Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

NICHOLAS

It's him.

That gray-eyed, grumbly man is in my flower shop.

"What do you mean, you own it?" I blurt out, but no sooner do I hear the words than I put it together.

That man is Randy's grandson. The scowler from the ditch is the man who just inherited the building.

No wonder his frown and heavy brow elicit such an emotional reaction out of me. It's the same lovable sourpuss I saw on Randy's face every day.

Right when I thought today was back to normal, regulars flitting in and out and the music mix hitting gold, he walks in. I was humming to myself and wrapping bouquets with twine, making the best of this year's diminished shooting star supply, and then Diego came in for the date night flowers he gets his boyfriend every other Thursday, and now this wildcard.

I've been telling Sue and Nance not to worry. Randy's grandson isn't going to ruin our lives. If Randy left him the property, he must have known what he was doing.

Well the truth has arrived at last. And while a ditch-bath isn't the best start, at least we can only go up from here.

"My name is Clay," he says. "There used to be an old man who lived upstairs."

"Your grandfather, I know. I'm Nicholas."

He doesn't betray any emotion, but it takes him a second to reply. "You knew him?"

"Yes, for years," I say, summoning a smile as I think about Randy, a total character if there ever was one. My heart still aches to remember he's gone. "On top of our business relationship, we were friends."

The door opens, and Lucinda sticks her head in. She's got all three pit bulls with her, and they're tugging on their leashes outside, sniffing the street.

"Sorry, Nicholas!" she says. "Afternoon book club! I'm running late—do you mind?"

I walk over to the counter and grab the bundle of bouquets, which I hand off to Lucinda at the door.

"Thanks!" she says.

"I went overboard on the geraniums for you."

She laughs. "My wife will be grateful."

I give her a little wave and turn back to Clay. His nose wrinkles slightly, and I wonder if it's in response to Lucinda's mention of her wife. If he's homophobic, he's in for a hell of a time.

The twinkling notes of an old song fill the air, The Bee Gees, "How Deep Is Your Love."

"Your grandpa had many friends in town." I consider Clay, wondering if Randy had an entire secret life that none of us knew about, a family that kept in touch with him. "What was your relationship with him like?"

"I didn't have one. The first I heard of him was last week."

"Oh, I see." He shared the information pretty flatly, not much emotion in his voice. I try to hold it lightly, not sure what it means to Clay, although it makes me wonder what motivated Randy to leave him the building despite never reaching out. "I'm sorry for your loss, either way," I offer.

"Yeah," he says. "You, too."

It must be a particularly odd sting to lose someone you didn't know about, a relationship ending right when it begins. My heart goes out to him.

"So you've inherited the building," I offer brightly, assuming the best as I steer us back to business. "What's your plan?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he says. "You want to keep renting this place?"

"Sure thing," I answer. "I'm happy as a clam here."

He puffs air out of his nose. "Okay. I don't plan to stick around. I don't live in Buffalo. I didn't even know what state it was in when I got the phone call. So I'm going to sell the building. Do you want to buy it?"

I blink, startled by the bluntness. "Excuse me?"

I'm inclined to welcome Clay, but quickly realize I need to be a bit more strategic. I owe it to myself and to Sue and Nance, too.

"Do you want to buy it," he says again, although it doesn't sound like a question this time, just a steady rumble of a statement.

"I don't have that kind of money," I manage.

"Oh. Right," he says, rubbing the back of his head.

And yes, it stings.

This shop is my life. I desperately want to own the building—of course I do. But financially, that's off the table with my income. And doubly so until I crawl out of my startup loans.

I'm on track to pay off the debt in a year if all goes to plan, but even then, supporting this building on my income alone would be tough. Buying a house is the kind of thing I'll do with a husband, and it twists the knife that I'm not partnered up and prepared for the opportunity now.

Blinking back my emotions, I give it another try.

"Selling to anyone will be complicated. This is a unique building in a… special neighborhood. Definitely not the kind of building that you want a developer to rip down. Do you understand what Randy left you?"

He stares at me for a moment before answering. "Honestly, I don't know shit about where I am. That's why I came down to introduce myself in the first place. Trust me. I wouldn't bother anyone if I didn't have to."

"Understood. But you're not bothering me. The good news is you live above a wonderful ambassador for Allentown. On top of paying rent punctually on the fifteenth, I can help acquaint you to the area. I'm here pretty much every day."

"Sure. Fine," he says brusquely, although I can practically feel him withdrawing from the idea, so I highly doubt he'll take me up on the offer.

It might be a stretch to make him fall in love with the neighborhood, but encouraging some fondness for this building and Allentown in general can't hurt the situation.

I turn my attention to cutting flowers, snipping the ends off stems as we talk.

"Have you met everyone yet?" I ask.

"Who's everyone?" he asks. "The Susan? The Nancy?"

I laugh. "Word of advice. Don't call them that to their faces."

He sighs. "Where are they? Is there a basement?"

Yikes. I'll spare him the bad news about the basement at this moment.

Clay already looks a bit flustered, like a cute bear who definitely doesn't want you to hug it.

The door swings open, and Harry comes flying in. He's wearing his biggest sunglasses and navy blue jogging pants, and he's got a gigantic iced coffee drink that he sips through a straw.

"I'm going to need a lot of flowers this time, Nicholas. I lost his favorite b-u-t-t-p-l-u-g."

I gasp and put the snippers down. Clay is grumbling something to himself and looking at the floor, and I decide there's no use in trying to damper what's about to come.

Harry walks straight to the counter and plops the coffee down. "His favorite b-u-t—you know the rest! How does someone lose that, you wonder?" He turns his palms to the ceiling, looks to Clay with an exasperated sigh, and back to me. "I reorganized the bedroom—that's how. Like a lunatic, I emptied out the closets and the nightstands. They didn't need it! But I cleaned it all anyway, reassembled, and now my husband's," this time he drops his voice to a scare whisper, "butt plug is missing." He goes back to full volume. "Gone! And if I go missing, too, you'll know what happened."

I smile at Harry. He's the director of the local theater and a bit scatterbrained, which I say with love. His husband, the neighborhood butcher, is endlessly patient about it.

Losing a favorite sex toy does sound harsh, though.

"Come back this afternoon," I tell him. "Lucio loves sunflowers. I'm getting some fresh ones in from a nearby farm. And don't worry! Objects are replaceable."

"Sounds like something you'd say if you never had a favorite butt plug. But you're right. I'm heading straight down the block next," he says and taps the counter. "This is why it pays to live in a neighborhood with a sex store."

"Maybe we should run a promotion," I tell him. "Flowers and sex toys work for a lot of apologies."

"But not all, unfortunately!" Harry calls out as he exits in another flurry.

I jot down a note about his order before I glance back to Clay. He's standing next to a display of cards, and there's a red heart balloon floating behind him.

"Maybe this isn't a good time," he says.

"We're a busy shop. It tends to be like this all day, but I've gotten great at multitasking."

He nods, and I try to read him as I snip away.

It's not that I expect everyone to handle casual sex toy conversation on a weekday morning, queer or straight, but there is a certain frankness when you live down the street from a dildo store and a sex club.

Clay doesn't look uncomfortable in any of the hurtful ways. I don't see judgment, or disgust, or dismissal in his eyes. If he's awkward about anything, he seems awkward in his own skin, shuffling from side to side on the squeaky wood floor.

"It's Sue and Nance," I tell him. "Make sure to get that part right when you introduce yourself. Are you trying to sell the building immediately?"

"That's the plan." He rolls his broad shoulders back. "You'll hear me upstairs. I'm going to be staying here while I sort this out. I should leave you alone at work, but before I go, can you just explain to me where exactly?—"

The door swings open, and a loud group comes in, the street pouring into the shop as it tends to in the middle of the day. I raise my hands apologetically to Clay. "Just one moment."

He frowns. "We'll talk later," he says and sulks out.

An older man I don't recognize lifts one of the small bouquets I keep by the counter. "What's this purple flower?" he asks, pointing at the shooting star. "Could I get a bouquet of these?"

When I finally get another break from customers, I turn and see Nance by the counter. She's nearly always in a work shirt, like she's just about to step back into her studio, and today is no exception.

"I saw him arrive this morning." She crosses her arms over her chest. "He's here, he's muddy, and he frowns like bad news coming."

"He might be a little prickly," I agree. "But he's not muddy anymore. You just missed him. Funny story, though. He drove me off the road this morning. Into a ditch!"

"What?" She walks over to my coffee pot. "Hell, Nicky. I didn't know it was that bad."

" Drove me off the road might be an exaggeration. It was a mutual ditch situation," I clarify quickly.

Nance shakes her head as she pours coffee. "He's stomping around all over the place, and he hasn't even knocked on our door yet. He must not appreciate who we are. This is just like Randy, you know? Leaving the building to some stranger. Stubborn asshole always had to handle things in a way that made no damn sense. God love him, the idiot."

"He wouldn't argue about the stubborn part."

"What did this grandson tell you? Does he have a plan?"

"What we expected. He wants to sell the building. But I don't think he has a real plan. He tried to sell it to me." I think back over the encounter. "Maybe if we ask him nicely and explain the situation, he won't sell to a developer."

Nance huffs. "You got a soft heart, Nicky, but don't forget. We can't trust the guy any farther than we can throw him. He can make our lives hell if he wants to."

"Got it," I assure her. "I will temper my optimism with prudence."

"Good."

A Rihanna song comes on the stereo, and the door up front swings open again as Nance wanders out the rear. I'm left with some lingering concern, aware she's right that Clay could usher in a major problem for us all.

But when I sigh and turn back to my business, the sun shines through the window, and two couples browse on either side of the store, each holding hands and humming, moving along with the music.

I take in a deep inhale of this morning's floral scent, nature's seasonal perfume lifting my spirits, and raise a bouquet with my smile back in full force. "Welcome to Blossom," I tell the happy couples. "Let's make your day beautiful."