Page 53 of The Arrangement

“No need to sugarcoat it.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh as I walked around the counter to join them. “Your great-nephew played a big role in making them presentable.” Marc elbowed me in the side and shot me a frown.

“Oh no, I wasn’t referring to the flowers. I’d recognize Marc’s handiwork anywhere. And those marvellous bows arenothis handiwork.”

“Aunt Petunia!” Marc spluttered, clearly offended. “What’s wrong with my bows?”

“Nothing, dear.” She patted him on the cheek with her wrinkled hand and gave him a placating smile. “They’re passable.” Marc’s jaw dropped, and I must be getting pretty damn good at identifying Southern slights, because while she might not have said it out loud, there was a definite undercurrent of “Bless your heart.”

I tried to stifle a snicker, but it didn’t stop Marc from turning a glare on me. “Don’t you dare take her side.”

“Take whose side? I’m not on anyone’s side,” I argued, still unsuccessfully keeping my humor at bay. I even held up my hands in surrender, not that it did me any good.

Aunt Petunia looked between us and rubbed her hands together with what I can only describe as malicious glee. “Ooh I knew coming here today was a good idea. Absolutely worth owing Martha a favor.”

Marc broke his glare to look at his aunt in befuddlement. “Why would you owe Martha a favor?”

“Who the devil do you think I got to bring me here on such short notice? You know how I feel about driving, Marc.” She rolled her eyes and pushed her sleeves up, which was when I finally realized she, too, was wearing an apron. Where mine and Marc’s were relatively plain, hers was elaborately embroideredwith her namesake and the former name of the shop. “Now that we’ve got that sorted, here’s what we’re going to do. Marc and I will build the arrangements, and you, JD, will put the final touches on with your immaculate bows.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my bows,” Marc grumbled under his breath.

“Of course not, dear,” Aunt Petunia said, patting him on the arm without looking at him.

I nearly choked in my effort to keep another bout of laughter to myself, and Marc’s withering lookdaringme to laugh again was not helping. She got us set up in stations, and despite Marc’s slightly wounded pride, it was easy to see how much he appreciated getting to work beside his aunt again. We’d barely begun our fun assembly line when she gasped, startling Marc and me.

“What’s wrong?” Marc and I asked together.

“I nearly forgot. I thought this could be a nice addition to the bows.” She reached into her apron and pulled out a spool of ribbon with the unmistakable Army camouflage pattern. It was such a simple thing. Nothing really. Yet I suddenly found myself a little choked up. She could have gotten it to honor Marc’s service or literally anyone’s, but the soft, knowing smile she gave me while I pretended not to be affected by the gesture told me she’d done it for me.

I cleared my throat once I was mostly sure I wouldn’t do something as dramatic as break down over ribbon. “Thanks, Aunt Petunia.” Marc leaned back to smile at me behind her, and it was obvious I was doing a terrible job of keeping my feels to myself. It was ribbon for fuck’s sake. “So, uh, what sort of flowers would you pair with this?” I asked.

“Hmm,” she mused aloud, looking thoughtful. “There’s the usual marigold, chrysanthemum, cypress, and mint, which you can supplement with lily of the valley or weeping willow asyou see fit. Outside of a traditional bouquet, you can look at including statice, poppy, sad geranium, camellia japonica, and of course rosemary for remembrance.” She did a double-take at the look Marc was giving her. “What?” she asked.

“You could have been a lot less dire about it,” he huffed, angrily stuffing freshly cut stems into his current vase hard enough that some of them bent.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but I doubted he clocked the mischievous smirk curling her lips. “Oh? And how would you have answered?”

“With hope,” he muttered, before adding louder, “Yellow-and-purple mixed pansies, almond blossom, spruce, blue violets, lemon blossoms, red and white roses, I’d keep the lily of the valley, but maybe consider adding some dog rose.”

“Interesting,” she commented in the same thoughtful tone, not that anyone had bothered to clue me into whatever secret conversation they were clearly having.

Marc frowned at his great aunt, having finally clocked her sly grin. “Don’t give me that look. You know I’ve never been one for conventional arrangements.” He rolled his shoulders, betraying his increasing discomfort, and if his great aunt hadn’t been standing between us, I’d have gladly massaged that spot on his neck that seemed to hold all of his tension.

“It’s not that. I’m just surprised you didn’t include buttercups, is all.” She said it innocently, not at all like she hadn’t just dropped a live grenade and was waiting to see who would jump on it first.

Marc gave a derisive snort that felt like a punch to the chest. “I’d sooner include honeysuckle.” The moment the words left his mouth, he froze. He continued to stare at the arrangement he’d been building, which seemed to consist primarily of tulips and the aforementioned buttercups.

“I thought as much,” Aunt Petunia said rather primly.

I glanced between them, desperate for a clue as to what had just happened. First, Marc callously dismissed the use of buttercups in a military arrangement, which hurt more than I wanted to admit, since I’d kind of hoped it wasmyflower name. But then he’d created this masterpiece of pinks and yellows that was bursting with them. I really needed to invest in one of those “language of flowers” books. These coded convos were doing my head in.

Chapter 27

Marc

How was I expected to sleep when the shop was finally opening? I wasn’t. That’s how. Which was exactly how I found myself creeping past JD passed out on the pullout bed, down the stairs, and back into the flower shop at the unholy hour of two in the morning. Despite my anxious brain being convinced there were still a thousand and one things to be done before the soft opening in a few hours, we’d done a great job of getting everything ready.

In lieu of any real work, I plugged my phone into the store’s speakers, turned on my favorite playlist, and danced around fixing little things that didn’t actually need fixing. Periodically, I paused to stare at the ridiculously over-the-top arrangement I’d made, replete with bright pink tulips and deep yellow buttercups, made that much more vibrant with decorative greenery and some baby’s breath for balance.

It was stunning and captured how I felt about JD perfectly. Now if I could only be brave enough to tell him to his face.Having my aunt call me out in front of him was not exactly the way I wanted to go about it. Thankfully, he still hadn’t cottoned on to the meanings behind the flowers yet. Not that I expected that to last too much longer, given his frustrated expression.