in a sharp breath. No matter how many times I braced myself for her opinions, they never failed to slay me. She was good at sussing out my weaknesses and attacking them.

“How long are you going to do this?” she asked, stepping up to the counter and focusing her laser-sharp gaze on me.

“This is my dream.” I had no intentions of giving up or walking away. It would take more than a little debt to stop me. But she was great at chipping away at that confidence.

Mom gave a very unladylike snort. “Money is not earned from dreams, but hard work.”

“Hard work comes from living our dreams.” I repeated one of Grandma’s favorite sayings, knowing we’d had this argument a million times, and she’d never capitulated.

Mom continued without acknowledging my statement. “Cora’s planning on opening her own medical practice with a few other doctors.”

“I know.” I was proud of my sister. Unfortunately, her success amplified my perceived failures. It didn’t help that she was following in my father’s footsteps by becoming a doctor.

“Everyone needs doctors,” Mom said, standing taller.

“Just like everyone needs something beautiful in their life. That’s what I provide.” I tried to drum up my enthusiasm for making people happy with my creations, but it fell flat. It always did when I was in my mother’s presence. She had the ability to cut through me faster than a knife.

Mom scoffed. “Flowers don’t heal people.”

I tipped my head to the side stubbornly. “Then why do they get sent when patients are in the hospital?”

Mom waved me off. “That’s meaningless. Especially when every hospital sells their own flowers.”

Her accuracy hit me hard in the chest. For most things, there was already a service that provided the flowers, whether it was online, the grocery store, or the hospital, and even some of the historic museums in the area had their own gardens.

If only I could partner with them and somehow make it work for me. The tingling of an idea came to me, and I wanted to write it down before I forgot it. The key in this ever-changing world was going with the flow, not against it. If only I could find a way for it to work for me.

But right now, my mother’s presence was taking up all the space in my shop. I didn’t feel hopeful or positive. I just felt shame, which was exactly how she wanted me to feel.

Mom would love if I quit and did whatever she deemed to be worthy. She didn’t care if it made me miserable. The problem was, I had nothing else to offer. School wasn’t easy for me. I didn’t excel in it like Cora did.

“Why are you here?” It wasn’t to see what I was doing with my business. She just wanted evidence that failure was imminent. She fed on that energy.

“Cora’s new practice is throwing a grand opening party. You should be there.”

I already planned to go to support my sister, but it grated to have my mom demand it. It would be a tough evening for me. Mom would rub Cora’s success in my face and use it as another reason to prove that I didn’t measure up.

“Maybe you could learn something from her.”

“What could I possibly learn? She’s a doctor,” I asked stupidly, falling right into her trap.

“How to run a viable business. How to align yourself with the right people to get what you want. The importance of education.”

Not going to college had been a source of arguments for years. I’d tried community college, but my heart wasn’t in it. I got a job in an office so I could move out of my parents’ house. My grandmother encouraged me to follow my passion for horticulture, but my parents wouldn’t pay for any classes unless they were purely academic.

“College isn’t for me.” I’d taken a few business courses when I decided to open the shop, but I never told my parents. I knew they’d encourage me to get my four-year degree, and I didn’t need that in order to run a store.

They were a ridiculous contrast. They supported education, but only if the outcome was the one they wanted. I could major in business but not run a flower shop.

“When it doesn’t work out, you’ll run back to us,” Mom said, seemingly satisfied with her conclusion.

I shook my head. “That won’t happen.”

The last person I’d ask for help was my family. I was polite to them, but I didn’t feel like I fit in. I didn’t feel loved and appreciated. I felt like a project they needed to fix.

Mom’s lips pursed. “You won’t like the alternative. If you don’t have money, you won’t have a house to live in or food to eat.”

“I have Grandma’s house and van,” I said, knowing I was being stubborn for continuing the argument. Usually, I just agreed with her until she left, knowing I’d never change her mind.

Mom leaned in close. “Have you paid the taxes on the property yet? You won’t be able to afford the upkeep.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said dryly. What mother wanted their kids to fail just so they could say I told you so? Just mine, apparently.

Mom leaned back with a hand on her hip. “If you’d listened to us from the beginning, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“I don’t feel like I’m in a situation.” I was living my dream. That’s what I told myself on the days when I didn’t see a lot of customers, or when someone told me, in passing, they could pick up something cheaper at the grocery store.

“You’ll see,” Mom said as she walked out.

I wouldn’t see things her way. We’d never been on the same page. Even as a kid, I was too carefree and happy for her, whereas Cora was more studious and reserved. My parents didn’t know what to do with a free spirit. That’s why I ended up at Grandma’s more often than not.

I wanted to jump in puddles and play in the mud. I didn’t care about getting dirty or what others might think. How much had I changed over the years to appease them? It was never enough.

I watched her walk down the sidewalk and slide into her sedan. Over the years, I told myself I didn’t care about money, but the reality was, I needed it to live. To make my dreams a possibility, I needed to make the shop profitable. I didn’t want my mother to win.

There had to be something that would draw customers in. That would make customers want to drive or walk the extra mile to see arrangements. I just needed to figure out what it was. Every time I thought about it, the farm popped into my mind. I needed to find a way to incorporate the farm with the shop.

I’d hosted a yoga class on the property. It had been everything I’d dreamed of—a promise of things to come. But the property wasn’t ready yet. I didn’t want to host any more events until it was.

I pulled out Jake’s estimate for Berta, my notes for the farm, and plans for the shop. I went through everything I needed to do for the farm to make it ready to rent out for events.

Maybe it was worth talking to Gia about whether brides would want to get married on the property. Even though I called it a farm, it hadn’t been a working one when my grandparents lived there. The house was grander than the typical farmhouses, with multiple balconies and a huge wraparound porch that my grandfather had expanded. Maybe Gia would have some suggestions.

I was excited in a way I hadn’t been since the opening of the flower shop. The possibilities seemed endless. I could play it safe and stick with the flower shop, but everything in my body was telling me the farm was the solution to my problems.

I made a list of businesses that might want to partner with me: the yoga studio, Gia’s wedding planning services, and maybe even local school and scouting groups. I could teach others about caring for plants.

Maybe I could even ask for volunteers to help with the planting. But that seemed ridiculous when my own family didn’t want to help.

I could ask the local shop owners for advice at the monthly Shops on Main meetings.

Usually when my mom visited, I felt defeated, wondering if she was right. But this time, I was inspired despite her dire predictions.

It wasn’t like she’d ever started a business before. She didn’t understand everything that went into it. It wasn’t her dream on the line. I couldn’t let her negative outlook affect me.

It was easier said than done, but I held on to hope. Grandma wanted this for me, and I had to give it my best effort. The alternative was going back to an office job I hated. There was no future for me in that. I’d wilt just like the cut flowers on my counter.

I snipped the head of a red dahlia and placed it behind my ear. The thought of not being around what I loved crushed me. I could be practical and purchase a used van to make deliveries, but my intuition was telling me to hold out for Berta. It was one of the things that made me unique. I couldn’t give up on her.

Even if that meant seeing more of the grumpy mechanic. Instead of my stomach filling with dread, those damn butterflies were back, fluttering around and stirring up all kinds of feelings I shouldn’t be having. Jake wasn’t a project for me. My hands were already full. I didn’t need another fixer-upper on my hands.