Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“No. Really no,” she said, and my heart ached at the higher pitch her tone took on. Close to tears. I knew that sound. “Rayna is… I don’t know. She’s unconscious. Being rushed to the hospital. I have no idea what is going on. But she… she passed out at home this morning. She… she never made it to the shop. I tried to call Dennis, but he wasn’t answering.”
He never did these days, it seemed.
“God, Sandra, don’t worry about the shop!” I said, but I was already rushing across the apartment, going into my room, and finding an outfit.
Because while she needed to worry about her sister, I absolutely did need to worry about the shop.
Maybe one could argue that it was Dennis’s place. And, sure, that was probably true.
But the fact of the matter is, I knew I had two anniversary bouquets I had made yesterday, just waiting to be picked up by husbands whose wives may not believe that the florist was suddenly, suspiciously closed on their anniversary.
Then there was the bouquet for the lady who had just beat what she and her family had previously believed to be a terminal illness.
The “new baby” bouquets.
And one “I’m sorry I messed up” one from a sad, red-eyed young man who clearly wanted to try to make things right with his girl.
Those people needed their arrangements.
So I needed to hurry up and get to the shop.
“I’ve got this,” I assured Sandra. “Please, go be with Rayna. Keep me updated if or when you can.”
With that, I rushed through the fastest shower of my life, knowing there was no way I could go to the shop after spending the morning cleaning.
I tossed on a simple light blue dress, pulled my wet hair back into a bun, did the fastest application of makeup known to mankind, then rushed through my apartment.
I eyed the cleaning products all strewn about and the bucket full of hot, soapy water that I’d been cleaning the baseboards with.
There was a familiar tension growing in me at having to leave them, but they would need to wait.
Maybe, if things were slow, I could rush home on a short lunch break to clean up.
I shot off a text to Vega explaining where I was so she didn’t worry, and then made my way into town.
There was already a small crowd waiting at the door when I got there, rushing out full of apologies and explaining that there’d been an emergency.
I was so frazzled that I didn’t even notice any sounds from the back as I unlocked the shop and moved inside, feeling none of that familiar stress relief sensation as I did so.
There was too much to do.
And not nearly enough time to do it.
I was still pulling off my coat as I went through to the back room where I stopped dead in my tracks, every hair on my body standing on end as I was not met with an empty room.
Quite the opposite.
It was full.
Of at least half a dozen men.
Unfamiliar men.
A strange, strangled sound escaped me, something that maybe would have been a scream if I hadn’t been so shocked.
But whatever the sound was, it alerted the men to my presence, making several faces turn to me at once.
I wasn’t a brave woman.
I knew I wasn’t supposed to admit things like that. We all wanted to be strong and brave and capable.
But I’d always known how I handled scary or uncertain situations.
Freezing.
Or, sometimes, fleeing.
I wasn’t a fighter.
I wouldn’t pretend to be.
My body felt conflicted between the urge to flee, and to freeze, so all I did was go back half a step, my foot not even fully touching down as I did so.
“Who’re you?” one of the men asked, his dark eyes focused on me.
“I… I work here,” I choked out, trying to remind myself that I had a store full of people. People who would hear me scream. People who would probably at least try to come to my aid.
“Not on Tuesdays you don’t,” he countered.
And, well, he was right about that, wasn’t he?
“I, ah, no. Not usually. But there was an… emergency,” I said, barely recognizing my own tight voice.
To that, he gave me a nod, then just… ignored me as he went back to work.
Work.
The word seemed to finally penetrate through my surprise and fear, letting me finally see the whole picture.
The men weren’t just standing around, waiting to attack me. Or actively trying to rob the place or anything like that.
They were working.
Because Tuesday was a shipment day. It’s when we got flowers. Tuesday and Thursday. My days off. Which was why this had been such a shock to me. Because I’d never seen it before.
But, clearly, these men were unpacking boxes of flowers that were brought in from… well, I wasn’t sure where.