Page 9 of The Roommate Problem
His grandparents had been happily married for thirty-five years according to Gran, but Grandpa had died when he was just a baby, so he hadn’t witnessed any of their so-called bliss. Still, his grandmother kept trying to set him up, and he kept dodging that bullet like the future train wreck he knew it would be. And if she thought to hook him up with Mo, the woman who he was sharing an apartment with for the next six months, she had another think coming.
He couldn’t imagine a worse idea. And it wasn’t just because they were going to be living together. From what little he knew of the woman, they were complete opposites. Her sunshiny cheer made him want to crawl into a dark cave and stay there for a week. The chipper attitude was exhausting. Seriously, who had that much energy at the end of the day? Also, what kind of monster ate pineapple pizza?
“Mo and I are just roommates.” Thanks to her.
She shrugged, grabbing some yellow roses and adding them to the bunch. “For now, but Moira has a way about her. I’m sure you’ll be friends in no time, and who knows? In a while, maybe more.”
He had to stop this right now. In a childhood when he’d been shuffled back and forth between his mom’s place and his dad’s, Gran’s had been the only house that felt like home. While he was expected to keep track of his own schedule and possessions with his parents, Gran always made sure she was looking out for him, allowing him to be a kid for a few weeks a year. She was his safe space, comfort, and he hated to crush her dreams, but there was no way in hell he and Mo were even going to be a couple. Even friends was pushing it.
“Gammie,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d called his beloved grandmother as a boy. The one that always got her to listen. “You know I’m only here for a short time, right? Just long enough to sell the shop.”
Her gaze snapped up, the happy light now a cool burn as she put down the bouquet she’d been working on and pointed a stern finger in his direction. “August Lionel Porter. I have told you time and again I am not selling this place. My mother started this shop and passed it on to me. Your father wanted nothing to do with it, and that’s fine, but I had hoped you, with your love and skill to grow the most beautiful flowers this side of the Rockies, would one day take over.”
And he’d told her time and again he didn’t like the city and had no desire to live there. He needed fresh air, open spaces, and a plot to grow his own flowers. He loved the beauty of flowers, the ageless meaning behind each and every botanical, the way they could convey a million messages: condolences, friendship, well wishes, love. What August didn’t like was the day-to-day running of a shop. He wanted to grow, not sell.
People skills were not his forte. Flowers were.
Flowers were easy to care for, easy to understand. All they required was soil, sun, and water. They didn’t give away your dog because your new wife’s kid was allergic. Flowers didn’t shove you off on your dad when your new husband wanted to take the family to Hawaii for spring break. The family that included his kids, but not you.
Flowers were so much easier to deal with than people.
“I’ve told you before”—he reached out to grasp her hand in his—“I don’t want to run the shop.”
“Then I’ll have to continue to run it myself,” she huffed, pulling her hand away.
Stubborn determination also ran strong in the Porter family.
He sighed. “You shouldn’t be working so hard, Gran. You should be retired, enjoying yourself.”
“I do enjoy myself. Right here. In my flower shop.” A sneaky smile crossed her face. “But I could be persuaded to cut back on my hours if someone were to take over.”
Someone being him. Yeah, not going to happen.
“I have a life to get back to.” Sort of.
He’d quit his job working on one of the largest flower farms outside of Telluride, subleased his apartment, and sold a lot of his things. He didn’t plan to go back but instead had a different plan. A new dream. One that involved finding a small plot of land and starting his own flower farm. Nothing huge, just big enough to financially provide for himself and his grandmother. Give her a chance to finally retire, sell the shop, and take it easy without having to worry about endless days of filling customer orders and all the paperwork that came with running a business. A little piece of sweet-smelling heaven all their own.
He didn’t want to take over the shop, but he did want to take care of his grandmother, and the only way he knew to do that was by growing beautiful flowers…for other people to sell in their shops.
He’d been socking away money for years, and he finally had enough to start his own flower-growing business. Now all he had to do was find a place for this new venture. A place outside the city. How could anyone grow anything in a concrete jungle?
“You could have a life here, August.”
He made his way around the counter, guiding his grandmother to sit on the wooden stool by the register. The hard wooden stool. He made another mental note to get her a stool that at least had a soft cushion on it. Though if he had his way, she wouldn’t need a new stool because she’d sell the dang shop. But he knew his grandmother. He was in for a fight on this one. He had her best interests at heart, even if she didn’t see it that way.
“Sit down, Gran. You’ve been on your feet too long.”
“Oh, this is rich.” She chuckled but sat as he requested. “You trying to take care of me. Wasn’t too long ago I was putting bandages on your scraped knees and making sure you ate all your veggies.”
He grinned. “Yes, but you also gave me a cookie as a bribe to eat the vegetables.”
“I’m a grandma.” She lifted her chin. “We get to spoil the little ones. It’s the right we earn as grandparents.”
And he was grateful for it, because his childhood would have been a lot bleaker without the doting love of his grandmother. Which was why this need burned within him to take care of her. He didn’t want her working her fingers to the bone. He wanted to provide for her, make sure she was comfortable and able to pursue whatever activities she wanted. She took care of him. Now it was his turn to return the favor.
“I’m not a city kind of guy.” He tried another tactic.
She shook her head. “You haven’t even given the place a try, August.”
