Elly in Love (The Elly Series) (4 page)

One Month Earlier

It had been the week before Valentine’s Day, which was also known as “The Apocalypse” to florists everywhere. To the normal population, Valentine’s Day was an excuse to wax romantic, a day of tiny delicate boxes of expensive chocolates, of bright-pink balloons and gas station teddy bears, a day of making co-workers envious. To florists, it was an eighteen-hour marathon from hell with a pile of orders four feet high, a day that was both ridiculously lucrative and completely exhausting. Keith and Elly had barely been together for two months, and Elly had laid it out for him on a walk to their favorite place—a secret garden concealed in the middle of some seriously upper-crust homes, located just up the street from her store. Their hands were linked together, warm between knitted mittens—a gift from Kim, ever the crafty homemaker these days. Elly kicked aside a pile of damp leaves as they walked. “So, Valentine’s Day is coming up….”

Keith grinned down at her. “Valentine’s Day? What’s that?”

Elly gave him a small nudge. They had been so nervous back then, bubbling over with happiness but totally unable to express it.

Keith cleared his throat. “Don’t worry. I might be kind of new at this boyfriend thing, but even I know that Valentine’s Day is a big deal. I’m already planning a romantic night downtown. Drinks, dinner, dancing….”

Elly held up her hand and slowed her walk. “Yeah, I’m going to stop you right there. First of all, Elly does not dance. Under any circumstances. You’ve seen
Fantasia
, right? Remember the ballerina hippos?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Elly, I bet you dance beautifully.”

“No. You are completely off course there. I know you’re just being sweet, but let’s clear this up. Elly Jordan does not dance. Not in public, anyway.”

Keith frowned. “Okay. No dancing. Got it.”

“I have more bad news about Valentine’s Day. Let’s see, how do I explain this?” She paused, tucking her blond waves of hair behind her face. “What are your busiest times of the year at the deli?”

He scratched his bare head and Elly felt her heart give a tiny knock. “Uhh … Super Bowl Sunday. Or the day before the Fourth of July. Memorial Day Weekend. Graduation weekends.”

“Okay, well, combine all of those together, and that is Valentine’s Day for florists.”

Keith nodded and they continued walking through some pale-green bushes, the withered stems defensively closed against the chill air.

“Valentine’s Day is a juggernaut. It’s both the
worst
and most profitable day of our year.” She paused. “Well, except for last year. Last year’s most profitable day was the Kepke wedding….” They both laughed, taking in the complete awkwardness of that moment. “Let’s not go there.”

“Agreed.” Keith coughed. “So what you are saying is maybe we should celebrate the weekend after Valentine’s Day.”

She gave his hand a light squeeze. “That sounds perfect.”
Please do something romantic anyway
, she thought. The guilt behind that thought came instantly. Women were crazy, and she was one of them.

As predicted, Valentine’s Day was a hellish blur of last-minute phone calls and red roses. It was 5:45 p.m., and Elly was about to cut off the orders when the phone rang again, rattling her nerves. Elly kept frantically designing with one hand and answering the phone on the other. A snide and bossy husband was on the line, “I sure hope I’m not too late to order flowers for Valentine’s Day for my wife.”

Elly rolled her eyes and gestured to Snarky Teenager, who was arranging fuchsia heather into a giant heart. She glanced at the clock. “Well, sir, it’s almost six p.m. on Valentine’s Day, so I would say you are cutting it a little close.” She heard a dissatisfied grunt. “Sir, are you there?”

“Well, what can you do for me?”

“We are open until seven p.m. tonight. I’ll be happy to put something beautiful together for you, but we cannot do any more deliveries. Oh, and it will not be red roses, as of noon today we were all out, but may I suggest some pink ranunculus and—” The man hung up the phone.

Elly slammed the receiver down. Kim and Snarky Teenager looked up at her. “I
hate
this holiday.” She picked a thorn out of her thumb. “And I hate red roses.”

Anthony, her other designer—a dapper black man in his mid-fifties, and Snarky Teenager gave each other a secret smile and turned back to their arrangements. They had always been chummy. Elly wasn’t feeling the love and tried to rectify her mood. Keith hadn’t even been in the store today, whereas Sean, Kim’s husband, had already brought by a cookie bouquet plus a bottle of wine for everyone and surprised Kim with tickets for a weekend in Paris.
Seriously
, a weekend in Paris?
Who does that? Sean Creeden, that’s who
.
What a tool.
She knew she shouldn’t be jealous, but she was. The rest of the day, Elly had been in a designing delirium, putting together one order after another until they all blended together in her mind—a giant mass of red and pink roses, mixed tulips, gerbera daisies, and blooming plants.

Kim poked her head around towering buckets of pink gladioli. “I just got an email order, can you do one more?”

Elly gave a weak protest. “Honestly, I’m very busy with this moss sculpture. He wants it in the shape of Cupid and I’m pretty sure this looks like a dinosaur.” She lowered her head onto the table and looked sadly at her best friend. “Kill me now.”

Kim raised the Post-it note to shield herself from Elly’s glare. “It’s designer’s choice.”

Elly raised an eyebrow. “Really? It’s never my choice. Ever. The only arrangements that I ever do that are designer’s choice are for … um, you.”

Kim grinned and raised her arms mockingly. “Perhaps someone has realized your genius at last! The glory of it all! How about I’ll finish the cupid and you do the designer choice? Go nuts! You have two hundred and fifty bucks to play with.”

Snarky Teenager walked into the room and plopped down a beautiful garden arrangement—pink ranunculus draped over the sides of a green ceramic pot, and a heather heart floated flawlessly above it. She looked a bit, er, mature, as always, with a tight pink miniskirt and loose white shirt over red striped leggings. “You get to do designer’s choice? That’s freaking sweet.” She pointed to the cupid, “Ugh, what the hell is that? It looks like a velociraptor that ate the rest of the dinosaurs. That must be where they all went.”

Elly took a breath while ignoring her youngest co-worker. “That would be really nice, Kim. I’m so tired. Are you sure that you don’t want to do the designer’s choice?”

Kim shook her head. “Uh-uh. They requested you by name.”

Elly gave a nod, left the dinosaur behind, and went to the cooler, leaning her head against the humid glass.
Designer’s choice.
What would she pick for herself?
She reached in the cooler
. I’ll make what I would make for my mother if she were here today.
Losing herself in the flowers, Elly began pulling, assembling a loose bouquet in her hand, something only a skilled florist could do with ease. Antique green and pink hydrangea. Vibrant pink Maria Theresa roses, the expensive kind. White lisianthus. Dahlias, in rich dark plums. Coral minicallas. White phalaenopsis orchids. Red wine cockscomb. Blackberry brambles. Viburnum. Green berries. She arranged them quickly in a gorgeous copper watering can that she had for sale on the shelf, letting them fall naturally. She stood back. It was opulent and yet, so natural looking. The money was in the flowers.
This was her choice.
An hour had gone by and she didn’t even know it. She walked over and handed it to Kim, stepping over Cadbury, who was loudly chewing on a rose stem. “Here, put this in the cooler.”

Kim cooed at the arrangement. “Oh, Elly, this is gorgeous. Want to make one for me?”

Elly patted her cheek. “Nope. You get to go to Paris; I’d say you’re good.”

Four hours later, after all the arrangements had been picked up by thoroughly stressed-out men, she flipped the sign over to CLOSED with a grateful whimper
. One more Valentine’s Day done, thank you, Lord.
She walked up to her apartment and unlocked the door slowly, the turning of her key exerting massive force. After pulling on her PJ pants, she took Cadbury out for the world’s quickest potty with the moon as her only light. She was vaguely aware that all around her, lovers were falling into each other, proclaiming love where it hadn’t been before. “
Bah-humbug,
” she grumbled out loud as Cadbury made circles on the pavement.

Back at the apartment, food sounded good, but she was too tired to even think about eating. Elly fell into bed, her pajamas crumpled below her round hips. In the dark, somewhere between her cartwheeling thoughts and hallucinations of red roses tromping down Tokyo, there was a twinge of disappointment.
Keith hadn’t done anything.
She had told him not to, but she didn’t expect him to actually listen to her. Leave it to Keith to not understand the universal rules of womanhood: do what I think, not what I say. But still—
he hadn’t even called
. Elly gave a huff and pulled her pillow over her face. It was just another Valentine’s Day, hell on Earth, where she had worked all day for very little love. Did it really matter though? Keith was great. Elly ordered herself not to overthink it.

Elly woke up to the feeling of something being wrong in her house. Something was off. She sat up in bed, her hair a tangled mess, and her pants bunched around her hips.
What is going on right now?
Her sleep daze made her clumsy and slow. She shook her head, as if to shake the blurry thoughts free.
Cadbury.
Where was Cadbury? He usually woke her up by whining at the side of her bed. That or she was choked out of deep sleep by a haze of dog farts.

“Cadbury?” she called. There was no response. The apartment was a silent tomb. Still half-asleep, Elly pulled herself out of bed and limped down the hall. She winced as she turned the corner—her arm, chest, and shoulder were sore from the mountain of designing she had done yesterday. Elly took a step toward the kitchen. A thin sound penetrated the silence, and she jumped, her heart thundering against the front of her chest. It was a low voice, rising gently over the waves of “Moon River.”
Keith?
Elly quickly smoothed down her hair.

“Elly, come out … I know you’re in the hallway.”

Elly licked her finger and tried to frantically wipe off any lingering eye makeup.
What was he doing here?
She cursed the day she gave Keith a key and decided to take it back immediately. Keith seeing her in “morning mode” was just not an option. Not yet, anyway.

“Elly?”

Elly took a deep breath and turned the corner, plastering a fake smile on her face and vowing not to kill him with her morning breath. But it didn’t matter, because she suddenly had no breath at all.

Her dining room pulsed with a bright, happy glow. The piles of dirty dishes and mail had been put away
—hadn’t
her bra
been on the table?
—and sitting on it instead was a luscious breakfast spread. Red serving plates held stacks of pancakes, trays of bacon and eggs, a bowl of fruit, pastries, and a bottle of champagne. Harsh February sunlight filtered through a pitcher of juice, sending orange light dancing across the room. Keith stood by the table, radiating nervousness, his Italian flag apron wrapped tightly around his waist. Cadbury sat patiently by his side and stared up at him with pure adoration. On the middle of the table sat Elly’s arrangement, the “Designer’s Choice,” looking even more lovely than she remembered it. The Maria Theresa roses had opened, their opulent petals spreading wide. Soft green viburnum seemed to hum in front of her bay window.

Elly felt tears in her eyes. “How did you …?”

Keith gestured for her to sit down. “I let myself in a couple of hours ago. I’m lucky you’re such a sound sleeper. And that you have a microwave.” He paused. “And that you snore so loud. I dropped a dish, and you didn’t even hear it.”

Elly grimaced as she looked up at the clock. He knew she snored
. Awesome.
“It’s eleven! How did I sleep so late?”

Keith gave her a knowing look. “It was Valentine’s Day. Kim told me that you started designing at five a.m. yesterday.” Kim.
That dirty little spy!

Elly smiled, filled with a deep love of her friend, who always had Elly’s best interest in mind. She sat down at the table, dazzled by the spread, by Keith’s wide grin, and by the aroma of buttermilk wafting up from the pancakes. “Keith. This is….”

He held up his hand. “Eat first. Then we’ll talk. You’ve earned it.”

Elly nodded. “Okay. Breakfast first.”

Keith shook out a napkin and laid it gently on her lap. His hand lingered on her shoulder, and Elly had the sudden urge to brush her lips across it. She didn’t. Instead, she reached for the bacon.

To say it was a feast would have been an understatement. The eggs were cooked to perfection, the pastries were handmade and delicious, and the fruit was so ripe she sighed as it exploded across her tongue. As she ate, Keith explained that this had been his plan all along.

“I know that you said not to do anything on Valentine’s Day, and I even though I really wanted too, I didn’t.” He paused. “Elly, I thought of you all day.”